Straight to voicemail.
“Hey, Dora. It’s Fi. I need your help. Something has happened to the Wyrm Dragon Queen, and I need your expertise. Call me back. Day or night.”
Granda barely has the Land Rover pulled to a stop when I jump out. “Bruin, I need you to search the site. Sloan’s missing and the wards went off. Let me know if you find anything.”
On it. Locked and loaded.
I release him from his place within me and smile. He’s been spending so much time with my brothers that he sounds more urban street than ancient warrior by the day.
Granda catches up to me as I close the distance.
The long, twisted shadows cast by the skeletal remains of the Ardfelt Cathedral seem extra eerie with my nerves on edge. Either that, or it’s because I’ve never been here in the dark before. Either way, it’s super creepy.
The first time I was here, Sloan told me this church was built-up, marauded, burned, and rebuilt more times than I could imagine. It makes me wonder…
“Are ghosts a real thing?”
“That’s a discussion for another night.”
Okeedokee.
He’s by the parish entrance, Red.
“Thank goodness. Bear, can you keep watch?”
On it.
“Bruin says Sloan’s by the parish entrance.”
Granda changes course, and I jog to keep up with him. Apparently, with druids, sixty-five is the new forty.
While much of Ardfelt remains a massive framework of gray stone ruins, there is a Gothic section that houses a small parish church still in use.
“There you are.” I rush him and punch him in the shoulder. “Why didn’t you respond, dumbass? We were worried.”
He rubs his shoulder and scowls. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
“What about the breach?” Granda asks. “What did ye find when ye got here?”
“Nothing. Everything looked fine. Ye’ll want to check yerself, though, I’m sure.”
“Go ahead.” I pull out my phone. “I’ll only be a minute.”
“Take yer time,” Sloan says.
Granda lifts his chin and pegs me with a scowl. “When has leavin’ ye alone in a questionable moment been a good idea?”
Whatevs. “I’m capable of making a phone call without getting kidnapped or killed.”
“Good enough.” Sloan gestures toward the door. “She seems confident in her ability to remain unscathed. She knows the way.”
Granda frowns. “Make yer call, mo chroi. It won’t take more than a minute.”
I narrow my gaze at them both and dial Pan Dora a second time. Still no answer. “I’ll try again once we check out the shrine issue. We can only put out one fire at a time.”
Granda takes the lead, unlocks the front door to the parish church, and takes us through reception to the end of a private hall. We stop in front of a solid stone wall, and he presses his palms flat on the surface. In response, a doorway appears, and we descend a set of circular stairs.
“Oh, the memories,” I say as we cross the damp, crumbly space and close the distance between the Shrine-Keeper and the shrine he keeps. “It was right here that I first told you that your head is stuck up your Irish ass. Do you remember?”
Sloan frowns. “I remember we’re here because of a shrine breach. How about we remember that?”
“Rude. Well, I remember. You said you’re better than me because you have mold and stink in your basement.”
“Uh-huh.”
He turns away, far more interested in what my grandfather is doing than what I’m saying. “Hey, what’s with you?”
He shrugs. “I’ve a lot on my mind.”
I watch the golden trail of magic illuminate as Granda draws sigils on the stone wall with his finger. The power he emits makes the hair on my arms stand on end.
Then the shield on my back lights up.
“Wait!” I hold up my hand and try to grasp what’s setting off my early warning system. “My shield’s going bananas. Let’s take a step back.”
I meant that figuratively but Granda retreats a couple of feet. I do the same.
Sloan holds his ground and sighs. “What’s the problem?”
“I don’t know. I was getting a warning.”
“Was?” Granda asks.
“It eased once you stopped the spellwork.”
“So, may we continue?” Sloan asks.
I peg him with a glare. “Who pissed in your beer, surly? Instead of getting hostile with me, why don’t you portal in and see if you can figure out what the warning is?”
He closes his eyes and sighs. “Fine. If I apologize, can we let Lugh finish removing the security measures?”
A niggle of warning flares when he says that and I realize something about this is way off. On a hunch, I grip the lapels of his wool peacoat and pull his mouth to mine.
The realization occurs at the same moment as his shock sets in. I push back and call Birga to my palm. Stepping back, I swipe his legs out from under him and poise my spear’s razor-sharp Connemara marble tip against his chest.
“Who are you and what have you done with Sloan?”
The Sloan doppelganger wipes my kiss off his mouth and scowls. “It didn’t have to be this difficult.”
As we watch, the visage of Sloan Mackenzie morphs, and we’re left staring at a woman with fire-orange hair.
Awkward.
That dirty grimoire residue I’ve been feeling grows thicker around me, and I swallow. It tastes like ash on the back of my tongue. I’m not sure what this aftereffect is, but it’s dark and unwelcome.
It does, however, sense the darkness inside this woman and recognize her as a kindred spirit. No. I’m nothing like her.
I advance my stance and grip Birga, ready to plunge. “If you know what’s good for you, witch, you’ll give me back my boyfriend.”
“You’re outmatched, druid. We’ve got you and the old man over a barrel. Finish removing the wards and give us what we want, and we’ll let your man go. This doesn’t have to end in bloodshed.”
A shuffle behind the shelves of the musty stone cellar brings two brunette witch bitches into the mix. One has the pursed scowl of a person who drank orange juice after brushing her teeth, and the other has the small, darting eyes and pointy face of a fox.
I’ve still got Sloan’s impersonator pinned down, but when I assess where Granda is to me, I don’t like our position.
Bear, I need you in the basement. I call him on our private bonding frequency. We have hostile witches down here.
On my way.
“Let me guess,” Granda snaps. “This has something to do with the Narstina Cup and Moira’s coven.”
The orange juice pucker bitch laughs. “Oh, this is bigger than our coven. This is about raising the level of all Wiccan power. Things have been set in motion, and you’re going to help ensure our success.”
“I’m not,” Granda says. “If ye think ye can blackmail an Elder of the Druid Order to betray an oath, ye don’t understand what it is to live to a code of honor.”
She pulls a jeweled athame from the leather sheath hanging from her hip and frowns. “Moira said you were a frustratingly righteous old windbag. Perhaps a little persuasion is in order.”
When she purses her lips and whistles, the dark pull of my grimoire possession flares. As the melodic pitch carries in the air, the dagger lifts and hovers, its pointed tip threatening to pierce Granda’s chest.
My blood grows hot in my veins. They’ve taken Sloan, and now they threaten my grandfather? They haven’t seen the highlight reel of what Bruin and I have done when cornered.
“Think twice about threatening people I love, bitch,” I snap, my voice threaded with the promise of violence. A searing burn rims my eyes, and I blink against the discomfort.
I breathe a little easier as the fire burns away. “By the wide-eyed stares and looks of shocked horror, it’s clear the glamor on my eyes burned off. I’m more than what I appear, and certainly more than
Moira warned you about.”
My hair kicks up as Bruin arrives on a gust of musty basement breeze. Perfect timing, buddy. Get that dagger away from Granda.
With his maw open wide, Bruin materializes between us and them, his roar echoing off the stone walls. He smacks the dagger with such force that it shatters, and metal shards rain to the stone floor.
The sudden appearance of my massive grizzly has the women stumbling back. “Last chance, ladies. Give us Sloan.”
“Not our call. We were sent for the chalice and instructed to use whatever means necessary to secure it.”
“So, you triggered the ward and waited for Granda to show up, but he wasn’t the one who responded.”
“Not that it mattered. Moira was more than happy to claim your boy as a personal project. Unfinished score to settle was what she said. While she has her fun, the rest of us have been charged with gaining possession of the chalice.”
Granda presses his hand against the wall, and a surge of druid magic builds in the air. I’m both proud and saddened that he re-established the wards. I would never want him to succumb to the threats of a faction of evil, but we’re talking about Sloan’s safety.
“Then it’s a standoff,” Granda snarls. “Get off this property and tell yer witch friends that attempting to steal from the druid shrine is a direct violation of our accord terms. Consider yerselves suspended from the magic alliance.”
“It’s time you let Genevieve go,” the brunette fox-faced woman says. “And if you ever want to see your apprentice again, you’ll consider a trade.”
My urge to rip these women to shreds is almost uncontrollable. I can feel my fingers tightening around their throats. I can see their blood spraying the stone as I impale them with Birga’s spearhead. I can hear their pitiful pleas for mercy as they realize they’re about to die.
“Fiona? Are ye all right?”
I follow Granda’s voice and see the concern in his eyes. “Let her go, Fi. We can’t be reckless with Sloan’s life.”
No. Of course not.
Releasing my call on Birga, I return her to the tattoo on my right forearm and grip Granda’s wrist. Then I pat my sternum and exhale. Time to leave, Bruin.
Leave? But we didn’t get to kill anyone yet.
Not tonight, buddy.
Can I stay and kill one or two of them? I’ll be quick, I promise.
They have Sloan. We can’t risk triggering their pique any more than we already have.
That’s no fun at all.
Sorry. When he vanishes, and I feel the flutter of him settling in my chest, I grip my infinity tattoo and focus on being in the dragon lair.
Nothing happens.
I try a few more times, and I’ve got nothing.
Awesomesauce. So much for our dramatic exit. “He told you to get the hell gone, witches,” I shout, waving at the door. “And if you ever play Sloan clone again, blood will be shed.”
Chapter Eight
“I’m sorry, Granda. Witches be bitches is a saying for good reason. I want them dead for taking Sloan. We need to go after them hard. They’re up to something underhanded and for some reason, they think the chalice in your shrine is the key to getting what they want. I get that they can’t have it, but how do we find Sloan and get him back?”
Granda’s gone into silent mode, pegging the oncoming center line of the highway with a murderous glare.
My phone rings, and it takes my hamster a moment to get in the wheel. Right. “Dora, thank goodness.”
“Fiona. I’m sorry for the slow reply, girlfriend. I’m having a bit of an emergency myself.”
Oh, no. I was hoping to have her undivided attention for the dragon queen issue. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is it anything my family or I can help you with?”
“You won’t tell the Guild?”
“Of course not. I don’t tell them a quarter of the things that happen in my life. I do not need to tell them about what’s happening in yours.”
There’s a deep, bass grunt of agreement at the end of the line before she continues. “Something valuable of mine was taken. I’ve spent the better part of two days tracking the magic signature of the guilty party and just had a nasty run-in with a bunch of out-of-town witches.”
“You’re kidding.” My shield tingles and a shiver runs the length of my spine. “Granda and I just faced off with three witches trying to rob the druid shrine. What’s with the witches this week?”
The line goes very quiet. When Dora speaks again, her voice has shifted from being harried and annoyed to being laced with concern. “What were they after, Fi? Do you know?”
“Hold on one sec.” I mute the call and swivel in the shotgun seat. “Granda? Dora was robbed by witches too. She wants to know what they were after. Can I tell her without breaking any non-disclosure issues on you?”
He casts me a sideways glance. “Fiona, considering yer friend’s first life, you have my permission to speak freely with her about anything.”
I take the call off hold and put it on speaker. “Sorry about that. I’m putting you on speaker. My grandfather’s here. He’s the Shrine-Keeper for the Druid Order.”
“It’s a pleasure to speak with you, sir,” Dora says, genuine respect in her tone. “Your granddaughter speaks highly of you and your wife.”
“Och, well, I can say the same.”
I realize the pleasantries of introductions are all good, but honestly, I’m not in the mood. I want Sloan home and safe. “You asked what the witches were after…yeah, they want something called the Narstina Cup.”
“Is it a gold chalice by any chance? Maybe with an interesting base?”
“It is at that,” Granda says. “How’d you know? Have ye come upon it over the years?”
“I haven’t. It’s a long story. Did they get it?”
“No, the vault is locked down tight. It seems they expected to force me to open the shrine. When I didn’t, they slithered off to regroup.”
“But they have Sloan,” I say, hating to imagine where he is or what they’ll do to him to try to get him to open the vault. “We have to get him back. They want to force a trade, and I’m trying to figure out how to work that to our advantage.”
“Fiona—listen to me, girlfriend—no matter what, no matter who they have or who they threaten, you must ensure they don’t get that chalice.”
“Why? What’s so special about the Narstina Cup?”
“I need to check in person, but I think it might be part of the key to access the Cistern of The Source.”
“What’s The Source?”
“It’s the source, Fi. The source of all fae prana.”
“I thought that was the ley lines?”
“Picture it like the ley lines being rivers flowing off a vast lake of power. The Source is…well, it’s the source. Look, it’s complicated, and like I said, a long story. Now, tell me about your dragon queen.”
I recap what I know about her lethargy and what Patty told me. “When it rains it pours. Witch thieves, kidnapped boyfriends, and ailing dragons.”
“I think, in this case, that’s less about bad timing and more about things being interconnected.”
Granda frowns and turns from the main road to take us off the beaten path to his property. “How are they interconnected?”
“Yeah,” I say. “What do thieving witches have to do with sick dragons?”
“I have to examine your dragon to be sure, but if I’m right, she’s not sick. Dragons are the oldest of the fae mythological creatures. The fae prana of her life force comes directly from The Source. If I’m right, the witches are draining her magical strength.”
“That sounds bad.”
“It is, and it’ll only get worse. I need to get there. Let me check the availability of flights and get back to you. Whether they’re connected or not, we need to address both situations immediately.”
“Maybe I can do one better than searching for flights. Let me make a call. Do you know Nikon Tsambikos, cute blond Gree
k, looks like he’s almost old enough to drink in public?”
“Nikon, from the Isle of Rhodes. Yes, when you’ve lived as long as we have, you tend to cross paths with others in the same circles.”
“If you have no objection, I’ll call him and see if he can taxi you here.”
“No objection. I’ll pack a bag.”
“Perfect. And Dora…thanks for jumping in and helping. This is bigger than me.”
“Fi, if this is what I think it is, it’s bigger than all of us.”
Ten minutes later, the beams of illumination from Granda’s headlights swing across the front lawn of their home and wash over Nikon, standing with Dora, Emmet, and Dillan on the stone walkway in front of the house.
“That was fast.” I jump out of the Land Rover and join them. “Thanks for dropping everything and coming.”
Dillan side-hugs me and stiffens when he sees my eyes.
“Sorry. I know they’re freaky.”
Emmet waves that away. “Totes not your fault, Fi. We’ll get used to it.”
“I hope not. Sloan taught me a glamor spell. I’ll fix them as soon as we get sorted.”
Dora frowns when she sees my eyes, and I shrug. “A side-effect from the grimoire. Sloan said his father thinks he’s broken the bond, but apparently, I’m a little tainted.”
“About Sloan,” Dillan says. “Calum, Dad, and Aiden wanted to come too but are on shift. They’re on standby, though. If we need them to get him back, they’ll be here in two snaps of a Greek immortal’s fingers.”
I smile at Nikon. “Thank you for your help. You’re much more than a transporter. I’m so glad you’re here.”
Nikon flashes me a genuine smile. “I told you, Red. I enjoy Team Cumhaill. And hey, we need to get Sloan home and back into the net. He’s the only chance I have to score this season.”
“He’s the only chance she has to score this season too.” Emmet flashes me a teasing grin.
I chuckle, but honestly, I’d rather cry or kill someone. “There’s nothing wrong with being selective about who you get naked with.”
Emmet adjusts the strap of his duffle on his shoulder and smiles. “Nothing wrong with it, no, but certainly less fun.”
A Witch’s Revenge (Chronicles of an Urban Druid Book 4) Page 8
