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

by Auburn Tempest

  Emmet frowns. “Well, Dillan and I gotta work, so it’s back to the grind for us. We used up all our days off, so it’s Calum and Nikon up next.”

  I sigh. “Sorry, guys. You deserved to have your downtime, but you spent your entire block off chasing crazies across Ireland with your sister.”

  Emmet snorts. “Chasing crazies across Ireland is way more fun than Xbox and the pub. I could’ve done without the dip in the waters of a primary ley line, but according to the powers that be, all is as it’s meant.”

  “And you turned into a kangaroo,” Dillan adds.

  Emmet grins. “Well, that part was cool.”

  Calum looks at me and presses his hands together. “You got pictures, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay, children,” Da says, his voice heavy with the late hour. “Back to the prisoners and the casks. What’s the plan?”

  I pull out my phone and text Garnet.

  Does Ireland have a Guild of the Empowered Ones?

  Not exactly, but I have people. What do you need?

  To imprison eight witches who are part of a conspiracy to taint water with fae prana and expose us all. It’s a goddess-sanctioned mission.

  The goddess…as in the Divine Lady?

  Yeah, long story.

  You’re unbelievable.

  So I’m told.

  Where are you?

  Carrigogunnel Castle. Village of Clarina.

  Give me five.

  “Okay, prisoners taken care of. Nikon, man o’ mine, buddy, pal, can you take Dora, Da, Aiden, Dillan, and Emmet home? We’ll drop Calum off at Gran’s, Sarah back home, secure the casks, and regroup in the morning.”

  “I can do that,” Nikon says.

  “We owe you huge, Greek.” I make a heart with my fingers and press it to my chest. “Mad affection for the immortal.”

  He snorts. “You’re never boring, Red. I’ll give you that.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, how I wish I were.”

  “Yer sorted on the prisoner front?” Da asks.

  “Sure am. It’s not what you know; it’s who you know. Garnet’s a good one to know.”

  Da snorts. “If ye consider a man who knows where to hide bodies an asset, ye missed a few key points in the lessons I taught ye along the way.”

  I chuckle. Da’s annoyance with Garnet isn’t nearly as hostile or judgmental as it used to be. In fact, I think they might even have found some common ground.

  A redhead lass with a penchant for trouble.

  “Night, all. Love you huge.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I wake with newfound energy and excitement for the day. I’m not sure where the burst of optimism came from until I’m out of the shower and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My leg looks much better. I probe the pink flesh of my thigh. It’s still a little sore and might scar, but the gray scales of putrification are finally gone.

  Could I be free of Morgan le Fey’s grimoire?

  I take stock of the grimy film of evil residue that I’ve felt the past week. Yeah, that’s way better too.

  Yeah, baby! I’m me again.

  With my teeth brushed, damp hair combed out, and clothes on, I practically skip out of the bathroom. I smile at Sloan coming out of his walk-in closet. He’s got designer jeans on and a collared jersey that stretches nicely over the musculature of his upper body.

  Barefoot on the stone floor, I run at him and catch him by surprise. Jumping in the air, I wrap my legs around his waist, and he staggers to catch me and steady us.

  His deep chuckle vibrates against me as I claim his mouth and kiss him like I miss him. “Good morning, hotness.”

  “Good morning to you too, a ghra. What’s all this?”

  “Does a girl need a reason to express her affections?”

  “Not at all. Express away.”

  I’m about to do just that when I sense movement behind us by the door.

  “Pardon, sir.” Dalton is frozen in place. He’s holding a tray with a long, stainless steel cover and is wearing a horrified look—like his shoe just squished into a steaming pile. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  Sloan chuckles. “Not your fault, Dalton. Please, set the tray down. No harm done.”

  I giggle at Sloan using one of my go-to expressions. He’s becoming less rigid by the day. I give him a last quick smooch and wriggle against his hold for him to put me down.

  He refuses to set me free. Instead, he walks over to the table and checks out the morning breakfast offerings. “This looks perfect.”

  “And it smells divine.” I wriggle again but am still unable to coax him to set me down. I tilt my head back and look at Sloan’s butler upside down. “Thank you for taking such good care of us, Dalton. You rock.”

  “My pleasure.” He dips his chin. “Will there be anything else, sir? Miss?”

  Sloan waits until I shake my head, then dismisses him. “Please close the door on your way out.”

  Manx sneaks in before the latch of the huge panel of dark mahogany clicks into place. “Hey, puss. How are things in the halls of Stonecrest Castle?”

  “Boring. As usual.”

  “Hey, don’t jinx it. After the past four months, I’ll never knock boring.”

  Sloan gives me one more squeeze and sets me down on one of the four chairs. “So, boring, am I?”

  I snort. “Not what I said and you know it.”

  He removes the lid of the warmer and sets a plate in front of each of us. “I do. So, back to your burst of exuberance earlier. What brought that on?”

  “Oh, this smells amazeballs.” I lean closer to the plate and breathe in the aroma of raspberry pancakes with bacon. “I love fruit pancakes… oh, and the bacon is chewy, not crisp. My favorite.”

  The cocky arch of his ebony brow tells me he already knew that.

  “Have you been quizzing my brothers?”

  He lifts one shoulder and hands me the syrup.

  I stare at the bottle, and my mouth drops open. “This is Ontario maple syrup. How do you have that here?”

  “It’s your favorite. I may have bought a case and brought it with me on one of my return trips to give you a taste of home away from home.”

  I chuckle and cover my pancakes with the rich, sugary goodness. “So, my first thought here is, that’s very thoughtful and sweet. You’re adorable. My second thought is…really? Were you that sure we’d be sitting here one day that you bought a case of my favorite syrup?”

  His cocky grin morphs into a full-blown smile. “I was, and here we are.”

  “And if we didn’t get here you’d still have a case of the best syrup evah.”

  “Win-win. Now, less talking, more eating.”

  I dig into my breakfast, and it’s as good as I imagine. We eat in relative silence for a while until my tummy is happy and my mind starts to wander. “Did you happen to give me one of your healing touches last night while I was asleep?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  When he’s not looking, I slip a strip of bacon under the table to the lynx lying with his chin on my thigh. “Because last night I felt like a beaten rug. A building fell on me, and I was tired from fighting, and the leftover residual gloom of darkness was still dragging me down.”

  “I thought as much. You should’ve told me.”

  I shrug. “But this morning, I’m rested, strong, and feel better than I have since before Fionn took me back to Camelot. Your bed is amazingly comfy, but I have a sneaking suspicion that my rejuvenation is about more than six hours on a Posturepedic.”

  He wipes his mouth with his linen napkin and smiles. “Ye know how much I like to watch ye sleep.”

  “Yes, it’s odd and a little creepy.”

  “No, it’s not. Yer bein’ intentionally difficult.”

  I chuckle. “Guilty as charged. Okay, go on.”

  “Well, yer very expressive in yer sleep. If yer happy, ye smile and let out the odd giggle. When yer sad or scared, ye cry, and when yer h
urtin’ ye grimace and moan. Last night, ye were hurtin’. I took liberties and eased ye until ye sank into a restful sleep.”

  I finish chewing my last bite and take a swallow of my juice. “Well, thank you. You’re amazing, and I feel great.”

  “I’m glad. That was the idea.”

  “Careful, though. If you keep this up, I may never leave.”

  He waggles his brow. “Did ye hear that, Manx? Our evil plan is workin—”

  An alarm goes off somewhere in the distance.

  At the wail of a klaxon, I jump to my feet. “What’s that?”

  “An intruder,” Sloan says.

  I’m right behind him as he swings open the bedroom door and races out. Manx is hot on his heels, and I release Bruin to join the crew. “Where’s it coming from?” I wince at the volume of the alarm.

  Out in the hallway, it’s so loud that it seems to come from everywhere at once.

  “The clinic.” Sloan poofs out. Either he didn’t stop to think of bringing me, or he intentionally ditched me, I’m not sure.

  That’s an argument for a later date.

  I bank right around the corner from Sloan’s wing and head down the stone, spiral staircase. Sloan’s bedroom is on the third floor of the castle in the east wing. The clinic is on the ground level of the west wing. It faces the courtyard and fountain out front next to the parking lot where clinic visitors park.

  On the second floor, I bolt across the gallery walkway that runs along the front of the house. I glance out the windows as I go to see if there are any cars parked there.

  None I haven’t seen before.

  Once I get into the west staircase, I descend the final floor and call Birga forward. Tough as Bark.

  With the whisper of a thought, my body armor activates. After a building fell on me yesterday, I won’t forget again.

  Manx and I arrive in the clinic to find a huge hole in the south wall and the fight spilling out onto the grass beyond.

  “What the frickety-frack is that?”

  “A marauder giant,” Manx says. “A big one.”

  That’s the understatement of the century. It also explains how the south wall of Wallace’s clinic is now a pile of rubble. The intruder stands an easy nine or ten feet tall, with knee-high fur boots and hide armor. Despite being humanoid, with red war paint on his face and sneering rows of spiky teeth he’s nothing like any man I’ve ever seen.

  And he seems quite set on taking Wallace with him.

  Sloan and Janet are both fighting to slow him down. He’s got Wallace tucked under one arm and is swinging a spiked club at them to keep them back.

  There are still so many things I don’t know about Irish lore and creatures who live on both sides of the faery glass.

  Better to err on the side of caution. “Do we kill marauder giants?”

  “If ye try, ye best be willin’ to die for it. Their skin is as tough as yers with that enchanted armor, I expect.”

  Damn. “Bruin, see if you can scare him. Don’t engage though. Not when he has Wallace. One wrong twist and he could crush him.”

  Bruin materializes beside me and races into their midst. His roar merges with the growled grunts of the giant. My bear bellows, and the giant bellows right back.

  Bruin’s reaction is almost comical.

  He’s not used to people standing their ground with him.

  That will piss him off.

  I may not be able to kill a marauder giant, but Birga is sharp and powerful. She can at least slow him down. Rushing in beside Bruin, I take a ready stance and swing. “Put him down, you hairy brute!”

  With a growl, he steps back and shakes his head. “You not my goddess. I don’t obey green druid goddess.”

  I blink and look at Sloan. “Is that me?”

  “Sounds like it.”

  I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or offended with his take on me. Not that it matters. In the end, he stopped waving the club, and he’s not stomping away anymore.

  “Put him down.”

  “No. Goddess needs him.”

  “Needs him for what?”

  Janet Mackenzie shifts her position to get a better look at her husband. The giant matches her movement to block her line of sight. “Healer magic. Poisoned children.”

  Oh, that’s not what I expected him to say, but it beats the ‘hungry for healer meat’ I was worried about. “Okay, it’s understandable you made a rash choice. Children are sick. You’re trying to get them help.”

  “Goddess needs him.”

  “Let him go,” Sloan snaps.

  The giant rushes forward and raises his club.

  “Stop!” I shout, raising Birga and taking aim. “Don’t even think about it. Lower your club and let Wallace go.”

  “You not my goddess.” He shakes his head again and grunts, showing me his spiky teeth.

  “Obvi, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. Set him down and we’ll talk about what your goddess needs.”

  “Needs him.”

  “Put. Him. Down.”

  He leans forward and roars at me. Hot, fetid breath washes my face, and I try not to inhale. Gross. He does, however, set Wallace on his feet.

  I’m not sure what Wallace is being hailed for but if children are being poisoned and a goddess has sent for help, I’m willing to find out. “Wallace? Are you willing to go with him to see about the poisoned children?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Janet snaps. “He’s not going anywhere with that monster. I don’t care if he knocks our home to rubble. He has no right to demand Wallace’s gift.”

  Wallace straightens behind his wife and frowns. “True enough, but if there is trouble and I can help, I must try. Sloan, grab my bag from the clinic, son.”

  Janet turns on her husband and glares. “Ye’d go with a behemoth of the mound? What if yer imprisoned or cursed or ground up for his dinner?”

  “That won’t happen. I assume ye’ll all be with me.”

  “You assume correctly,” I say.

  Wallace sweeps a hand toward me and Bruin and smiles. “I couldn’t ask fer a stronger force of protection. Besides, it seems the man is compelled to answer to Fiona.”

  Yay me. “Yeah, I’m not sure what that’s about.”

  “The ways of the Tuatha De are not ours to judge or try to figure out. As servants of the fae and guardians of their gifts, we must ever endeavor to honor our stations within their realm.”

  I like the sound of that, in theory, and hope it works out like that. Pulling out my phone, I send a quick text to Calum at Gran’s to tell him Sloan and I have an errand with his parents before we continue with the plans to recover the prana casks.

  Once that message is sent, I tuck my phone away. “Locked and loaded.”

  Sloan poofs back after a moment. He brings me shoes, socks, and a jacket, and Wallace his medical bag. We walk over a few hills and into the woods that border the Mackenzie property to the south. The marauder giant’s steps are quick-paced, and with his long stride and my average height, I’m jogging to keep up. When we get to an arched arbor in the wood, I hesitate before crossing the threshold.

  “Anything?” Sloan asks.

  I search my instincts and other than a worrying pressure on my bladder and wishing I peed before I left the house, nothing comes back at me. “No. S’all good.”

  When I step through the opening of the archway, it’s like passing through a pressurized bubble. I open my jaw and pop my ears, trying to recall where I’ve felt this sensation before.

  It doesn’t take long.

  It’s the same feeling I get when I visit Garnet Grant’s home compound. When we pass under his brick archway in front of his house in Toronto, it magically transports us to a sunny compound on the plains of the Savannah in Africa.

  This is like that.

  Only, we’re not in Africa.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “The River Boyne,” the giant snaps.

  Sloan’s gaze searches the lush, green rive
rbank and he nods. “And not far from the Hill of Tara if I’m not mistaken. Fi, do ye remember yer history from when Fionn fed ye the Salmon of Knowledge?”

  “Some. Thankfully, Calum and Kevin helped me write most of it down. Why?”

  “Because this is the land of yer ancestry. Ye told me Fionn’s mother was the granddaughter of the High King and his wife, a deity of the Tuatha De Danann.”

  “Yep. I was chuffed I have the blood of the Tuatha De Danann running in my veins.”

  “Right. But not the blood of just any member of the sect. Yer a descendant of the pantheon of gods and goddesses of the fair ones.”

  I scratch my forehead, still not a hundy percent sure what he’s getting at. “Your point?”

  “I don’t think the giant set Da down and stopped to answer yer questions because he wanted to. Did ye see how muddled and frustrated he got when ye told him what to do?”

  “That’s not uncommon. I frustrate men to a fluster more often than not.”

  He arches a brow and smiles. “No argument there, but I don’t think it was what ye said so much as who said it that confused him.”

  Hubba-wha? “Speaking about muddled and frustrated, what are you saying, Mackenzie?”

  “I’m sayin’ I think he senses yer royal goddess blood and he had to obey.”

  “Seriously? Fionn’s grandmother being a goddess goes waaaay back. Do you think it’s even detectible? Isn’t there like a magic half-life that saps it out of descendants generation after generation?”

  “Ye make is sound like yer radioactive. No, it doesn’t work like that. It’s magic.”

  Oh, yeah. “Okay, let’s try out your theory.” Running to catch up with our hostile tour guide, I lift my feet high to clear the long grass. “Mr. Giant, will you do something for me?”

  “Not my goddess.”

  “Yeah, you’ve mentioned that. Still, I want to try something. Ready?”

  “No.”

  “Put your right hand in.” I stab my right hand into the air between us.

  He frowns, rounding on me with violent fury. I’m a hair’s breadth from whimpering and cursing Sloan for getting me eaten by a giant with terrible gingivitis when I put more feeling into it.