The Junkyard Druid Box Set 1 Read online

  Shit. I have to stop now. I’ll write more about it tomorrow. It just hurts too much to keep going today.

  -McC

  Austin, TX—Present Day

  The bloody tooth flew through my window, ricocheted off the wall, and landed on my pillow. I knew that it flew through the window because of the sound it made when it pierced the glass at several hundred feet per second. And I knew it was a tooth, because I turned the light on saw it gleaming on my pillow, just inches from where my head had rested moments before.

  How did I know it was a human tooth? Because humans are the only species known to replace their teeth with gold facsimiles. The fae races weren’t very fond of having metal anywhere in their bodies, even precious metals that didn’t cause them pain. And weres and vampires, well—if they lost a tooth, it’d just grow back after a good night’s sleep. Or day’s sleep, if it had come from a vampire.

  Nope, this was a human tooth, no doubt about it. And while I wanted to pretend it had just been some neighborhood kid with a pellet gun, it fell on me to find out who was tuning this person up, and to stop it before they got seriously hurt. Because while the victim may have been human, whoever was dishing out this beating definitely was not human—no human could hit someone hard enough to knock a tooth out and send it flying at several hundred feet per second. Plus, the dogs weren’t barking, which told me they were using a glamour to hide themselves from the mundane world.

  I sighed and stuck my bare feet in my running shoes, heading out my bedroom door into the warehouse. I paused to kiss my fingers and transfer that kiss to Jesse’s photo before leaving my room. Two years after Jesse’s death, and I was living in a rented room that held nothing more than a cot, a hot plate, a huge steamer trunk, a meditation mat, and plenty of shelves to hold all my books and my dad’s classic punk LPs. It wasn’t much, but my mom’s cousin let me sleep here in exchange for keeping an eye on his junkyard at night. Since I hadn’t been able to hold down a real job, this was the best I could manage without having to move back in with my mom. The room came with use of the public restroom facilities (joy) and access to a garden hose out back, which I’d attached to a makeshift outdoor shower for whenever I needed to bathe.

  Truth was, it wasn’t all that bad. Whenever I wasn’t in class I could help out at the counter or in the yard pulling parts, and I got paid for that work just like any other employee. You couldn’t beat the rent, considering that I lived in Austin, Texas, where even cheap apartments were well beyond the means of a struggling college student. And, living just off South Congress gave me ready access to public transportation. Plus I was just a short hike from SoCo, where all the cool kids liked to hang out. So I wasn’t about to complain about having a cheap place to live for the next six years or so.

  As I exited the warehouse, I saw the dogs pacing back and forth and whining by the gates. Rufus and Roscoe were both the result of a love match between a Doberman and pit bull, and they were up for chewing on pretty much anything that crossed over the fence at night. And while they couldn’t see or hear whatever was outside the gates, they knew something was up, so they were both anxious to go outside and bite something. I scratched them both behind the ears and gave them the command to stay. Until I knew what was going on, I didn’t want some unseelie nasty eating my uncle’s dogs.

  That was another benefit to living in a junkyard—none of the fae bothered me inside the fence. That was partially because of all the iron and metal, both in the cars and in the sheet metal fence itself, but also because I’d warded the entire property line against any and all fae. I’d had enough of the fae, and wanted nothing more to do with any of them, except for my friend Sabine. Besides, Sabine was only half-fae. While she’d inherited her mother’s magic, she took more after her father than her mom, which was just fine by me.

  Hoping I’d be able to catch a few extra zzz’s before I had to leave for school, I exited the gate and took a few deep breaths to calm myself so I wouldn’t accidentally lose control as I confronted the culprits.

  And culprits they were—four, in fact. I spied their diminutive silhouettes as I exited the junkyard and crept along the fence to where they were soccer kicking a prone, lifeless figure viciously and repeatedly. While the dogs couldn’t sense or smell them, I knew how to see through a glamour and spy on fae who didn’t want to be seen. For years I’d been trained on how to fight every supernatural creature, how to combat their magic, and how to cast wards and cantrips that could turn their powers against them. My teacher had been a powerful druid, the best of the best.

  And currently, he was lying on the ground, getting tuned up by a bunch of bloodthirsty, drug-dealing red caps. Not again.

  “What’s going on here, fellas? Just out for an early morning stroll and decided to beat up an old man?”

  The red caps kept kicking Finn for a few more seconds, until they realized that I was talking to them. I crossed my arms and leaned up against a light pole as I waited for them to stop beating my former mentor senseless. Oh, I suppose I should’ve jumped in to save him, but then I’d just have been enabling him, and he’d never learn the consequences of his addictions. And besides, he was immortal or damn near it… and I was currently avoiding violence in all its various forms.

  The red caps all turned to look at me at once, and one of them spoke to his pals with a thick New York accent. “Hey, ’dis mundane can see us! No fair!”

  Ignoring his comment, I watched them to see what they’d do. While modern culture has turned the red caps into harmless little garden gnomes who sell discount airline tickets and hotel bookings, in truth they were nasty, vile, vicious little sociopaths who killed for fun and dyed their caps with the blood of their victims. Like so many other folk legends and fairy tales, their species was far more dangerous and twisted than the stories made them out to be.

  The largest of the four dropped his hand to the hilt of a wicked-looking knife, tucked in the white leather belt that held his polyester pants up. He was about a meter tall, sturdily built, and clean shaven. His hair was slicked back under a dark red trilby, and he wore a rather loud silk shirt and a set of gold chains that would make any East Coast guido jealous. A pair of white patent leather shoes topped off the ensemble.

  The rest of his crew were similarly dressed. They smelled of cheap cologne and Brylcreem, and sported clothes that made them look more like eighties Italian gangsters than the living nightmares they were. Each of them had a large butcher knife or cleaver hanging from their waists, and they gave me hard stares as their leader spoke up.

  “’Dis ain’t no business of yours, pal. We’re just having a talk with the old man here about a debt he owes us. I suggest youse back off and find something else of interest, or else you’re gonna end up like ’dis guy. Capisce?”

  Journal Entry—Eight Months and Ten Days A.J.

  Sorry I haven’t written in a while. I needed some time to think about how things went down… and I guess to get the courage to keep telling this story.

  Like I was saying, Jesse and I spent a few years living out a fantasy novel. Then, shit got real. Unbeknownst to us, this bitter old hag named Fúamnach showed up behind the scenes, and as it turned out, she had a hard-on for Finnegas. He’d once helped this Celtic deity by the name of Aengus Óg behead her, because she’d driven the love of his life Étaín away with a spell that made her roam the world for seven years. Never mind that Étaín had once been married to Aengus Óg’s foster father Midir, who was also his half-brother, or that Midir had been married to Fúamnach before Étaín stole him away from her. Sure, Étaín got around alright, but apparently this chick was hell on wheels in the sack, because these fools chased her halfway around the world and were willing to trick or kill anyone and anything that got in their way.

  Well, the thing about supernatural creatures is that the really powerful ones can’t truly be killed. Oh, sometimes you can permakill their offspring, but the really strong ones aren’t of this world. So you can kill their physical form, usually by be
heading them or burning them to ash, but when you do their spirit just travels back beyond the Veil to whatever hell they came from, and then in a few hundred years they’re over here again doing all the vicious and cruel shit they did before.

  So, this Fúamnach witch returned from the dead and has been harassing Finnegas ever since. And a witch she is, in every sense of the word. She was a sorceress among the Tuatha Dé Danann, these old-school Irish deities who were eventually defeated by mankind and forced underground, and who would later become known as the sidhe—faery folk. All the modern fae are their progeny, which explains why they’re evil as hell. Fúamnach was among the worst of their kind, bitter and heartless and a master of eldritch sorcery.

  And because Jesse and I were Finn’s students, we ended up in her crosshairs, dead to rights.

  Meh, I’m getting tired now. Think I’ll turn in and pick this back up later.

  -McC

  P.S. This seems to be helping. It’s easier writing about it than it is talking about it.

  P.S.S. I can’t believe I wrote that. What a shitty choice of words.

  Austin, TX—Present Day

  I nodded to the dwarf. “I ‘capisce’ just fine. But what I don’t understand is why you boys thought it would be a good idea to bring your bullshit down to my junkyard. Didn’t Maeve tell you to stay away from here?”

  He hacked snot from the back of his throat and spat at my feet. “No high and mighty faery queen tells the Fear Dearg what to do. We call our own shots, don’t we boys?” He looked back to his crew. Two of them nodded and mumbled in agreement. The third was eyeing me with suspicion.

  That last one leaned forward to give me a closer look. “Um, Rocko? This guy here kinda looks familiar.” He rubbed his chin and narrowed his eyes at me. “You a hunter from the Circle or sumthin’, punk?”

  I let out a long, slow sigh and met him stare for stare. “Keep guessing.”

  The others, in typical fae fashion, were more than eager to rise to the challenge of a riddle, even one that was more like a Trivial Pursuit question than a true hero stumper. They began blurting out guesses, one after another.

  “He’s a were!”

  “No, a vamp!”

  “An exorcist!”

  “Naw, he looks like a Circle wizard to me!”

  I pursed my lips and nodded. “You’re getting warmer…”

  After a short pause, the smallest of the four shouted from the back. “A ninja!” he exclaimed.

  The others eyed him with scrutiny, and the leader scowled. “A ninja? Sal, you stupid chooch—who in the hell believes in ninjas these days?”

  Sal looked hurt as he replied. “I just like ninjas, is all.”

  Rocko pulled off his trilby and gestured as if to backhand Sal with it, and Sal cringed away. The lead dwarf tsked as he returned his hat to his head, and sighed. “Kids ’dese days, I tell you.”

  He turned to me and raised his hands questioningly. “What the hell are you, kid? I really want to know before we break a few more of this guy’s bones, and crack a few of yours for interrupting us.”

  I sniffed in through my nose and cleared my throat in my fist, then stretched and cracked my neck as I rolled out my shoulders. “Me? Oh, I’m just the last apprentice the guy you’re beating on trained.”

  Rocko laughed. “Apprentice? This punk?” He kicked Finn again, who softly moaned in response. “He’s just a washed up old druid, with nuthin’ left in the tank.”

  Sal’s eyes went wide, then he snapped his fingers and tapped Rocko on the shoulder.

  “Waddya want, Sal?” Rocko roared in response.

  “Um, Rocko—that there is the Junkyard Druid.”

  I rolled my eyes and growled in frustration. “How many times do I have to tell you fae, I’m not a druid? I’m a rígfénnid, damn it.”

  Rocko cocked an eyebrow and laughed. “You, a warrior chieftain? For one, I don’t see no warrior band behind you, and second, you don’t look like no fighter to me.”

  I shrugged. “Could be. But my ancestor Fionn MacCumhaill was said to be a fair-haired youth once, as well.”

  Rocko took a step back. “You the one that the witch Fúamnach cursed?”

  I nodded. “The one and only.”

  At that revelation, Rocko and his crew began bowing and scraping away from me, and Rocko apologized profusely. “Kind druid, I had no idea we was interloping on your territory. Forgive us ’dis transgression, and please allow my boys and I to be on our way so we bother youse no more.”

  My voice got higher and tighter as I strangled out a reply. “For the love of Pete, stop calling me a druid!”

  Rocko cringed and cocked his head. “We do not mean to offend, but from what me and my boys have heard, you bear all the standard marks of druid kind.”

  “How so?” I growled.

  “Do you cast spells?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, but—”

  “Are you a friend to animals, large and small?”

  I shrugged. “Sure, but that doesn’t—”

  “Do you prefer natural garments to manmade materials?”

  “This hemp shirt is merely a fashion choice,” I huffed.

  “And do you always pick up litter wherever you go, even when it’s not yours?”

  “Yes, but that’s just being a good citizen!”

  Rocko, Sal and his other two goons gave each other knowing looks. Sal nodded with conviction. “Yep, he’s a druid.”

  I was starting to lose my cool, which I absolutely could not allow to happen. I counted to ten and took a few deep breaths until I found my inner zen.

  “Whatever you want to call me is fine. But it still doesn’t change the fact that you’re beating up my mentor, and in front of my junkyard.”

  The red caps all took a knee, and Sal actually prostrated himself on the ground. Rocko looked up at me as he removed his hat and placed it over his black little heart. “As I said previously, we have no excuse for our actions, and ’derefore we are forced to beg your mercy.”

  Sal whispered behind his hand to another of Rocko’s crew. “Yeah, cuz’ I don’t want to get ripped limb from limb by no cursed druid—I mean, how am I going to feed Sal junior if I got no arms and legs?”

  The other dwarf gasped in exasperation and elbowed Sal hard in the ribs. “Ixnay on the uid-dray, you mook!” he whispered in reply.

  I chose to ignore the exchange, and decided they needed to leave before something bad happened. “Fine, you can go. But first you have to pay to replace the tooth.”

  Rocko looked confused. “What tewt?”

  “The tooth you knocked out.” I pointed at Finn on the ground, who was now struggling to get up. “He’s going to need dental work, and I’m not paying for it.”

  Sal looked panicked as he stood up and rummaged through his pockets. “Here, take this, it’s all I got!” He threw two wads of bills on the sidewalk, where Finn began snatching at them drunkenly.

  Rocko glared at the other two red caps, who nodded and mumbled their acquiescence as they likewise dropped wads of cash on the ground. Rocko turned back to me, head bowed. “Now, may we leave wit-out fear of violence or retribution?”

  I paused and took a deep breath. “I suppose. But if I catch you back here—”

  Rocko cut me off. “You don’t gotta worry ’bout that. We won’t be bothering youse again. Right boys?” His crew mumbled their agreement.

  I squatted to snag the bulk of the cash they’d dropped, before Finn could get his grubby hands on it and spend it on smack; dental work was expensive. As they backed away, I spared them a final glance. “Fine, get out of here before I change my mind.”

  The dwarves beat feet and disappeared into a 70s model Cadillac parked halfway down the block. After I felt certain they had gone, I got Finn to his feet and helped him to the gate. He smelled of piss, booze, and stale sweat, as well as fresh blood. Once through the gate, I propped him against the fence while I shut and locked it. The dogs sniffed at Finn and licked his hands. Animals lov
ed that guy, especially dogs, who didn’t hold grudges and didn’t care how screwed up a human was. They’d ignore your faults and love you just the same.

  Me? I didn’t share that trait.

  “You didn’t have to do that, you know. I can look after myself just fine,” the old man said as I slung his arm over my shoulder and walked him toward the warehouse.

  “You’re welcome,” I replied archly. I noted that he barely weighed as much as my mom, who had always been bird thin. He hardly had any meat on his arm, and I could feel his ribs through his bloody shirt.

  “You need to eat more, old man. You can’t live off skag and booze forever, you know.”

  He snorted. “Hell if I can’t.” Finn stabbed a thumb in his chest. “That’s my curse, boy—to live another thousand years with the consequences of all my sins.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re a pagan, you don’t believe in sin.”

  “Hah!” he countered. “Who do you think invented the concept, long before the first missionaries set foot on my fair isle? Just because we didn’t worship the Christian deity, it doesn’t mean we didn’t have morals.”

  “I realize that, Finn—just forget I said anything.” As we entered the restroom, I kicked the toilet lid down and helped him take a seat so I could wash him up. Most of his bruises and cuts would be healed by this evening, and any broken bones would heal up within a day or two. The old man was tough, and centuries of magic use had granted him a hardiness and limited immortality that many humans would envy.

  But he was right; it was more a curse than a blessing. No one should have to live as long as he had, and bear the weight of seeing so many people you loved die—whether to disease, old age, or violence. Still, after thousands of years, you’d think he’d have developed better coping mechanisms.

  I grabbed an old hand towel, wetted it in the sink, and gently wiped the blood from his face and hands. “I loved her too, you know. And if anyone should feel guilt or remorse for what happened to Jesse, it’s me. I’m the one who killed her.”