When he sits directly in front of us, Sloan scrubs over the fur on his head, scratches his black-tipped ears, and pats his cheek. “Manx and I partnered up eight years ago on my eighteenth birthday. I’d be lost without him.”
The genuine warmth in Sloan’s ode to his companion shocks me more than a little. The guy does have a gooey center underneath the crust of all that autocratic bullshit.
Who knew?
I hold out my hand for Manx to sniff. “Hello, Manx. My goodness, you’re handsome. With your beautiful coat and sexy green eyes, I bet you get all the neighborhood puss—”
“Don’t ye dare finish that.” Sloan scowls at me. “Manx isn’t a neighborhood tom. He’s a majestic and highly-trained magical familiar.”
I flutter my lashes, feigning awe. “Well, sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. It was going to be a compliment.”
“And taken as such,” the cat says while dipping his chin. “Excuse Sloan. He’s too serious for his good.”
“Don’t I know it. Someone should pull the broomstick out of his ass.”
“I’m afraid it’s too integrated into his personality. He’d collapse without the support.”
I laugh, but sober when I catch Sloan’s reaction.
He purses his lips and his eyes narrow on me. “Don’t ye dare turn my companion against me, ye wee bitch. One minute in yer company and my only true friend is talking yer smack? I’ll not have ye ruinin’ him.”
“I’m sorry.” I mean it. I offer him a genuine look of apology. “He’s gorgeous. You should be proud.”
“I’m sorry too, sham,” Manx says. “After everythin’ ye said about her, I thought a little humor might be great craic. My mistake.”
Cue an awkward pause.
The flutter of my bear inside me precedes the pop of pressure in my chest. A split-second later, he’s standing in the battle ring with us, and the awkward pause breaks.
“All right, more introductions. Sloan and Manx, this is my animal companion, Bear.”
He growls. Bear is what I am, not who I am. If ye don’t like Bruinior the Beast, can I not be known as Bruinior the Brave since I saved your grandparents?
I shake my head. “No.”
What? You don’t think I was brave?
“Of course, I do. All right.” I give my attention back to Sloan and Manx. “Please call my animal companion Bruinior the Brave.”
Sloan rolls his eyes. “Next lesson. Yer bear is not what druids consider an animal companion. He’s a battle beast or a bound spirit.”
“He’s an animal, and he’s my companion.”
“True enough, but he’s intended to be used as a weapon. A tool fer ye to use. Not a companion.”
Bruinior bares his teeth and lets out a growl that rumbles deep in my chest. It’s scary to see him being aggressive.
Sloan looks equally affected.
“He doesn’t appreciate your opinion on that. So, to keep you from getting chomped or stomped by an irate bear, let’s go with him being an animal companion.”
Sloan rolls his eyes. “Why am I not surprised that the bear spirit that chose ye is as unruly and independent as his master?”
I walk over, wrap my arms around my bear’s neck, and giggle while rubbing my face into his fur’s lush depths. “Consider us well-matched.”
“Yeah.” Bruinior waves his maw in the air. “What she said.”
I hear his voice outside my head and straighten. “You can talk out loud?”
“If I wish.”
Sloan nods. “Another difference between animal companions and yer battle beast—”
My bear’s growl cuts off his words.
He swallows and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Sorry. Yer non-traditional animal companion is that because yer spirits are bound, ye can communicate with or without words.”
“Cool. And others can only hear him if he speaks aloud?”
“Right.”
“Can I speak to him in my head? You know, so no one hears what I’m saying?”
“Of course. If it’s possible to quiet yer mouth and yer mind at the same time.”
“I’ve never tried it, but I think it’s possible.”
“Good, then do that now. Ye should sense a path in yer thoughts that leads to the bear. Access it and say something by thinking it to him.”
I step in front of my furry partner, and he sits on his round rump. Even sitting, his face is almost on the same level as mine. I look deep into his warm, whiskey-gold eyes and feel the connection of our strengths.
I think you’re freaking awesome.
Yer not so bad yerself, Red.
My smile spreads so wide it hurts my cheeks, and I blink back the sting of tears. “That’s so cool.”
Determined to be the best I can be for not only me but my bear, I let my future settle into place. I’m a druid now—no regifting—so, I’m gonna rock this shit.
“Okay, Sloan. What else have you got?”
It’s dark by the time Sloan and I finish druid animal companion 101 and head inside. I pass on joining him and his parents for a late dinner and opt instead for a turkey and swiss sandwich and a beer. Sloan says he envies my choice but says no more than that. On the way back to my room, I check on Gran and Granda, then close myself in for some much-needed alone time.
Well, not alone. I have a bear companion.
But enough privacy to face a call home to Da.
I kick off my shoes inside the door of my room, set my plate and beer on the bedside table, and gather my computer and phone for a long-overdue catch up with life.
After a long pull of ale, I activate a cell travel package and take it off airplane mode. “Here goes everything.”
Go n-erie an t-adh leat.
I chuckle at his wish of good luck and hit send.
“Granda is doing much better,” I tell Da once I’ve filled him in on the past week’s chaos. “He says we’ll portal back to their house in the morning. Wallace is confident that by then, he’ll be back on his feet and fighting fit.”
“Feckin’ hell, Fi,” he says for the twentieth time.
“I know.” I hear all the things he’s also saying in those three words. “I get this isn’t what you wanted for him or me or even you, but it is what it is. I’m committed now, and I’m good. You’ll see.”
“This should never have fallen at yer feet.”
“I’ve got it, Da. Don’t blame yerself.”
“I will because it’s my fault.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
As stubborn as my father is, we both know I’m a good match for him. He’s smart too because he gives up. “Two weeks. Ye promise?”
“I promise that’s my intention.” I’m sadly aware my best intentions seem to blow up in unexpected and spectacular ways here. “We have the Tralee Festival in a few days and Granda says I’ll need to meet the heads of the Order. Then some time for fallout and preparing for my return.”
“If ye don’t come, I’ll be on the doorstep to drag ye back where ye belong. Shite, Fi, we miss ye somethin’ terrible.”
I swallow past the lump of emotion blocking my throat. “Me too. Two more weeks. It’ll be better now that I have my computer back and my phone package. I’ll make sure to keep them both charged. Now that Granda’s not exploding the lights, he’s turning the electricity back on. We’re rising out of the Dark Ages.”
“Fine,” he says, although he doesn’t sound happy. “Tell that connivin’ bastard I want ye brought home by a wayfarer. I understand the power it’ll cost, but I’ll not have ye trapped in a tin can in the sky with dark fae and their ilk wantin’ ye harmed.”
I take another swig of my beer and chuckle. “I’m sure I’d be all right. I have a bear inside me ready to burst out and protect me.”
“And how does that keep ye from fallin’ from the sky?”
“I suppose it doesn’t.”
“A wayfarer, then.”
I consider that. “Well, I would like to avoid running in
to that luggage lady.”
“Did they send someone from the Order to investigate who she was?”
“I’m not sure. Sloan got my suitcase, so I guess so.”
“Well, I grew up with Janet and Wallace. If their son is a thing like them, he’ll be sharp and serious and graspin’ the druid world with both hands.”
“Yep. That sounds like Sloan.”
“Well, all right, then,” Da says. “I’m countin’ the days until yer home. And if ye can get here faster, all the better.”
“I love you too, Da.”
“Safe home, mo chroi.”
I end the call and swipe at the few tears that escape. Two weeks. I can do that. Setting things right with my father makes staying easier and harder at the same time. Auntie Shannon used to say that the universe compensated a little for losing our mother by giving us the world’s greatest father.
I won’t ever argue.
Hunkered down on my fancy-schmancy bed, I chew the last bite of turkey sandwich and open my email browser. I stare at the blank screen as I consider everything I need to tell my brothers and Liam. I won’t tell them everything—I’m saving Bruinior the Brave as a surprise—but my mind is full, and I need to download.
Hello, all. I love you. I miss you. It’s crazy. I’ve been away for a little over a week but my life as I knew it is forever changed…
Three days later, I stroll across the broad branch of a tree like I’m walking down a city sidewalk. Feline Finesse is my favorite new spell, and I’m strutting my stuff while smiling up at the dappled light breaking through the canopy. The energy of Granda’s sacred grove feeds my connection and rough bark crackles under the soles of my shoes. I feel like Tarzana, Queen of the Jungle.
I breathe to the depths of my lungs and frown.
The crisp breeze from the east carries more important information than the scent of the O’Rourke’s slurry spreader fertilizing their fields and the sound of fighting foxes getting frisky in the brush below.
It carries essential intel.
My lungful of nature’s best brings me several vital tidbits at once: Gran’s soda bread is out of the oven and cooling on the window ledge, Sloan Mackenzie is lurking somewhere close by, and—
Whack.
A branch hits my ass and knocks me tumbling.
“Oh, hell.” I topple toward the forest floor, the wind pulling at my hair. During the thirty-foot freefall, I right my position, focus on slowing my descent, and land silently on the balls of my feet.
I absorb the impact and land in a crouch, my knee hovering inches over the forest floor. I laugh. “And the crowd goes wild as she nails the superhero landing! You’ll have to try harder than that, surly.”
Deep, eerie laughter echoes from all directions. Ha! Sloan casting his voice won’t protect his hiding spot.
I adjust my stance and survey my surroundings. The rustle of bushes behind me brings on a second wave of attack. I spin as a dozen vines snake out of the scrub, scrabble across the forest floor and head straight for my ankles.
While springing backward, I flip into the air.
Yeah, baby. Feline Finesse for the freaking win!
My body arches and I strengthen my connection with the power of my natural surroundings. I’ve suffered the pranks of five brothers my whole life. I can take Sloan Mackenzie’s best.
Reaching out with heightened senses, I smile. Not ten feet from where he crouches behind a screen of bushes sleeps the perfect animal counterattack.
I send out a call, waking the creature curled in the pithy cavity of a hollow log. Establishing a connection with animals is now the work of a moment. I make my request and urge the little guy to abandon the warmth of its slumber.
Remind me not to get on yer bad side, Red.
And don’t forget it, Bruinior the Brave. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
To distract Sloan, I rub my ass where the branch hit me and put on a bit of a show. He is always so sure of himself, he’ll never see the retaliation coming. “You’ve been a pain in my ass since I got here, surly. This is no different.”
Sloan’s laughter fills the air, then breaks into a sudden shriek. “Ow, fuuuck!” He launches into the clearing, stumbling over scrub and clutching his ass. “A hedgehog? Damn, Cumhaill, that was harsh.”
If I wasn’t doubled over laughing, I might feel bad for him.
Ahh…nope, not even.
“How’s the training going, children?”
The two of us sober at Granda’s greeting. He only started calling us children yesterday when we were fighting over who won our staff battle. I brush myself off and straighten.
“Granda, you’re back.” I flash my grandfather an innocent smile. “What did Wallace say?”
“He says I’m recovering nicely. Now, tell me what the two of ye were working on, exactly. It sounded like yer tormenting Sloan again, Fiona.”
“Me?” I throw up my hands and blink at the gray-blue sky. “It was an even effort of torment, which he started.”
My bear bursts free from my body and takes a playful swing at Sloan as he joins us.
Sloan grunts and dodges the mighty paw aimed at his head. “She’s right, Lugh. It was an even battle. I’m far more committed to training when I get to attack Fi with hostile force. It hardly feels like work.”
I chuckle and answer Granda’s original question. “I’ve got Feline Finesse down pat and defended against Creeping Vine. We also covered Diminish Descent and Animal Messenger.”
Bruinior lumbers over and rubs against my hip. I brace my stance to keep from stumbling forward. Big furball.
Granda nods. “So ye’ll need time to get inked before the festival tomorrow, am I right?”
I groan. “Yeah, sure. Can’t wait for the merit badge torture to begin.”
“Well then,” Granda says. “Yer in luck. TamLin stopped by to drop off the keys to our apartment for the festival. She brought her torture kit thinkin’ ye might’ve mastered some new spells since Tuesday. She’s in the kitchen waitin’ on ye.”
“Awesomesauce.” With my triumphant mood ruined, I trudge toward the house. Little did I know when I agreed to train so hard, that for every spell I conquer, the symbol is etched into my skin. Ink magic eliminates the need to carry a grimoire like the witches.
Instead of ending up covered in tats, I’m keeping my spells on my back and adding them as the foliage of the tree of life tattoo already there.
Sloan says it hurts so much more than a regular tattoo because of the enchanted blood mixed into the ink. I asked him what creature donates its magical blood and he said that was a sacred secret, not even he knows.
So, here I go again to pay the price of magic.
To say that I have a better than average affinity for picking things up is the understatement of the century.
Then again, most beginner druids are ten.
Och, if ye don’t mind, I’ll pass on the needle torture and stretch my legs a bit longer.
Something in my bear’s tone triggers my lie detector. I don’t call him on it. I’m his companion, not his mother. One thing I’ve learned living with six men. If guys don’t want to reveal every detail of their lives, it’s better not to ask why.
“Not a problem. I’d skip the torture if it were an option.”
Pain with a purpose. Isn’t that what they say?
“That’s childbirth.”
Well then, almost the same thing. Enjoy.
“Yeah, you too.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Rose of Tralee Festival is a fifty-year-old, five-day pageant originally started to draw people to the area to celebrate the life and ideals of Irish culture. It’s not a beauty pageant, because the physical attributes of the Rose and her Escort aren’t judged—thank goodness—but bringing together a collective of thirty-two inspiring Irish girls and their worthy escorts for fun, frivolity, parades, and parties does what it was intended to do.
It draws a crowd—a big crowd.
“I
f it’s a street party and parade, why do I have to dress up in a formal gown?” I scowl at the selection of dresses Gran wants me to pick from. It’s not that they aren’t beautiful—they are—but I can’t imagine myself in any of them.
“The festival is more than a party, luv.” Gran holds up a yellow number to examine it. “Alongside the festivities, close to two hundred members of the Nine Families will converge for an annual druid gathering. Tonight is the reception dinner meet and greet. We need ye to impress the elders of the Order. Yer plans to return to yer life won’t be met with any warmth. A good first impression is all we can hope for.”
I chuckle. “That’s comforting.”
“Ye know what I mean.”
“I do. And dressing me up like Cinderella will impress them how?” I hold up the ruched bodice of a blue silk gown and sigh at the accompanying white, opera-length gloves.
A peasant skirt and a pretty silk camisole I can pull off. This is well out of my wheelhouse.
“Just fer tonight. The rest of the event, ye can wear what ye want, and we’ll have our fun.”
I give the dress one last glare and give in. “It’s a pageant, right? I suppose I can play along for one night of social pomp if the rest of the festival will be fun.”
“It will be, I promise ye. Tons of craic. Tomorrow and Sunday there will be magical events and contests and the street carnival, and on Monday, while the Rose selection is being televised, the druids have our closing event that I think is quite spectacular.”
“And Da used to go to this?”
“He loved it. Looked forward to it for months.”
I let out a long-suffering breath and make peace with the baby-blue dress. “Bibbidy-bobbidy-boo, Faery Gran-mother. I guess it’s time to get ready for the ball.”
The trip to Tralee takes longer than it did when Sloan and I went to Ardfert Cathedral. Not surprisingly, the traffic in the area is one long stream of cars. I Google the festivities as we inch along, amazed to learn that while only five thousand people attend the Rose of Tralee crowning in the Rose Dome, many multiples of that flood the streets and pubs in droves throughout the five-day event.
A Gilded Cage (Chronicles of an Urban Druid Book 1) Page 11
