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

by Auburn Tempest

  “Shite, stop,” a woman shouts. “Fiona, stop him. You win. We were fucking with ye.”

  I win? With the adrenaline pumping inside me, it takes a minute for the message to travel from my cranium to my fists.

  Fight or flight is real.

  I’ll always fight.

  Ciara pulls her hood back and runs to one of my crumpled attackers. She’s pissed. “Yer a feckin’ menace, Cumhaill. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Me?” I move closer to my bear and sag into the strength of his broad shoulder.

  A flash brings Sloan back into the mix, looking wild. His scattered gaze finds me first, then assesses the two downed men. “Ye fuckin’ eejits. I suppose ye thought attackin’ her would be a laugh, did ye? Haze the noob?”

  Ciara pulls out her phone and calls for someone to join the bedlam. “She’s had her power for two weeks. It should’ve been a harmless prank.”

  I assume the man who flashed in when Sloan did is Tad McNiff. He shakes his head while staring at my bear. “How were we supposed to know she’s bound a fucking battle beast? It’s impossible. None of this should have happened.”

  “No. It shouldn’t,” Sloan spits, shaking with rage. “But ye couldn’t just welcome her and raise a pint. Ye had to try to show her who’s boss. I’d say her and the bear turnin’ the tables serves ye right, except Flanagan and Parry got caught in the crossfire.”

  I bend over and prop my hands on my knees. With the adrenaline of the attack cutting off, all the fire and fury sucks out of me. “If that was your idea of a joke, it wasn’t funny.”

  “It might have been if ye weren’t some kind of Tazmanian Devil. We cut off magic so no one would get hurt.”

  The one who hit the dumpster, Flanagan I think, rolls to sit up. His nose is busted and bleeding like a scarlet fountain, but I’m more worried about what’s broken inside.

  “Should you call your dad?” I ask Sloan.

  Ciara waves that off. “Ye’d like that, would ye? Call in a senior member of the Order and get us put on notice? No. Ye’ve done enough fer one night, ye wee bitch. Run along. We’ll clean up yer mess.”

  “My mess?”

  Sloan is still cursing under his breath when my bear puts himself between my fellow druid heirs and me. As he checks that I’m unharmed, his concern morphs into protective fury. I’m sorry about this, Red.

  I scrub one of his velvety oval ears and draw a deep, steadying breath. “No need to apologize, buddy. You were spectacular.”

  Good of you to notice.

  I chuckle and run an unsteady hand through my hair. “I’m sorry you boys got hurt. I truly am. I hope you’re all right, and that the next time these bullies decide to rope you into something, you think it through. My da always says, ‘There is always someone bigger and better prepared for the fight.’”

  “They’ll be fine,” Sloan says. “And don’t ye dare feel bad fer them. Ye reap what ye sow.”

  “Well said, young man.” I follow the woman’s voice into the shadowed darkness of the lane. She steps into the light, and I grab Sloan’s arm. It’s the ebony angel from the airport luggage desk. How did she find me here? “Hello, Fiona Cumhaill of Toronto, Canada. We need to speak.”

  Sloan stiffens, and I don’t think it’s from my nails digging into his forearm. The guy has a quick wit and probably put two and two together. He steps forward and tugs me in behind his tall frame. “It’s been a night already. Maybe another—”

  The ebony angel flicks a manicured finger and the world around me freezes. The buzz of the festival crowd stops. Sloan is locked in time. The only two people seemingly unaffected by the spell are her and me.

  She stalks closer. Whatever spell sucked the ambient magic from the air is broken. My skin tingles back to life, and my Spidey-senses are ringing off the hook.

  “Come, we have matters to discuss.” She waves her fingers, and I’m transported away.

  In the space between two racing heartbeats, I go from an alley brawl to standing on the top edge of a cliff looking seven hundred feet down to the blackness of crashing water below. The salty sea air whips my hair into my face as wind buffets against me, forcing me toward the edge. I lock my footing, my legs still trembling from being attacked in the alley.

  Connecting with my power, I search for my bear and come up empty. “What have you done?” I shout over the thunder of wind and waves. “What did you do to them?”

  “Relax. Yer friends are fine, but they won’t find you.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Ye haven’t figured that out yet?”

  There’s nowhere for me to go, and based on the power coming off her, I won’t get far if I try. “I take it you’re more than a creepy luggage lady.”

  Her smile smooths out my panic, and I fight the influence. “Da, more.” Her Irish accent slips away. “My two sisters and I are called dark lady of magic.”

  What’s that accent? Russian? Romanian?

  The glamour of her beauty glimmers in the moonlight and I understand that the woman I see isn’t the real woman at all. Who the hell is she?

  “All three of you are known as the dark lady? That’s not confusing at all.”

  “You call me Stacey.”

  Weird. But whatevs. I’ve got bigger problems.

  Stacey tilts her head. Although the wind whips my hair wildly in every direction, she looks like a supermodel in front of a photographer’s fan. “My sisters and I are one but three at same time. Until recent. Which is why we stand here.”

  “Care to expand on that?”

  She flicks her fingers, and the moonlight brightens. Maybe it’s a trick of the light or reflection off the water or perhaps she has the juice to crank up the moon’s wattage. I have no clue. It’s freaky no matter how she does it.

  “You see cave opening down there?”

  I follow the point of her manicured fingernail and squint into the night. About halfway down the cliffside, there is a spot where the darkness seems denser and darker than the stone wall. “I think so.”

  “I bring you for important task. You enter cave and make deal with dragon who sleeps deep within.”

  Hubba-wha? “While I’m pretty sure that even with Animal Communication, I don’t speak dragon, I am really sure that if a dragon sleeps in that cave, I don’t want to wake him up.”

  “Her. Lady dragon in cave.”

  “Okay, her. Why ask me?”

  “Druids are attuned to land and dragons influence land. Your people build sacred stone circles on power nodes on what called ley lines. Dragons and Irish druids share long history. What is traditional meaning of word ley in Celtic tongue?”

  I swallow. “Dragon.”

  “Da. In this part of world, ‘ley of land’ was not about geographical nature. It holds much more powerful meaning.”

  “Which is?”

  “It describes how cosmic forces flow through land and influence area and how area influence cosmic forces in return. Is nature symbiotics. Druids are protectors of nature. You are druid, no?”

  I draw a deep breath. “Yes, but I’m a very new druid. There are many others here in Ireland and abroad who have more power and would be a better choice.”

  “Is you. I wait many moons filling tickets in stupid airport. Prophecy says,

  Daughter of son of long ago,

  Hark back to home from land of snow.

  Grant abeyant drakaina hearts true thirst,

  Speak your plea for the one who’s cursed.

  I run a hand through my hair and hope I don’t pass out and topple over the cliff. “Hey, I super love riddles, but although the first part does sorta sound like me, I don’t think waking a dragon is a good idea.”

  She holds out a carnival glass bottle that glitters in the moonlight. It’s about the size of a bottle of wine, but the glass blooms out to a bulbous bottom from the narrow neck. It’s like a giant teardrop with a cork.

  “For drakaina. She needs.”

  “And what is the dragon doing in
the cave?”

  “She sleeps.”

  “Right. We covered that. But is she hibernating or entombed or taking a nap?”

  “What you know of dragons?”

  I grab a wild rope of hair smacking me in the face and tuck it behind my ear. “Not much.”

  “Tell me, not much.”

  I search my memory. “Ancient Celts thought dragons were gods who brought Earthly and heavenly forces together. They were thought of as guardian spirits and are depicted as the most powerful of all the Celtic symbols.”

  “And guard gate to Underworld—to my sisters.”

  “Okay, so you want me to wake up the scary giant magical serpent for an offer of refreshments, then ask her for a favor for you?”

  “Da. Then you give her this for dark lady.”

  A jeweled box the size of a glasses case appears in my empty hand, and I frown. “Why would I agree to this?”

  “I kill you if you don’t.”

  “And I’m dragon kibble if I do.”

  “She no eat you. You bring elixir. She be happy.”

  I tip the glittering bottle in the moonlight and watch the creamy glop sludge its way along the inside of the glass. “Are you sure she wouldn’t prefer a Guinness?”

  “Stop talking now. Give elixir to drakaina and tell her box is for dark lady.”

  I look at the jeweled box. “I’m sure there are more than your two dark ladies in the Underworld. Assuming I’m not a dragon snack, what if she doesn’t know who I mean?”

  “Baba Yaga dark lady. That is us.”

  Baba Yaga? Oh, crap. Okay, that name I know. I stare at the stunning ebony-haired angel, and her glamour fades away. The weathered woman left behind is more terrifying and bleeds more toxic power than I can take. I step back, perilously close to the edge of the cliff. “And if I say no?”

  Stacey flicks her fingers, and I feel the rush of her tainted powers hit me like a physical force. It knocks me off the edge of the cliff, and I plummet, screaming toward the water.

  Chapter Sixteen

  My fall is short-lived—thank you, baby Yoda—and a moment after I plummet off the edge of a seven-hundred-foot cliff drop, I’m standing in pitch dark. By the stink, I’m in the dragon’s lair. Or it could be the garbage compactor scene in Star Wars, but Luke and Han aren’t with me, so I’m going with dragon lair.

  Damn, where’s Sloan Mackenzie in the clutch? He could wayfarer me right outta here. Men, never around when you need them. Always around when you don’t.

  Yes, I’m stalling.

  To be fair, I think I get to take a minute in this situation. Baba Yaga, a.k.a. Stacey kidnapped me and sent me into a dragon’s lair to wake her from her sleep and ask a favor. “And in exchange, I have this yummy bottle of spuge to whet your whistle.”

  I stand there a few more seconds, but the humid, stench-laden air is making me gag. If I don’t hurry this up, it’ll be the sound of me hurling that wakes up the lady dragon.

  Closing my eyes, I try again to connect with Bruinior. Man, I hate the name Bruinior. We need to do better. Regardless, there’s still nothing.

  Baba Yaga is arguably the most powerful or one of the most powerful, preternatural beings alive. I suppose if she doesn’t want me to phone a friend, I won’t be able to.

  On the off chance… I pull my cell from my pocket but have no signal. Instead, I turn on my torchlight. The moment the brilliant pool illuminates the cave interior, I cringe.

  Ew. File this place under things you can’t unsee.

  Human corpses and animal carcasses lay slung and littered along the jagged stone walls of the cave, slumped seven and eight high. Throats are torn out. Blood is dried black and caked thick with flies. My eyes burn from the stench.

  Everywhere my light pans, it’s more of the same horror, and I realize I’m likely about to join the pile. I turn back to the opening. There’s nowhere to go. I can’t portal out. Maybe I could wait and see if Sloan or Granda find me.

  As the flicker of hope sparks, it extinguishes.

  If Stacey is as powerful as I think she is, I’ll die here long before anyone ever figures out where I am. I grimace at the crunch and munch landscape and wish with everything in me that I knew what I was doing.

  “I’m the Skip-the-Dishes bitch for a witch.”

  Going back and staying put are both no good. That only leaves one option—dragon dinner. The suction of my footsteps in the half-clotted aftermath is soooo gross. I move deeper into the cave, and gore squishes and squelches under the tread of my sneakers.

  I make a face, focus straight ahead, and try my best not to think about it. It doesn’t take long before the long, rounded tunnel opens into a massive, torchlit cavern that stretches beyond and above where the light travels.

  “Ah, Miss Cumhaill, I’ve been expectin’ ye. Welcome.” It takes a second for my hamster to get back in its wheel, but I smile at the Man o’ Green I met outside the airport that first day I arrived. “I’m Patty, by the by. And it’s Patty with two t’s not Paddy with two d’s. Ye wouldn’t believe how often yer people from across the pond get that wrong.”

  He’s lying in a La-Z-Boy recliner set on a huge area rug. His lounge area is furnished with a couple of lamps, an old-fashioned gramophone, and a stand-up wet bar. When I step farther into the cavern, he sits up and waves with the videogame controller in his hand.

  I turn off my light and slide my phone back into my pocket. “Are you playing Animal Crossing?”

  “That I am. It’s an addictive pleasure, I tell ye. I’ll be with ye in one second.” His mischievous blue eyes sparkle as he focuses on his screen. “I need to sell my turnips while the price is right. Makin’ a small fortune.”

  The snowy-haired leprechaun goes back to finishing the stage of his game, and I glance around the cavern. My eyes adjust to the low light and fifty feet from where I stand, lays a sleeping dragon coiled up with her tail, her scales glimmering in shades of red from burnt umber to scarlet.

  Wow. This is happening.

  Beyond the dragon, the cavern glows gold. What I initially thought was torchlight is a magical glow coming off more treasure than could be held in a thousand druid shrines.

  “I didn’t know dragons collect gold.”

  “Och, she doesn’t,” Patty says. “She collects Elvis paraphernalia. It was a bitch gettin’ that beast in here.” He points to my left where a pink Cadillac sits spotlighted on a red carpet. “The treasure be mine. Her Magnificence helps me guard it. A last line of defense, one might say.”

  It’s hard to soak up how much treasure there is in this cavern. It’s incredible. Mounds and mountains glisten as far as I can see. “I guess you’ve never been caught and forced to give any up.”

  Patty chuckles and pushes his glasses further up his nose. “Och, I’ve been caught a time or two, but when I bring them here to claim their prize, Her Exaltedness ends my obligation with a quick snap of her mighty maw.”

  “She gets a snack, and you get to keep your gold.”

  Patty nods. “A grand union fer near a millennium.”

  “And the bodies in the tunnel? They’re the people who bested you?”

  “Some. Others came in search of Her Eminence to satisfy curiosity. Most were stupid enough to try to force her favor.”

  My bowels twist, and I wonder if there’s a bathroom around here if I need it. “She’s not fond of the favor seekers?”

  Patty chuckled. “Not a bit, but they keep her fed. So, Miss Cumhaill, what brings ye by?”

  I swallow against the bile rising in my throat.

  Before I answer, he bursts out laughing. “I’m coddin’ ye. Are ye ready to give it a go?”

  “You know why I’m here?”

  “Och, of course. I keep an eye on the dark lady fer just such things. She’s singularly focused on solving the prophecy, that one. A stubborn being, but Her Illustriousness and I do enjoy her offerings to break the monotony.”

  “Awesome. It’s good to know that when she grinds my b
ones to dust, at least I’ve provided a distraction.”

  “That’s the spirit,” he says. After shuffling over to the dragon, he strokes a section of her scaly tail. “My Ladyship, we have a guest. It’s Fiona of the Clan Cumhaill. She brings you a gift from the dark lady.”

  I swallow, once again hearing Da’s warning. “Forget hoppin’ the pond fer a grand family reunion. It won’t be like that. What he offers, yer best without.”

  Getting munched by an angry she-dragon applies. I cling to the glittery glass bottle and wish with everything in me that I am safely home in my bedroom in Toronto. As I suffer my mental meltdown, the dragon’s eye slowly peeks open.

  Against the shadowed, blood-red wall of wound serpent, a glimmering gold oval widens. Her eye shimmers in the dim light and seems almost backlit.

  Patty gestures to where I stand, and I fight not to pee my pants. “Greetings, Your Awesomeness.” I offer an awkward bow. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

  “Yet you do.”

  “It wasn’t my choice, I’m afraid.”

  “Lies. It was the choice you made. Three of those who came before you dove to the water below rather than face me or the witch’s retaliation. Lie to me again, and our conversation ends with your blood-curdling screams.”

  Oh, great start. “I’m sorry. That is true.”

  “And why do you bother us?”

  I hold up the bottle of creamy goop in both hands and drop my gaze. I’m going for the Lion King presentation stance, but I’m not sure I pull it off. “Baba Yaga sent you this to quench your thirst. I hope you like it.”

  I really, really hope you like it.

  “I doubt I will.” She sighs as she lumbers to uncoil. “Give Patty the elixir and go through the prophecy.”

  I hand the bottle to the spry old leprechaun and try to remember what Baba Yaga said. “‘Daughter of son of long ago, Hark back to home from land of snow.’ My da left the Order years ago to move to Toronto, Canada, and start a family. I’m the daughter of the son, and we get buried in snow in the winter, so I think that part is a slam-dunk.”