A Witch’s Revenge (Chronicles of an Urban Druid Book 4)

by Auburn Tempest

  All righty then.

  “So, where is Sloan?”

  “Off somewhere with the silver-haired elf. He said he’d not be long.”

  Crappers. I check my watch and sigh. “Okay, thanks. I appreciate the message and the breakfast. I’m sure by the time I’ve eaten he’ll be back and ready to start our day.”

  One manicured brow arches and that pinched face returns. “The start of day began hours ago, but your point is clear. Eat and perhaps when he returns there might be enough day left to do something productive.”

  Now it’s me forcing a smile. “Perfect. Let’s hope.”

  The two of them leave, and I sit at the table. First, I text Sloan to say I’m ready and we’re on a mission. Then, I lift the lid to check out the offerings. Holy-schmoly the omelet is as big as my head, and there’s a mound of hashbrowns and brown beans and sausage. There’s no way I’m going to be able to eat all this. And yeah, there’s a side bowl of fruit too.

  I dig into my omelet and try to at least look like I’m playing the part of a good patient. Wow. The omelet is yummy, and I make a mental note to make sure Dalton knows it.

  My phone buzzes back a reply text, then Sloan’s standing next to me. I choke and swallow the breakfast bliss, pressing a linen napkin to my mouth. “Hey, you’re back.”

  “I texted that I was comin’.”

  I open the text and nod. “So you did. But when the text and you arrive at the same time, it’s not much good as advance notice.”

  “Ye said ye needed me so I came straight. If ye wanted lag time, ye should’ve said so.”

  I chuckle and take a few more bites. “No. You’re good. Patty needs us to pick up Granda and come to the lair.”

  As I’m getting up, Sloan places his hands on my shoulders and holds me in place. “Finish yer meal. I’ll check in with my father and be back in a flash. There’s no sense leavin’ food to go to waste when ye need the nourishment, and I need a moment anyway.”

  I chuckle and take another bite. “I’ll never finish this meal but fine, if you promise to hurry, I’ll do my best. Patty sounded upset.”

  He doesn’t bother to respond before he poofs out.

  I get another few bites down and realize there’s no chance in hell. “Bruin, I need your help with something...”

  By the time Sloan gets back, my plate is clean, and I’m popping pineapple squares into my mouth as I tie my boots.

  “Ye gave it to yer bear, didn’t ye?”

  “I ate what I could.”

  “Fine, I’ll not argue, but ye need to take better care of yerself. Even if ye feel better, it takes time to recover from the level of poison the book infected ye with.”

  I understand that. I’m the one with the evil residue feeling lingering in the background.

  Straightening, I search the room, looking for my jacket. My suitcase is in his bathroom. My shoes are by the door, and my dishes are on his table. “Wow, I’ve kinda spread out and taken over. Sorry.”

  “Och, don’t be. I’ve lived so long under the threat of spot checks and bouncing quarters off my mattress it feels utterly rebellious to see disorder in the room.”

  I snort. Yeah, he’s a rebel all right. “You’re too funny, Mackenzie. Now, enough chit-chat. Let’s roll. You get us to Granda’s, and I’ll take it from there.”

  Chapter Six

  After three failed tries to activate my dragon portal, I’m not sure what to think. Every time before, accessing the lair has been the blink of a thought and the work of a moment. Patty’s worry about the queen might be more urgent than I first thought. Something is interfering with the magic.

  With Sloan and Granda holding my free hand, I try once more. I grip the dragon infinity band on my arm and flash from my grandparent’s kitchen to the ante-chamber of the ancient queen.

  The lair of the Wyrm Dragon Queen is enclosed in a massive cavern deep in the rocky cliffside of the Cliffs of Moher.

  The mid-morning sun outside spotlights the opening to the cliff edge, and I glance down four hundred feet to the white-capped water crashing below. The salty sea air lifts my hair as wind buffets against us, twisting and twirling at the opening to the outside world.

  “The first time I was here, bodies and bones littered this whole area.” I sweep a hand through the space and can see the horror of the original scene in my memory like it was yesterday and not four months ago.

  “Come in, and I’ll show you around. Oh… I don’t have to remind you not to touch Patty’s gold, right? He’s quite protective of his cache of valuables.”

  Granda grunts. “Yer givin’ me pointers on etiquette around a Man o’ Green, are ye? That’s ironic.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, maybe it is. I don’t want to see either of you eaten by the dragon queen. It’s her privilege to chomp people who go for Patty’s hoard.”

  “Noted and understood,” Sloan says.

  I lead the way deeper into the lair, and while our eyes adjust to the dim light, I give them a second to let the sight sink in. “This section of the cavern is where Her Exaltedness lives and sleeps. There she is.”

  A hundred feet from the opening where we stand the dragon queen lays coiled up, her eyes closed. Her muscular tail encircles her many times over and her scales glimmer in vibrant shades of red.

  “Incredible,” Granda says, his gaze fixed. “Ye told us about her magnificence, Fi, but it’s not the same as seein’ it.”

  No. It’s not.

  The torches are lit in the treasure area, and the reflection of light off the hills and valleys of gold bathes the entire cavern in a glow of warmth.

  “It’s more treasure than could be held in a thousand druid shrines.” Sloan stares across the vast space and shakes his head. “It’s hard to grasp that this much treasure even exists.”

  Granda grunts. “Patty is a lucky man. Imagine the stories these treasures can tell. Imagine the history and the significance of the pieces. It’s an incredible collection.”

  “I knew ye’d understand, Shrine-Keeper.” Patty joins us. “Those who see gold as wealth and possession are missing the entire meaning of treasure.”

  Granda nods. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  I bend to hug my friend. He looks harried and tired. With his disheveled appearance and the worry lines under his eyes, he’s barely recognizable as the playful Elvis dance partner I know and love.

  “What is it? What’s happened?”

  He gestures at the queen. “Someone’s done somethin’ to her, Fi. She hasn’t woken in over a week, and I was hopin’ Lugh might be able to help on that front. The young are hungry, and they miss their mam, and I don’t know what to do. I’ve done my best, but I can’t watch them and feed them and get her the help she needs.”

  As if the mention of the young has called them, the rumble of an incoming horde of twenty-three baby dragons grows in the air.

  “Brace yerselves, boys,” Patty advises. “They’re an energetic bunch, and they haven’t eaten, so they might bite.”

  Sloan flashes a wide-eyed gaze and looks like he’s fighting the urge to poof out.

  I raise my hand. “It should be fine.”

  “Och, it might not.” Patty makes a face. “I’ll ask them not to nibble, but they’re a hungry bunch.”

  Hells bells.

  “Granda, you get in the pink Cadillac. The kids know they’re not allowed near the queen’s memorabilia. Sloan, you poof back to Gran and find us some roadkill quickly. Now that you’ve been here, you’ll be able to get back.”

  “Unless the cavern is enchanted,” he reminds me.

  “Och, I’ll clear your way, sham. Away ye go.”

  The two of them follow my plan and get to safety as my honorary children stampede me. “Dudes, hi. Yes, I’m here. I know, it’s super exciting.”

  I don’t need to bend to pat and stroke them this time. They come up to my waist now. Man, you blink, and they’ve grown. Time passes differently in the presence of creatures with massive pow
er, and a mythical dragon queen certainly qualifies there. “Look at you guys. So many changes.”

  My blue boy, Dartamont, is the oldest and the first to transition into his adolescent form, but more of them have gone through puberty now.

  I stagger to the side, swarmed by wyrms, wyverns, and Westerns. Scanning the jostle of wings, horns, and scales, I find my boy and smile. “There you are, Dart. Come here.”

  A quick scan of my baby dragon assures me that nothing much has changed since I saw him last. He’s still cute as a button, two wings, three horns, four legs, and a goofy grin that probably only a mother could love.

  And I do.

  Sloan poofs in, kneeling over a dead cow, his hand pressed against its shoulder for transport. The moment the babies smell the meat, he abandons the carcass and materializes beside me. “It’s a start. Lara is scrambling to find more. She’s expanding the search across Kerry, up to Tralee, and over to Killarney. Farmers, municipal road clean up, and hunters without proper permits.”

  “That’s a good start.” In the time it’s taken for Sloan to catch me up, the full-sized cow has disappeared in a bloody spray of savagery.

  Sloan frowns. “Shite. But it’s only a start. I’ll be back.”

  It goes like that for the next hour, Sloan poofing in every ten or fifteen minutes with a cow, a deer, or a couple of sheep collected from towns moving out in the growing distance from our home base in Farrenfore.

  With each offering, the dragons get less ravenous, and their manners improve. They’re a disgusting sight, covered in blood and entrails, but at least they’re not eyeing us up as the main course anymore.

  After a huge black Angus bull arrives and there are only a couple of takers for the meal, I think the babies are sated to the point of safety.

  Once Sloan returns, he’ll be off the clock for a while.

  “I don’t suppose you have a power sprayer handy?” I say. “It seems our kids have made a bit of a mess.”

  Patty is all grins. “Och, I’ll take a macabre mess over knowin’ the young have gown hungry any day of the week. What would I ever tell Her Magnificence if I let something happen to even one of the wee dolls?”

  Ha! The wee dolls are getting wilder and more vicious every time I visit. It won’t be long before they’re out in the world terrorizing flocks and villagers across the Emerald Isle and beyond.

  That’s a problem for another day.

  I rest a hand on Dart’s back as I navigate the plasma slip-and-slide and make my way over to where Granda is safely stashed in the King of Rock and Roll’s Cadillac. The pink convertible sits with the top down, and Granda seems content to lounge on the white leather seats while watching the show.

  My boots squelch in the ooze, and I try not to think about it. Druiding is hard on footwear. “Immediate crisis averted. The kids are fed. You are safe to exit the car.”

  Granda chuckles. “That was somethin’ to see, I’ll tell ye. When yer wee man was at our place, I thought I’d seen what it was fer a dragon to feed, but seein’ two dozen of them consuming beasts in a flurry was somethin’ else altogether.”

  I understand Granda’s awe, but honestly, we don’t have time to get caught up in it. On to the next problem.

  “As a historian, what do you know about why the queen might not be waking up?”

  Granda frowns. “That depends on what state she’s actually in. To be still like this, she could be sleepin’ as Patty said, or she could be sick or spelled or siphoned or a dozen other things.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Och, I can’t. I’m a shrine-keeper, not a dragon keeper.”

  “What about Gran with her nature abilities or Wallace with his experience in healing?”

  An alarm jingles over by Patty’s Lay-Z-Boy station and he jogs over to shut it off. When he returns, he picks up a wide-headed street broom and starts scrubbing over the queen’s scales. “They’ll not be much help, I’m afraid. Dragon physiology is very different from animals and people of all species.”

  Granda nods, his attention locked on the queen lying there deathly still. “The knowledge is quite singular, I’m afraid, and it has fallen out of study with the disappearance of the beasts over the past centuries.”

  “So, what we need is someone ancient who’s trained and dedicated to the care of dragons. Do either of you know anyone like that?”

  “I don’t,” Paddy says.

  “Nor do I,” Granda says.

  Och, but we do, Bruin says. I know exactly who we need.

  After another half-hour, Sloan fails to return, so we decide to try the infinity band portal and not to wait. Almost all the dragons have returned to their nursery area. A couple chose to curl up next to their mama for a nap, and Dart stayed with me. They’re content.

  For now, anyway.

  It’s not like Sloan to flake, but maybe he got caught up with something and couldn’t get back. Or, even more likely, it has something to do with the bizarre passage of time in the lair. Maybe it’s as simple as that.

  Whatever the reason, I hug Dart around the neck and scrub the spot between his horns with my knuckles. He lets out a contented purr. “For us to help the queen, I need to be topside to make a few calls. I’ll be back, baby. Patty, have faith. I’m on this. We’ll figure it out.”

  “Thank the goddess.” Patty hops down from the rolling hills of the queen’s scaly coils to fist-bump. “May the luck of the shamrock goose yer perky arse.”

  I giggle. “One can only hope. Oh, and if Sloan comes back here before we run into him, let him know we’re at Gran’s and Granda’s place.”

  “Will do.”

  Dartamont makes a little snuffle sound and tenses with a look of sheer concentration. A moment later, a wisp of smoke rises from the two slits of his nostrils.

  “Wow, you’re amazeballs, dude. Next thing you know, you’ll be blowing fiery streams of flame and be razing the countryside.”

  Granda takes my hand and scowls. “Ye realize that won’t be a good thing, right?”

  “Oh, I know, but I’ll still be proud.”

  Gripping my arm where the dragon portal encircles my arm beneath my jacket, I picture the quaint country home where my grandparents live. The sprawling stone cottage built into the Irish hillside boasts an old-growth tree growing up through the center of the living room, arched windows, and undulating thatched roofs that sit atop the different sections like a gnome’s floppy hats.

  When nothing happens, I close my eyes and focus. I imagine the thick hedge that separates their land from the rest of the world, the training rings built into the dip of a small valley out the back, their grove…

  Still nothing.

  “This can’t be good.”

  Patty’s staring at me, his brow creased. “I’ll help ye, Fi. Please hurry.”

  I close my eyes, focus once again, and sense the moment Patty’s surge of magic launches us through the ether. This time when I open my eyes, we’re exactly where I expect to be.

  Night has fallen, and the bite of late October is gaining strength. It’s less disorienting to me now—the time gaps. We set off after breakfast around nine this morning, and three or four hours later, it’s after midnight.

  “Home, sweet home.” I grab the latch to the front door, but before I head inside, I think better of it. “I think I’ll hose off my boots first. No sense in tracking death across Gran’s floors.”

  “A spark of wisdom, indeed.” Granda follows me over to the hose bib.

  The two of us make quick work of cleanup, then stomp off the excess water and head inside.

  “Hellooo the house.” I scuff the soles of my boots on the mat before leaning over to untie the laces. “A bit tired, quite smelly, but we’re home all the same.”

  Gran meets us inside the main entrance, rocking a sixties-cut dress with wildflowers on it. “Oh, my poor dears. Yer hungry, I bet too. Come, grab a quick bite while I fill ye in on a few things.”

  I roll my eyes. Crap on a cracker. That
can’t be good.

  What I wouldn’t give to have a boring day with no disasters and no one needing to “fill me in” on things.

  Gran hands Granda a sandwich and frowns. “There’s been a development. Lugh, ye’ll need to head to Ardfert straight away.”

  Granda scowls. “What’s happened? Is it the shrine?”

  “I’m afraid it is. Yer wards went off to signal a breach. Sloan left straight away, but I haven’t heard back.”

  I wash the dragon crud off my hands and take half a sandwich to go. After jogging back to the front door, I put my boots back on. “Well, that explains why Sloan didn’t come back to meet up with us.”

  “Oh, my sweet boy,” Gran says. “I wondered about that. I secured two racked stags earlier this evening and hoped he simply went off to pick them up after checking on the shrine. If he didn’t, and he didn’t meet up with you, he’s been gone a donkey’s age.”

  When I straighten, Granda already has his keys in hand.

  Without Sloan, it’s either old-school travel or dragon lair-hopping. Only, dragon lair-hopping isn’t a viable option right now. I need to make those calls about the wyrm queen, so twenty minutes isn’t a bad thing.

  Unless Sloan’s in trouble.

  I phone him, but he doesn’t pick up. I text him next. Heading to Ardfert. Let me know you’re okay or meet us there. Worried about you.

  I rub the pressure in my chest. It isn’t the usual, comforting pressure of my spirit bear making his presence known. This is the kind I hate feeling…

  Someone I care about is in trouble.

  Chapter Seven

  The trip seems endless although it lasts less than fifteen minutes. Granda is quiet, focused on the road, and lead-footing it like an Indy driver. The best part of it being close to one o’clock in the morning is that there’s almost no one on the road and we can gun it through the countryside.

  While we barrel forward into the darkness, I try Sloan twice more, then call up the contacts list on my phone and work on the problem with the queen.