A Gilded Cage (Chronicles of an Urban Druid Book 1)

by Auburn Tempest

  He lifts his lips and shows me his monstrous teeth. I’m rethinking eating you.

  “Tetchy. Okay, for now, let’s go with Bear.”

  I straighten, a strange sensation crawling over my skin.

  It reminds me of how it felt those first days after my druid side woke and my Spidey-senses were tingling off the charts. “Do you feel that?”

  Feel what?

  I turn to the window and scream as a blue bolt of lightning rockets out of the sky at my grandparents. My heart pounds behind my ribs as the interior of the house passes in a blur. I’m outside, running around the house and toward the back lawn as another blue bolt shoots at me.

  The tackle comes hard and fast.

  Taken to the ground by a grizzly bear leaves me dizzy and stunned.

  Stay here. Yer not ready to take on a magical attack.

  His words ring in my ears, and it takes me a minute to clear my head. I want to argue, but he’s right. There are men in black cloaks throwing lightning and fireballs at my grandfather, and the only thing I can do is make a bean sprout.

  By the time the world stops spinning, Granda has one hand above his head, holding a protective dome around him and Gran, and is spellcasting with the other.

  He’s incredible.

  My hippie flower child image of him is forever shattered.

  He’s a freaking wizard.

  My legs are still firmly in wet noodle territory, but I force them to hold my weight and stumble forward to take cover behind the stone half-wall of the garden. A flash of light beside me has my fight and flight response kicking in.

  Thankfully, I realize it’s Sloan before I give him a cheap shot to the crotch. His dark eyes widen as he takes in my state. I point to the melee unleashed on the lawn. “Go. Help them.”

  I give the guy credit. From the moment he teleports and sees me, to the next, he catches up on the situation and rushes to my grandparents’ aid.

  Da has said a million times that fights in real life aren’t like the ones you see on TV. In most of the altercations he’s involved in or is called to break up, the physical conflict is over in minutes.

  Minutes feel like years when your grandparents are under attack.

  Granda keeps Gran safe and calls on defensive spells.

  Bear slashes at a magical shield between him and three attackers. He seems to be making headway and keeps them busy instead of advancing on my grandparents.

  Sloan raises a wall of stone from the ground, shielding them long enough for Granda to push Gran free of the dome and shift to an offensive stance.

  I burst out from behind my shelter and run to meet Gran. For a woman in her seventies, she’s impressively fit.

  “Gran, are you okay?” I gather her in my arms and tug her out of harm’s way.

  “I’m ragin’ mad, luv.” She tucks behind the stone wall with me. She holds her hand out and closes her eyes. When a pine marten scurries to her feet a moment later, my mouth drops open.

  The little guy is calm as can be.

  Doesn’t he realize the world is filled with killer blue lightning and battle bears and fireballs exploding in the air? Gran picks up the rodent and turns it to speak directly to him. “Lugh and I are under attack. Send help.”

  I’m not sure what the brown ferret can do to help, but when she puts him down, the cobblestone walk shimmers, and he disappears. “What the…”

  “Animal messenger,” Gran says as if that explains everything. Without waiting for my response, she shuffles to the end of the patio wall and places her palms flat on the ground.

  Her power tingles over my skin as a rumble builds beneath us. Gran’s lips move, but she’s speaking so quickly and softly in Irish, I can’t translate what she’s saying.

  “Away with ye, now.” She sends off a rippling pulse of earth. The grassy tidal wave rolls across the back lawn toward the attackers. Their focus splits as the ground beneath their feet heaves and knocks them off balance.

  A moment later, a half-dozen flashes fire on the back lawn. Members of the Order flood the yard.

  In a matter of a minute, it’s obvious the tide has turned. “And the good guys win.” I stand.

  Gran turns to answer, and her eyes grow wide and wild.

  I sense the surge of magic behind me a second too late.

  The searing pain of steel piercing my flesh sucks the breath from my lungs. At the same time, the roar of a murderous bear fills my ears.

  I grip the bloody blade where it rips through my shirt. My hands are slick as I drop to my knees. All I can think of is that I’ve ruined one of Da’s shirts.

  Chapter Twelve

  I regain consciousness lying on a brocade and velvet coverlet in a room Sloan would describe as having more historical charm than anything in my trifling new world life. Which is to say the place is old, smells slightly musty, and the stone walls are crumbling bits of detritus onto the floors.

  “Bear?” I whisper. “Are you here?”

  I am. I feel yer heart picking up speed, but there’s no need. Yer as safe as ye’ve ever been.

  I lift the blanket off my chest and brush my fingers down the cotton nightie I’m wearing to probe my side. “Somebody patched me up again?”

  That Wallace fellow from the other night.

  “So, what happened after I got shish kabobbed?”

  I’m sorry, Red. I felt yer fear a split-second before yer pain. I took care of the woman who skewered ye, but it shouldn’t have happened. I failed ye.

  “No. You saved my grandparents. That’s exactly what I wanted you to do. We’ll figure out how to work together so no one gets hurt. All’s well that ends well. And you took care of Lady Stabby McStabber.”

  Messy, that bit. Then yer surly man from the shrine portaled yer family here.

  “Gran and Granda are here too? Are they okay?”

  Yer gran seemed well enough. Last I saw, yer granda wasn’t long fer this existence.

  I bolt upright in the bed and hiss. Wallace may have patched up the hole in my side, but I feel like I’ve been dragged through a knothole. “Where are my clothes?”

  Burned, I believe. Surly boy did leave ye a present on the wee table though.

  I slide off the bed and catch sight of a red suitcase sitting on an antique table beside the closet. No. It’s not a red suitcase—it’s my red suitcase—and it’s sitting next to my computer bag. “Thank you, baby Yoda.”

  Rushing barefooted across the patchwork of fancy area rugs, I close the distance between me and my long-lost belongings. I pause with my hands in the air. “I take it Sloan and his people removed all hexes, curses, and bad juju my things might carry?”

  That’s a sound bet.

  “Good enough.” The first thing I do is pull the adapter power cord out of my bag and plug in my laptop and phone. “There you go, babies. You must be so thirsty.”

  With the flashing green lights signifying my electronics are juicing up, I move to my suitcase. The luggage lock is gone, but that doesn’t surprise me. If Sloan was right about the creepy woman at the airport, she probably snooped inside the moment my bag caught up to me.

  I give the contents a quick inventory, but everything seems to be here. Awesomesauce. After grabbing a fresh bra and panties, I whip off the borrowed nightie and slip into my clothes for the first time in…six days? Seven?

  I free my hair from the neck of a navy and teal tank, pull my Lululemon yoga pants up my thighs, and shrug into a zippered hoodie. A glance into the mirror makes me smile. “There I am. I was beginning to worry I’d never feel like myself again.”

  A knock on the door makes me jump. “I spelled the room to let me know when yer awake. May I come in?”

  I roll my eyes at the back of the door. “You may. And you should be safe from scorn for at least ten minutes. Thank you for retrieving my stuff.”

  Sloan strides through the door, his gait stiff, his shaggy black hair damp as if he’s fresh from the shower. Unbidden, my thoughts take a quick turn toward what that
would look like. Dammit. There’s no getting around him being a hottie.

  “Are ye in pain?” He frowns at me and snaps me from my naughty daydream. “Ye’ve got a strange look on yer face.”

  I wave that away and give him my back while the heat of my blush colors my cheeks. Studiously, I fold the cotton nightie someone loaned me and shake my head. “How’s Granda?”

  “That’s why I’ve come.” Sloan’s voice doesn’t hold its usual condescending edge, and that scares me. I turn, and the sympathy in his eyes makes my fear ten times worse. “He’ll not last long, I’m afraid.”

  “Was he injured in the attack?”

  Sloan leans back against the front edge of the chest of drawers and stretches out his long legs. His feet are bare, and I curse my hormones.

  Sexy guy in jeans and bare feet, that’s not fair.

  “The attack forced him to abandon his hold on the energy overwhelming him to protect yer gran. He hasn’t got the magical strength left to harness it. It’ll kill him within hours.”

  Hours? My heart aches for the loss of a grandfather I’m only beginning to know. Poor Gran. Poor Da. The two of them might be equally stubborn, but Da will regret not making things right before Granda dies.

  “I fetched yer belongings as a sort of peace offering,” Sloan says. “The other night, ye said some things that rang true. Ye were brought here with an end in mind and judged fer not warmin’ up to it. It wasn’t fair. And, fer my part in makin’ ye feel deceived, I am sorry.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to help. It’s—”

  “I get it. It took me a bit to get there, but if our roles were reversed, I couldn’t give up Ireland and who I am fer someone I met a week ago and a life I never wanted.”

  I draw a heavy breath. “Thank you.”

  He dips his chin. “Don’t thank me yet. I also think yer stubborn and short-sighted, and ye fail to see how shunnin’ yer heritage damages something larger than ye realize. I took it fer selfishness until now, but after yer outburst the other night, I think yer merely ignorant.”

  “If this is you giving me a pep-talk, you suck at it.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Ye locked onto what ye’ll lose and aren’t willin’ to see another solution—one that saves Lugh.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and lift my chin. “Well then, by all means, tell me what I’m missing, oh wise one.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m waiting outside the door to the guest room where Granda is dying. I shake my hands, searching the long, stone hallway of the MacKenzie castle while waiting for Sloan to join me.

  Are ye sure about this, Fi?

  “Yeah. Sloan’s right. It’s win-win.”

  Fer now. But not—

  “Let’s focus on now. Otherwise, I might chicken out.”

  Sloan rounds the corner with the wooden case we retrieved from the shrine tucked under his arm. “Are ye all right, Cumhaill?”

  I nod. “Not even close.”

  He smirks. “Yer so strange.”

  I knock and walk, letting myself into Granda’s room. Gran looks up from where she lays next to my grandfather lying unconscious on the bed. He looks awful, like, end of days awful. “Och, Fi, I’m glad to see ye up and about, luv.”

  My guilt over hoping that Gran and Granda felt bad for putting me in this position dissolves the instant I see her puffy, red eyes. What wouldn’t I do to save Da or one of my brothers? Nothing.

  “Gran, I’m so sorry.”

  She shakes her head and sits while opening her arm for me to come to hug her on the bed. “There’s no need fer ye to apologize. We’ve had a great run, Lugh and me. And our love made Niall and by extension, you six. No regrets.”

  Hugging Gran brings back the painful loss of my mother. It’s agony when you’re the one left helpless on the sidelines.

  Except I’m not entirely helpless.

  Not this time.

  I swallow and straighten. My resolve is solidifying. “Okay, Sloan, let’s do this. Gran, you’re going to get those extra years you and Granda were hoping for.”

  Sloan sets the wooden case on the bed and passes his hand over the howling wolf insignia. When the magical lock on the box clicks open, he eases the lid off to reveal two black metal crowns adorned with Celtic symbols and gemstones.

  He passes one to me and one to Gran.

  Gran looks at me, surprise, worry, and hope warring for dominance in her expression. “Are ye sure?”

  “Sloan suggested a compromise I think I can live with. In any case, it’ll give us time to think of a better solution.”

  She swallows, and I see how torn she is.

  “It’s okay, Gran. I’m making this choice knowing what it could mean. It’s not coercion or guilt—okay, it’s a little bit guilt, but mostly it’s because I think it’s the right choice for you, Granda, and Da.”

  “Ye failed to mention the most important person this affects, luv. Ye can’t do this if it’s solely fer everyone else.”

  I shrug. “I can’t say I’m thrilled, but I’ll deal. Ye might be able to knock down a Cumhaill, but ye’ll never be able to hold one down.”

  Gran nods. “Thank you, mo chroi. I swear to ye, I’ll move mountains to ensure ye never regret it.”

  After seeing her ripple the ground to topple our attackers, I believe maybe she could move mountains. Taking the steel ring, I place the ancient laurel on my head. “Okay, let’s get this power transfer party started. Sloan, you have the floor.”

  “Yer off yer nut,” Granda says when I finish laying out the terms of my offer four hours later. It took longer than we expected for him to wake up, but he suffered the strain of the overload for decades. No one is sure how much damage it did to his insides. “Either yer a druid or yer not. Ye can’t take on the kind of power we’re talking about, then flit off to North America and expect it to thrive.”

  I shrug and move the tea tray off the bed and onto the dresser. “It’s a moot point now because it’s a done deal.”

  “Druids draw power from the ancient fae grounds and the groves which sustain us. Ye can’t be what we are in a place strangled by buildings and asphalt.”

  “No. You can’t be a druid there,” I say. “Ireland is in your blood, and it feeds your soul. To me, the city is the beating rhythm of my heart. It’s my energy and life. It’s everything I need to thrive—my family, Shenanigans, my creaky old Victorian house, my old, rusty car.”

  “It’s not the same at all.”

  I grab a cookie off the sweets plate. “Says you. How many druids do you know who have ventured off to live in the urban streets?”

  “None. That’s my point.”

  “No, that’s my point. If no one’s ever tried, how can you be so sure it can’t work?”

  Granda huffs and looks at his wife for support.

  Not happening. Gran is with me on this. I saved her husband’s life, and she’s firmly on Team Fi for however I want to play this. “Granda, I have Da’s power and the sparks that belong to my brothers and me. I’ll stay long enough to get a handle on things. I’ll train. I’ll grow strong. And then, in two or five or ten years down the road when you’re gone, I’ll preserve our duty as Shrine-Keeper.”

  “Lugh.” Gran sits on the opposite side of the bed. “Try it Fiona’s way first. It gives ye both time to see who’s right. Fiona needs to adjust to her power and grow into the warrior she’s marked to be. She misses her family.”

  Granda’s scowl is one for the ages. “And how do I explain this at the meeting of the Nine Families next week at the Tralee Festival?”

  “Ye’ll think of something. The point is, at least yer alive to speak to them. That’s what matters most.”

  “How’s the oul man?” Sloan asks as I leave my grandparents to themselves for a while. I don’t know how long he’s been waiting out here, but given the dedication he’s shown to my Granda over the past week, probably the entire time.

  “Stubborn and annoyed with both of us for doing the transfer behind
his back but strong enough to tell me I’m a daft eejit for thinking I can go home.”

  Sloan pushes off the wall. “With the siphoning of power, at least he won’t shatter all our light fixtures. Mam strengthened the wards against power surges just in case. Lugh’s now known as the destroyer of light.”

  I laugh. “Is that why there’s no electricity at their house? Granda blew it up?”

  He nods. “He became a gigantic lightning rod about eight months ago. Yer gran took it in stride, but I think she misses watching HGTV and her News One on the telly.”

  I’m still giggling over my nature-powered gran watching HGTV when we arrive at my bedroom door. “Thanks again.” I head inside. “Seriously, you saved his life as much or more than I did. I owe you one.”

  He hesitates, looking expectant.

  What? He doesn’t think… Yeah no, owing him one doesn’t get him an invitation into my bedroom.

  Hells to the no.

  “We should start yer training straight away.” He derails my delusion.

  “Thank goodness.”

  “What?” he says, frowning.

  “Nothing. Sorry. What were you saying?”

  “Yer training. I realize we’re oil and water, but yer cells are surging with more power than any novice has ever had thrust into their system. Add to that yer bound to a greater bear spirit, and yer body must be humming. Ye’ll need basic training right away, and Lugh will be in bed until tomorrow at least. We should start right away.”

  Oil and water are generous. Sloan and I are more like kerosene and flame. “All right. Grant me internet access, and I’ll try to behave long enough to learn something.”

  “Grant it yerself, and we’ll call it yer first lesson.” He steps past me and heads for my computer. “Come on, Cumhaill. Yer a conduit of magical energy now. Internet passwords are beneath ye. Think like a druid.”

  Think like a druid, eh? This could be dangerous.

  “Okay, let’s fire up some magic.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Cumhaill, meet Manx, my faithful animal companion.” I watch in wonder as a lanky lynx lumbers out of the woods behind the Mackenzie manse—a.k.a. Stonecrest Castle—and trots over to where the two of us are set up in the outdoor training ring. Covered in a long, gray-gold coat, the cat pads closer with the ease and grace only a feline can pull off.