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

by Auburn Tempest

  That doubles the twenty-two thousand residents living there—and makes for a bustling town.

  In the end, we make it to the apartment the Order reserved for their Master Shrine-Keeper and are dressed and walking into the private banquet less than two hours later.

  “Lugh, Lara.” Wallace greets us inside the door. Like Granda, he’s dressed in a formal black tux jacket with a leather kilt and a jewel-hilted sword at his hip. “Come, Evan and Iris were askin’ about ye. They’ve been so worried.”

  Gran turns to grab my wrist but spots Sloan and nods. “Make sure she meets some younger folks and stays out of trouble, would ye dear?”

  “I will, Lara.” He slides in beside me. “And let me say, ye look the part of a vision tonight.”

  Gran smiles and waves that away, and hurries to join Granda and Wallace by the champagne fountain.

  “Wow, druids know how to party. This place is lit.” And it is, from the fireflies glowing and blinking above our heads to the ceiling resembling the hanging gardens of Babylon, to the swags of lace and linens decorating the tables.

  “Ohmygoodness, baby bunnies.” The centerpiece on every table is a terrarium scene with little bunnies hopping around. “They don’t get near the plates, do they?”

  Sloan smirks. “No. There’s an invisible boundary that keeps them penned in the center.

  It’s amazing.

  “Can we keep our centerpiece bunny?”

  “No. They’re wild creatures. We set them free.”

  Oh, right. I’m a little deflated that I don’t get to keep my bunny, but I see his point. Druids are supposed to protect nature and her inhabitants, not cage them.

  Maybe that’s why Da was so strict on pets when we were kids. Oh, and why we live in the house right beside the ravine. Even if Da were exiled, I’d bet he still lived true to the beliefs he was raised on. Things make so much sense now.

  And yes, Gran was right.

  I needed the formal gown to at least appear to fit in. After admiring the room, I shift my appreciation to Sloan. Yep, he makes formal look super sexy.

  And hell…a man in a kilt. It’s a weakness.

  “Why are you looking at me like I’m a prize cow being displayed at the fair?” I brush a hand down the front of my gown. Everything seems in place. Have I busted a button or something?

  He chuckles at my sudden panic and catches my hand as I check my hair. “Sorry. It’s rude to stare. I confess that earlier tonight I was wonderin’ if ye had any lady in ye, at all. I see now that ye do.”

  I snort. “Yes, I have all the required parts, if that’s what you wondered. Still, don’t count on me being much of a lady. This is all for my grandparents’ benefit.”

  “I promise not to out ye fer puttin’ on airs. And it’s good of ye to hide yer rough and tumble for their sakes.”

  “Are you implying I’m an embarrassment?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Yer demeanor suits ye well while we train but tonight is about the gatherin’ of our ilk. It may seem like a friendly feast and dance, but many a strategic alliance will be made here tonight.”

  “Hands promised, women scorned, the whole shebang.”

  I blink at the leggy brunette who said that, and she stops to join us. Her scarlet dress leaves little to the imagination, the slit up to her hip exposing even that.

  “Ciara Doyle,” Sloan gestures between us. “This is Fiona Cumhaill. Lugh’s and Lara’s granddaughter.”

  She eyes me up and down with freaky golden eyes that slit vertically like a cat. I’m not sure if it’s a spell or specialty contacts, but if the intention is to unnerve people, done deal.

  She leans close and runs her tongue along her shiny red lips. “Fresh blood to chum the pool of sharks. Let me offer ye a bit of free advice. If yer hopin’ to catch the eye of a young sword master fer a bit of fun, look past junior here. He’s a dullard in the sack and not much better out of it.”

  I smile. “Not to worry, hon. Sloan’s helping my grandfather with my training. You don’t have to feel threatened by little ole me.”

  Her gaze narrows. “Oh, I’m not threatened by anyone, girlie. And while he might spend time trainin’ ye up, he’s most definitely hopin’ yer up to blow his flute—and when I say flute, I mean—”

  I raise my hand, that image now burned into my mind’s eye, evermore. “No explanation necessary.”

  “You have to excuse Ciara.” Sloan’s eyes churn with a storm. “She was a late bloomer as a girl and is compensating. Now that her tits are full-grown, she thinks everyone should admire them. Pay no attention. Her soap opera drama should come to an intermission soon.”

  I chuckle and give Sloan a point for that one.

  Ciara pegs him with a seething glare but catches herself and smiles at me. “I know yer new to Kerry, so let me save ye the trouble of an embarrassing regret. Sloan here isn’t nearly as impressive beneath the kilt as his ruggedly impressive façade. In fact, little Sloan is as small as a mouse’s wee diddy. Ye’ll be disappointed. We all were.”

  “Careful, Ciara. Yer claws are showing.”

  I chuckle and offer her the sweetest smile I can muster. “Thanks for your concern, but Sloan’s male bits and I are well acquainted. Now, if you’re done with your Welcome Wagon routine, you should make other people miserable. We’d hate to hog you.”

  Seeing she isn’t getting anywhere, Ciara lifts her shoulder and shoots me a withering look. “Suit yerself. Can’t say I didn’t warn ye.”

  Sloan’s deep-throated laughter makes me smile. “Well done, Cumhaill. Ciara has melted more than her share of steel-spined women and ye don’t even seem fazed.”

  I laugh and capture two glasses of bubbly from a server’s tray as he passes. “She didn’t even tinkle my chimes. Toronto girls would rip her to shreds and leave her in the gutter.”

  Sloan accepts his flute of champagne and taps my glass. “Then here’s to Toronto girls.”

  The next morning, I take advantage of Gran’s and Granda’s plans with the heads of the Nine Families and sleep in. By the time I’m up and dressed, they’ve been out of the apartment for hours and all is quiet. I grab one of Gran’s honey pastries out of the sealed container we brought, pour myself a cup of coffee, and take the opportunity to call home.

  “Fi,” Emmet says, on the second ring. “Geez, I’m glad you called.” There’s a tussle on the other end of the line and a fair bit of cursing before Dillan comes on. “Fi, how’s Ireland? What do you mean magic? What kind of powers do we have?”

  The echo of male grunts and punches increases. I can’t help but laugh. “Instead of fighting over the phone, put me on speaker, you goons.”

  A burst of laughter precedes Callum joining in the fun. “Yeah, they didn’t think of that. Meatheads.”

  “Tell us about our powers,” Emmet pleads.

  “Ignore Frick and Frack. How are you, Fi? Da says you’re staying a couple more weeks. Any chance you’ll cut that short and come home?”

  “Why? Has something happened? Any news on Brenny?”

  “No. Nothing happened and no news. We miss our little sister. Is there any crime in that?”

  “You’re the cops. Why ask me? Hey, speaking of being a cop. Emmet, how was your first week on the job?”

  “I chased down a burglar and got my first arrest.”

  “That’s amazing.” I take a big bite of Danish and lick the icing off my lips. “I’ll buy a round when I get home, and you can tell me all about it.”

  Dillan and Callum are laughing in the background, and I can picture them all in the kitchen fussing and fighting around the phone.

  “It wasn’t a burglar,” Dillan shouts.

  “Was so.”

  “It was a kid stealing neighborhood bikes,” Callum says.

  “It was still a collar, and he was eighteen, so it counts as an arrest. Besides, he ran like a freaking gazelle.”

  “I’m with Emmet,” I say. “It totally counts. Great job.”

  “Thank you
. At least there’s one person in this family who appreciates me.”

  “I do, Em. I love you to bits. How are Aiden and the fam?”

  The three of them go on to tell me about the family barbeque I missed last weekend and setting up a new climbing fort and swing set for Jackson and Meg. “Kinu wants a family day at the zoo. Da convinced her to wait a few weeks until you get home. He said you’d hate to miss their first experience with the animals.”

  “He’s right. I would. Yes, please wait for me.”

  A knock at the door has me jumping out of my seat. I shuffle over and lean close to view out the peephole. Opening things up, I step back and wave Sloan in.

  “Okay, guys, I’ve got to get back to things here.”

  “But you haven’t told us about our powers yet.”

  “I will. I promise. When we have time to really sit and talk.” There’s a united groan, and it breaks my heart. “I love you too. Kiss the kids from Auntie Fi and let me know if we get any word on Brendan.”

  “Will do,” Dillan says. “Da’s talking to Brenny’s captain today. Maybe we’ll hear some good news.”

  I knock on the table. “Safe home, Brendan.”

  “Safe home to you too, Fi,” Emmet says.

  “Yeah, get home soon, Fi,” Callum says. “We’re a sinking ship without you, sista.”

  “Then keep bailing a little longer. I’ll be there soon.” I end the call and can’t help the silent tears. I make a quick dash for my bedroom, but Sloan appears in my path before I get there.

  “I’ve got broad shoulders, Cumhaill. Use them if ye need them. No catch.”

  I blink up at his stupidly handsome face and smile. “I’m okay. Thanks, though. I’m just homesick, you know?”

  “Not really.” He shrugs and heads into the kitchen to raid the sweets bin. After taking a bite of a pastry, he grabs a beer from the fridge.

  “Beer and pastry?”

  He shrugs. “It’s Tralee week. There are no rules. Besides, after all that family affection, I need a drink.”

  “Hey, I’ll let you get away with dissing a lot of things about me but if you take a shot at my family—”

  He waves me off. “Wouldn’t dream of it. In truth, I envy everything about what I heard. I’ve never known that kind of connection with family or friends. When ye first got here, I thought it made ye weak. I see now yer love fer family is the flame that stokes yer inner fire.”

  Sloan’s an only child to two people who are exceptional druids and professionals, but I wonder how good they were at being parents. Maybe that’s why he’s so attached to my gran and granda.

  “So, what brings you to my door today, surly?”

  He finishes his breakfast and washes it down. “I signed you up for the junior trials druid competition this afternoon. It’s a rite of passage.”

  “What? Why in the world would I want to compete? I’ve been a druid for two weeks.”

  He finishes his beer and grabs two more for the road. “Lugh told me to sign ye up. So, I did. Grab yer jacket. I want to give ye the lay of the land before the games begin. Lots to do and little time to do it.”

  Och, no! Let me off this ship. My bear bursts free and materializes in the space between the kitchen and living room. “I’ll pass on a day of junior druids thanks. Hey, Red, how about a beer for the bear before you go?”

  I laugh and pour two beers into a stainless-steel bowl and put it down on the kitchen floor. “Stay out of sight and out of trouble. Not only are you extinct, but you’re also in a town with forty thousand humans.”

  “Thanks, Ma.” He laps up beer with his long, pink tongue. “Have fun. Call me if ye need me.”

  I ruffle the fur on his muscled shoulder and meet Sloan at the door. He’s looking at me like I’ve gone hydra and grown two extra heads. “What now?”

  “Ye set down a bowl of ale for yer ancient bear spirit. Do ye honestly think that’s a good idea?”

  “He’s old enough. How old are you, Bear?”

  He lifts his face out of the bowl and twists his mouth. “Maybe two hundred? Can’t say. It’s all a bit of a boring blur.”

  I shrug and grab my keys. “See, two hundred. Where’s the problem?”

  Sloan shakes his head and mumbles something about crazy women under his breath as he steps into the hall. I follow, close the door, and lift the keys to lock up.

  “Silly girl.” He hands me one of the beer cans and passes his free hand over the lock. The click of the knob and slide of the deadbolt signal we’re set to go. “Get yer head in the game.”

  Right. Magic.

  “So, these junior trials. I’m not going to be competing against ten-year-olds or anything am I?”

  He snorts. “Och, now ye’ve gone and ruined the surprise.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sloan helps me maneuver the seven events of the junior trials, and I’m proud of my final score. Each was a test in one of the seven disciplines. I placed well in five and did okay in the last two. It wasn’t a standard head-to-head competition. We all earned a medal. Well, in truth, Seamus Scott was named the grand champion, but he was twelve so had two years on me.

  “Yer not seriously gonna wear that at the pub?”

  We step into the crush of festival revelry, and I swing my medal in the air between us. “Why shouldn’t I? As you said, it was a rite of passage.” He’s about to argue when I laugh and put on my best impression of my da. “I’m coddin’ ye, boyo. Where’s yer sense of humor?”

  He looks genuinely relieved.

  Did he think I would embarrass him, my grandparents, or myself by highlighting that I’m a noob? I slide the award into the pocket of my jacket and zip it up to avoid it getting lifted. Does that happen in Kerry? Would a pickpocket want my junior trials medal? Likely not. That doesn’t mean I don’t want it as a keepsake.

  “Wow, look at this.”

  The street is packed with people laughing and dancing and making new friends, for as far as I can see in both directions. Along the sides of the street, strings of yellow and pink lights connect each lamppost. Over the road, strung from the same streetlamps high above the crowd, four huge lit-up roses and ribbons blink and light the night sky.

  “This whole celebration is much bigger than I expected.”

  Sloan casts a glance around and shrugs. “The Rose of Tralee coronation is the most widely-watched program on television in Ireland each year. It’s a beloved part of Kerry tradition.”

  It’s funny. I see dozens of people stuck in the crowd unable to move forward, but we cut through the congestion like a warm knife through butter.

  Like magic.

  “Tell me about these friends of yours we’re meeting.”

  Sloan lets a rowdy group of drunkards pass and arches a brow. “Friends is too generous a word. The heirs’ apparent for the elder positions of the Nine Families are acquaintances. We were born into a group that not one of us chose. It’s a snooty, self-entitled bunch.”

  “Oh, I see how you fit in now.”

  He scratches the side of his cheek with his middle finger. “Under it all, they aren’t half as bad as they seem—well, most of them. Still, ye’ll have to stay on yer toes.”

  “And will Ciara be there?”

  “She will.”

  I turn sideways to squeeze through the crowd and not get left behind. “What did you see in her?”

  “I told ye. She has great tits and likes men to pay attention to them. It’s as simple as that.”

  I burst out laughing. “Your depth of character never ceases to amaze me.”

  “Och, don’t judge. She was into me fer much the same reason. Ye may notice, I have certain attractive qualities women gravitate to.”

  “You mean Manx?”

  “Funny girl.”

  We get free of the press of bodies lining the streets and duck down a side lane. It’s amazing how much quieter it is as we distance ourselves from the buzz of the crowd. “And where is this meeting of the minds being held?”

/>   “A druid pub up here. It’s warded to repel normal folk, so we’ll be able to get our drink on and not be crowded out.”

  Cool. Pubs I can do without feeling like a sad little tadpole in a mercury infected lake.

  “Forewarned is forearmed, McCool,” Sloan says. “Ciara’s not the biggest asshole in the bunch. Watch yerself around Tad McNiff. He’s a wayfarer like me, and ye can’t trust him as far as ye can—”

  A glowing orange ball of magic whips in front of our faces and explodes against the building on my right. The instant it bursts, my tingling skin falls silent.

  “Fucking hell—” Sloan turns back but a fraction of a second too late.

  A figure wearing all black hurtles into him. Ducking low to grab him around the waist, he collides with Sloan’s chest, and poof they’re both gone.

  Someone grabs me from behind, and I scream. I try to call on my connection and defend, but there’s no magic. It’s like the ambient mist of magic always in the air suddenly dried up.

  Plan B. I’m a Cumhaill. I can fight.

  Red? Are ye all right? Yer heartrate’s racing like mad.

  Busy... I flail behind my head but can’t get free from the hold. Being attacked in an alley.

  I thrust my elbow back with all my strength, and the crack of cartilage gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling.

  “Fuuuuck.”

  Bile burns the back of my throat as my captor spins me toward the wall. I push my palms flat against the brick and lock my elbows. Resisting his strength, I throw my shoulders and my head back.

  “Would ye grab her fucking arms?”

  Hands flail to secure my flying fists, but before they do, a furious growl erupts behind me, and the hold on me is gone. I stumble back from the sudden loss of force and land on my ass. Hard.

  Oh, thank gawd. My bear is here.

  With a violent swing of his paw, men go flying. One hits a dumpster and crumples while a second is lifted off the sticky concrete ground and hits the brick wall five feet in the air. He collides with the brick and drops in a mangled heap.