Shade Cursed: A Druidverse Urban Fantasy Novel (The Shadow Changeling Series Book 1)

by M. D. Massey

  I ignored the changes, continuing to walk down branching tunnels that would be sure to confuse the average mortal. Yet, I was neither average nor completely mortal, and therefore I could subtly influence the entity’s inherent magic, shaping and directing the ever-shifting walls and corridors, so they would lead me where I intended to go. And while I should’ve had to walk many miles and hours to reach my destination, it wasn’t long before I wandered close enough to the halls where Maeve typically resided to trip one of her alarms—purposely, of course.

  It was then that Maeve’s home saw through my ruse, recognizing me for the repeat trespasser I was. The entity’s anger and frustration rolled over me in waves of magic, echoes of the very same enchantments that had created this place ages ago. The thing was communicating with me, but not in any audible manner, as such places never spoke aloud except to mimic human speech as a means of luring the unwary into depths unknown.

  All around, the tunnel walls, ceiling, and floor began to rumble and shake as the entity expressed its displeasure. I took it as a sure sign of an impending collapse that would trap me here, if not kill me outright, and instinctively cast a protective sphere of shadow magic around myself. Now it was merely a matter of whether Maeve would attend to this incursion before her home buried me alive.

  As I’d suspected—or gambled, depending on one’s perspective—soon the shaking and trembling subsided, just as a bright, diaphanous light floated toward my position. When the light had finally neared, an attractive, well-dressed, middle-aged woman with a slender athletic figure stepped out of the light a few feet from me.

  “Hound,” she said in a level yet imperious tone, somehow managing to look down on me despite our difference in height.

  “Your majesty,” I replied with a florid bow. While I might enjoy getting under her skin, one could only be so clever without incurring the wrath of a queen of the fae. Thus, manners were always in order when visiting Queen Maeve.

  The corner of her mouth twitched in what might have been the beginnings of a smile—or a sneer. “Come, before the House decides that my wrath is of lesser import than its own.”

  I followed Maeve out of the tunnel and through a metal utility door, of the kind found in many subway tunnels and sewer systems. We exited into a brightly lit, wood-paneled hallway, with windows on the left-hand side that overlooked a well-manicured lawn. We traversed the corridor, reaching the end where we passed through a white wood-paneled door, into a functional sitting and reading room that was decorated in late Victorian style.

  Maeve sat down on a high-backed reading chair next to a low table littered with aged tomes and books that looked quite rare and expensive. She gestured for me to sit in the opposite chair. I did so, folding my hands in my lap and waiting expectantly as she finished reading a rather ancient-looking parchment that, from what I could tell, was covered in symbols that were pre-Sumerian.

  After a period of several minutes, she set the document down and fixed me with her gaze. “So, Hound—what brings you to my home this evening?”

  The sun had been shining outside the windows of the hallway that we took to reach the study, but that meant nothing. It could have been an illusion, perhaps for my benefit as a display of strength and power, or simply because the Queen preferred to work in daylight rather than dark. I paid the comment no mind, as it profited one little to engage the fae in their cruel, petty games.

  “My Queen, I came to inform you of a potential incursion into your realm.”

  “Oh?” she said as she grabbed a cup of tea that hadn’t been there a moment before. “An incursion no less insulting than yours?”

  “Yes, well—I did announce my arrival before I appeared, as you had suggested I should do on previous visits.”

  “Yes, I did indeed suggest that, as I also suggested you wait the queue and use the front door on future visits. But you, much like the druid, seem to enjoy kicking against the pricks.”

  I ignored that comment, as it wouldn’t be prudent to press the matter further. “Getting back to the matter of the incursion—a question, if I may.” I waited for her to nod in acquiescence before continuing. “My Queen, what do you know of a relationship between the vampires and the fae royalty of Underhill?”

  She set her teacup down and steepled her fingers. “Have you come across evidence of such an arrangement or alliance?” she asked in a flat tone, her face expressionless.

  “Perhaps I have, although I cannot be certain,” I said, playing the game that all fae played in politics and war—that of concealing one’s intentions, as well as the amount of information to which one was privy. “Yet, before I made any public accusations, I decided to come here first to verify the facts. Certainly, the Queen herself would know if vampires were trafficking humans from and through her demesne, then delivering them to Underhill.”

  I let my statement hang in the air, watching Maeve in my peripheral vision while fixing my eyes on the floral pattern in the wallpaper. It was never a good idea to make eye contact with one of the fae for very long, nor was it prudent to stare at fae royalty. The only sign she might be perturbed was the fact that she closed her eyes, ever so briefly, while she considered what I had just said.

  “And why are the humans of such consequence to you, Hound? Are you not a creature of the fae, if not by birth then by reinvention? Or have you, in splitting with your adoptive mother and father, rekindled those human emotions they worked so hard to strip from you when you were a child?”

  “I merely wish to act in the best interests of the Queen of the demesne in which I reside,” I said matter-of-factly. “Thus, I determined that if I should come across such information, it would be wise to bring that information to the Queen posthaste. Or was I mistaken?”

  “Such information would be valued by your Queen, yes,” she said, lifting her saucer and cup from the table and taking another sip of her tea. “And if the Queen were advised of such an occurrence, she would investigate it—immediately.”

  “Then I’m glad to have made myself of service, my Queen,” I said with a nod.

  “Is that all you came to tell me today, Crowley?”

  “I should think, but there is another less pressing mattering niggling at my memory,” I said, pausing before I raised a finger in the air. “Ah, now I have it. Does the name Grythelias mean anything to you?”

  The Queen sipped her tea as if I had just mentioned the weather, or perhaps my plans for an evening meal. But the taut set of her mouth and the slight crinkling around her eyes told me everything I needed to know about whether the Queen recognized that name.

  “The name means nothing to me,” she said. “Do you know this person?”

  I flashed a pleasant smile. “The name merely came up in conversation recently. He’s said to be a mage of some talent, which I found curious as I knew of no such person residing in your demesne. That is all.”

  “Hmm, yes. I’m at a loss as well. But if one were to find out more about an individual who bore that name, they would need to inquire among those who move in circles that do not intersect with our court.”

  “I understand, your Majesty,” I said with another nod of acquiescence. I waited for a few more moments before speaking again. “With your leave, my Queen?”

  “You are dismissed,” she said.

  I stood, faced her, and gave her a respectful bow—the closest thing to a thank you one could safely give to a fae queen. As I reached the door, the sound of her voice stopped me in my tracks.

  “And Hound?”

  “Yes, your majesty?” I said as I turned to address her.

  “I may not come to investigate, the next time your stealthy footsteps tread the hidden paths within my home.”

  “I’ll consider myself warned, your majesty.”

  As I left the study, I encountered one of her underlings waiting outside the room to escort me to the front door. As I strolled down the front steps of the Queen’s manse, I considered the message she’d conveyed in the subtext of our conver
sation. The Fae of Underhill had been working with the vampires, against her wishes, to traffic humans through her demesne. And, she would be in my debt if I were to take care of that situation for her—something I fully intended to do, posthaste.

  15

  Since it was quite apparent that I wasn’t going to get any more information from Maeve or her subordinates, I went to see Templeton.

  Templeton was a hedge wizard who lived on the streets of Austin, Texas. And not only was he a hedge wizard; he was the hedge wizard, leader of the various self-taught mages, warlocks, and witches who lived among the homeless population in the city.

  One might be tempted to ask why a person with magical abilities would want to live on the streets instead of in a safe, secure domicile. However, the question itself was based on a false assumption. Supernatural creatures and races, and humans who had truck with those races, did not think like the average, ordinary human being. False assumptions like that often got mundanes killed when they came into contact with creatures from The World Beneath.

  Of course, many of the mundanes who lived on the streets didn’t think like regular humans either, at least not like those who lived in the mainstream of society. Certainly, some of the homeless population were there due to unlucky circumstances, or some sort of addiction—drugs, alcohol, or gambling. And others were there because they suffered from mental health issues. But many of the homeless chose the lifestyle, which was a fact that was difficult for people in the mainstream to accept.

  Personally, however, I saw the attraction. Anyone who had been enslaved—whether enslaved by another, by the chains of social norms, or otherwise—could recognize the attraction of having absolute freedom to do whatever the individual might will. That I did not look down on the homeless for their choices or circumstance was one of the many reasons why Templeton and I got along so well.

  I found Templeton in his usual place, begging on a corner a few blocks from the homeless camp under Interstate 35. This was his corner, and when he wasn’t here, nobody else took it. Whether from fear of respect, I couldn’t say—but I suspected it was a bit of both that kept his competition away from his territory.

  The hedge wizard noticed me approaching when I was still halfway down the block. It was his business to notice such things, because Templeton did not make his living by begging, although he certainly derived income from it. No, Templeton made his living by selling information, the kind you could only get when you were so overlooked by society that you were functionally invisible.

  He was a thin black man, of average height and build, with shaggy, salt-and-pepper dreadlocks and a short, neatly cropped beard and mustache to match. He wore an olive drab U.S. Army field jacket over a threadbare gray and blue striped sweater, a T-shirt, and several necklaces and charms braided from a variety of colored string, glass beads, bones, and leather cordage. As for the rest of his wardrobe, he wore paint-stained and faded blue jeans, tucked into scuffed black combat boots that had been left open and untied at the top.

  Each of his charms had a purpose, one that only a skilled magician would recognize. Considering their craftsmanship, it made me wonder if Templeton had once had classical magical training. And why not? Amongst the homeless population in Austin, one could find former CEOs, attorneys, physicians, and other professionals who had, for one reason or another, ended up on the streets. Why should it be any different for those clued into The World Beneath?

  As I approached, he spread his arms wide, smiling with perfect white teeth that belied his otherwise world-weary appearance. “Crowley, my man. Appreciate you taking care of that—situation. It is taken care of, right? I mean, I ain’t seen any of my people go missing lately.”

  “It is, but that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Cool, cool,” he said, glancing up and down the street. “What you got for me today?”

  I dropped a $100 bill into his bowl, folded up and slipped under a pile of creased and crumpled ones and fives so no one would notice. At that, Templeton’s expression went from smiling to somber in an instant. He grunted softly and rubbed his chin as he stared at the bowl.

  “You bringing trouble my way, changeling?”

  “Just a bit of information, that’s all. Then, I’ll be on my way.”

  Templeton looked up and down the street again with feigned nonchalance. Then he snatched up his bowl, tucking it into an unseen pocket inside his field jacket while palming the hundred-dollar bill I’d just dropped into the receptacle.

  “Follow me,” he said.

  I trailed a few feet behind as he strolled seemingly without hurry or care around the corner and into the alley that ran between Sixth and Seventh. Once we reach the alley, he vaulted himself bottom-first atop a trash dumpster, dangling his feet like a child as he produced a cigarette that mysteriously lit itself.

  “Word is, some shadow mage has been tangling with the fae. But not Maeve’s people. Fair Folk from down below.”

  “That’s why I come to you for information,” I said. “Because you are very well-informed.”

  He nodded knowingly as he blew smoke out his nostrils. “Shit happens down here and all over the city that even people who are clued in don’t know about. Folks disappearing off the streets, never to be seen again. Hookers getting their guts torn out, missing eyeballs and other organs when they’re found—and it all gets swept under the rug. Cops keep it under wraps, because who cares about a bunch of prostitutes and street people? And the powers that be in The World Beneath turn a blind eye as well. Why rock the boat, right?”

  “Predators and prey,” I remarked. “On either side of the border that separates our world from theirs. And that will likely never change.”

  He took a few puffs off the cigarette, then flicked ash absently over the side of the dumpster. “Unless someone decides to be an agent of change, right? So, why don’t you tell me what information you need, and I’ll let you know if your hunnert is enough.”

  “I need to know about a half-fae wizard who goes by the name of Griff.”

  “Ooh-ee, but you are trodding in some deep shit today,” he said as a sour grin split his face. The hedge wizard sat still for a moment, squinting and frowning as he gave my request his full attention. “Can’t give you any information directly, because I ain’t got it, but I can tell you who knows. And you ain’t gonna like it.”

  “Tell me anyway. I’m quite practiced at accepting unfortunate news.”

  “One you gotta speak with is Black Agnes,” he said, stabbing the air with the cherry of his cigarette to punctuate his statement. When I said nothing in reply, he pursed his lips and nodded. “Uh-huh. Said you wouldn’t like it.”

  Templeton was right. I did not like the idea of visiting Black Agnes. Certainly, she was an individual of a type I was quite familiar with, having been partially raised by Peg Powler in Underhill. However, Peg had given up her predilection for devouring human children ages ago and had instead devoted her very long life to mastering the intricacies of fae magic.

  And while Peg had often threatened to eat me in various ways—spitting, quartering, roasting, prepared as a stew, and so on—she never followed through on her threats. I came to realize over time that she was lonely, at least in the sense that any fae creature could be lonely. And for that reason, because I offered her the sort of companionship she could not get from others of her kind, she suffered my presence and took a young, precocious, abused boy under her wing.

  Yet I never made the mistake of thinking that Peg was anything but a predator. I never let my guard down around her, and I made certain that if she did decide to eat me on some whim, she would be hard-pressed to catch and make a meal of me. While I did have some fond memories of my time spent in Peg’s swamps, and while I might even hold what could be considered as a fondness for the old hag, she was still fae, and fae creatures could never be trusted.

  Which was why I cared little for visiting Black Agnes. Unlike Peg, she’d never given up her predatory ways from what I’d heard. Tha
t was likely why she chose to live in the swamps of Caddo Lake, in far East Texas near the Louisiana border. It was on the edge of three different territories, each run by different powers, making it somewhat of a no man’s land in the world beneath.

  To the East sat New Orleans, run by a coven of vampires that were as bloodthirsty as any you’d meet, whose presence was balanced by that of the voodoo priests and priestesses who’d been there for generations. The two factions maintained an uneasy truce, but their combined presence kept other factions from entering NOLA and establishing a foothold. So distracted were they by keeping the balance in their city, they cared little for what went on outside the city and the swamplands of Lake Pontchartrain.

  To the South was Houston, which was a sort of no man’s land as far as supernatural species were concerned. Officially, it resided within the boundaries of Queen Maeve’s demesne. Unofficially, except for the outskirts, it was off-limits to vampire covens, ’thrope packs, and all organized clans of fae.

  That was because any such group that tried to set up shop in the city proper disappeared without a trace. Nobody knew how or why, although I suspected Maeve had more than an inkling, and perhaps had even brokered a truce of secrecy with whatever powerful entity had claimed the place. Regardless of the particulars and despite the size of the city and its massive population, the factions tended to ignore it, and it remained a territory unto itself.

  To the west sat Austin, the heart of Queen Maeve’s demesne. Fortunately for Agnes, Lake Caddo was situated far enough away from Maeve’s court to be left alone. That is, so long as the swamp’s residents did not bring undue attention to themselves, thereby bringing trouble to the fae in Austin. Both the climate and the remote locale were agreeable to her and a few other unseelie fae, and that’s where Black Agnes had made her home.