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

by Auburn Tempest

  “Yep, somewhere way back, our family tree shared the same roots.”

  “Well then, merry meet, cousin. I’m glad to know ye and thank ye for coming to help my waters.”

  The boat slows, and although we’ve only been on the river for ten minutes, we’ve traveled a great deal farther than that should’ve allowed for.

  Magic is cool.

  “Come, let me show ye the source of my concern.”

  As she waves a gentle hand, her ship eases to the bank of the river and steadies. Wallace helps Janet off. Manx leaps onto the grass on his own. Sloan helps me off and turns to hold out his hand to the goddess. “May I help ye, milady?”

  She smiles and holds her fingers out. “So gallant.”

  “He’s a keeper all right.” I wink as he escorts her onto the grass beside us.

  When she’s settled, she strides over to me, takes my hand, and sets it at the crook of her elbow. “Come, cousin. Let me show ye what has me concerned.”

  The moment we arrive at the scene of chaos, Wallace and Sloan are consumed by the state of five people gathered by a village pump. Well, people is a blanket term that may or may not apply. From what the one still able to communicate tells us, the village water system went down early this morning, and they volunteered to fetch water from the artesian well.

  It didn’t go well for them.

  Since it hadn’t been used in a while, one member of the group tested the water. When it tasted off, he passed it to a few others for their opinions. Voila, five altered humans in the process of transforming into fae beasts.

  I scan the area. It’s set back from the river, but there doesn’t seem to be a pump-house or anything. “Where is the access point of this pump? Where is it drawing from?”

  None of them seem to know, or they’re too freaked out by gills and scales appearing on their bodies to be much help.

  Wallace has his stern healer face on, which I know from my experience being on his doctoring table, isn’t the look you want. “I need my team,” he says to Sloan. “Portal to the clinic and bring them back. Then I need ye to track down Ciara and have her join us.”

  “Ciara? What the hell do you need her for?” The cutting edge to my words is audible—and inappropriate. “Sorry. That came out harsher than I meant.”

  Janet frowns. “Ciara Doyle is a talented druidess with cultivated skill in dealing with poisons.”

  Not surprising. The girl is toxic.

  I manage to keep that outburst to myself.

  Sloan looks from me to his parents and seems torn.

  “Don’t worry about me. Go. People are suffering.”

  He looks over at Manx, and the lynx’s head turns in response. I see the dip in the cat’s chin before Sloan’s animal companion trots over to stand next to me.

  I scrub Manx’s cheek and smile. “You’re sweet, Mackenzie. Now stop worrying about me and go.”

  He winks and flashes off.

  Left to my own devices, I head over to the trees with a dutiful gray wildcat trotting along beside me. “If I’m right, there will be a couple of casks set up somewhere close by.”

  Let me out to help look. Bruin flutters around in my chest, and I release my hold. My bear manifests in the trees next to me and scrunches up his face. “Do ye think the casks will be easy to find?”

  “No, I think we need to Detect Magic, but I don’t know that spell, so I moved on to divining rod.” I pull out my phone and scroll back through Sloan’s texts to the instructions and spell he gave me last month for making a divining rod. “Okay, we need a forked branch from an oak or ash tree or a yew shrub.”

  I’m getting better at recognizing different types of trees and leaves, but Janet is right. I’m decades behind in my training. The first problem is there are so many variations of trees to learn, and when you add to that issue how species change by location, I’m playing a nature guessing game.

  Manx is a big help.

  After a five minute trot rummaging through the fallen leaves and between the trees, he returns from behind a grouping of evergreens with a forked branch in his mouth.

  I take it and pat his muscled shoulder. “Thanks, this is perfect.”

  Stepping further into the trees, I hold the stick out in front of me, modify Sloan’s spell to fit the situation, and focus my intention:

  Branch of yew, I cast this charm,

  Find the poison doing harm.

  Where casks hide, you shall see,

  and feel the pull to guide me.

  Protection spells hinder you none,

  We find the casks, and this is done.

  With my connection to nature deeply rooted in my desire to cleanse the River Boyne's water, I push power into my spell. When Emmet and I did this spell to find the ley lines in the rivers and waterways, I was juiced with naiad magic and put too much power into it.

  It was a wild and dangerous ride for poor Emmet.

  Hilarious…but wild and dangerous.

  Today, though, the power behind the spell is mine alone and is much more controlled. When the divining rod shimmies to life, I slide my phone into the pocket of my pants, and away we go. “Game on, boys.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Our trundle through the woods is quite peaceful and soothing. If it weren’t for us searching for raw fae magic that could turn us all into swamp creatures, it would be fun. Even still, I admit, it’s a little fun. Who would’ve thought my destiny would be to thwart the plots of dark witches trying to expose the fae realm?

  My life is so cool.

  When my divining rod pokes against the rough face of a stone wall, I frown and turn away from the rock. Holding the rod out once again, I wait to see if it finds a way around.

  The divining rod pulls back the same way and pokes the stone again.

  “Bruin, can you spirit your way above this rock and see what’s on the other side? I’m not sure if my stick wants to go into the rock or through it.”

  “On it.” Bruin disappears and is back a moment later. “There isn’t another side to this. The landscape slopes and the forest continues on a steep uphill climb.”

  “Do ye think there could be a cave behind the rock?” Manx asks. “Maybe yer witches transformed the cave opening to conceal their workings.”

  “Anything is possible, I suppose. Okay, let’s see.” After thanking the divining rod for a job well done, I set it on the ground and have Manx sit on it, in case we need it later, and it decides to continue without us.

  After seeing Emmet dragged through the forest, I know how determined divining rods can be.

  Pressing my hands against the cool, damp rockface, I connect with the energy of the minerals involved.

  “Stone to Sand.” Magic tingles at the back of my neck as the solid wall before me starts to dissolve.

  My shield flares.

  It catches me by surprise. It’s too late.

  The stone wall between the witches and me is gone—

  Tough as Bark. I’m calling my armor forward as a blast of magic hits me and knocks me flying into the air. The blow is stunted but not blocked completely. My momentum comes to a hard stop when I hit the trunk of a tree and drop to the ground in a heavy flop.

  Ow. That hurt.

  I press my palms into the soil and push myself onto my hands and knees. Bruin’s growl thunders through the forest, and I don’t even care that my bear will get all the action on this one.

  There will be no dialing back my Killer Clawbearer now.

  Regaining my footing, I try to make myself useful.

  Birga responds to my call without hesitation, and I stumble toward the mouth of the cave.

  Manx is snarling and swiping at a witch he has pinned against the cave wall. He’s covered in leather battle armor I’ve never seen before, and it’s wicked cool. He lets out a hideous mrowl as an orb of energy knocks him flying.

  My eyes sting as my fury burns away the glamor on my eyes. “You okay, puss?”

  What comes back at me is a string o
f Irish cursing that would make Patty proud. That’s good.

  Manx is pissed, but okay.

  Birga and I engage with the one woman left standing, but we don’t even get past our first jab when Bruin slices her from shoulder down to her opposite hip. His massive claws pierce through her and cut her almost in two.

  I’m covered in the splattered spray of a dead witch and scowl at Bruin. “Really? Was that necessary?”

  He snarls at me, his teeth bared in fury. “Aye, it was. When they hurt you, they die a horrible death. It is the way.”

  I snort. “Did you just quote the Mandalorian?”

  “Maybe.” He shakes his head and the fur on his massive neck and shoulders sways and shakes off blood like a dog coming out of the lake. “I think it’s catchy. It is the way. It has a nice cadence to it. I think I should have a tag line.”

  I roll my eyes, thankful every moment of the day for my bond with him. “Okay, let’s see what this cave is about and how we did. Manx, you good to join us, my man?”

  Sloan’s lynx tromps back into the cave still spouting obscenities. Beware the quiet ones. I try to hide my grin and wonder if Sloan knows half as many curses as his cat does.

  That’s an interesting convo for another day.

  Taking inventory of the cave, the three of us explore deeper into its depths. Bruin is right. The slope of the ground drops, and soon we’re in an underground grotto.

  “Hello, my precious.” I point at the two casks and the glowing discs pumping raw fae prana into the river.

  Even after watching Dora, Sloan, and Sarah disarm the same setup at the River Shannon, I’m doubtful I can do it alone. “I think I could reverse the function of the discs back to siphon and dismantle them, but I don’t have a clue about the witch magic Sarah disarmed. We’ll need to phone a friend.”

  “What’s this?” Sloan joins us. “Fiona Cumhaill is both logical and cautious in the clutch of a situation? I never thought I’d see the day.”

  I stick out my tongue and regret it. I’m still covered in witch bitch, and apparently, some is on my lips. “I’m a work in progress.”

  Sloan eyes me up and down and frowns. “Yer a bloody mess is what ye are. Are ye all right?”

  “Fine. This was Bruin being overprotective and killing my opponent in the most explosive way possible.”

  Sloan nods at Bruin, and the two share a private look. “Well done, Bear. And I see my Manx got into the mix.”

  “He sure did. And holy schmoly, puss, you look badass in your leathers.”

  Manx is licking his wide, tufted paws and grooming his face. His leathers are no longer visible, and I wonder how that works. Can he call them like I call my armor? “Nice of ye to notice.”

  I chuckle. Sloan says that all the time too. Cute.

  Pulling out my phone, I text Sarah. A moment later her response pings back. “Sarah’s ready to be picked up. Can you grab her to help?”

  “Back in a flash.”

  It’s nearly two in the afternoon by the time Sloan and I finish with Sarah in the grotto. We take her home, then stash the two River Boyne casks with the two River Shannon casks in the safe room in Sloan’s wing in his castle. It’s not ideal, but we can’t put them back without Mother Nature or all three pieces of the key together, so we’re holding them here until we’re ready to return them to the Cistern in one trip.

  After Sloan gets his parents and the medical team and the mutant people back to the clinic, we are officially finished with our morning from hell.

  “There ye are,” Ciara says.

  Or so I thought.

  “Let the morning of hell continue,” I whisper.

  Sloan chuckles beside me and turns as we reach the hall that leads to his room. “Ciara. What can we do for ye?”

  “Yer da’s been askin’ about ye. He wants ye to help out in the clinic for a few hours.”

  Sloan drops his head back and sighs. “I can’t. I’m dead on my feet already, and we’re four hours late pickin’ up Calum to track down the dark witches.”

  “Which one is Calum?”

  “The gay one,” I answer. I wave my hand through the air in my best Obi-Wan impression. “He is not the druid you are looking for.”

  Sloan chuckles. “Yes, he’s gay and very much off the market. He’s only here to help us track down the other kegs.”

  “It’s true then. Yer workin’ for the Divine Lady?”

  He nods. “It’s true.”

  Ciara eyes me up and down. I’m still plasma-covered and sporting ode to witch innards, so pretty much disgusting. She shakes her head. “I admit I don’t see what all the fuss is about, but I’ll not second guess Our Lady. Yer doin’ somethin’ right, Cumhaill. I’ll give ye that.”

  “Um…thanks?” Ciara and I will probably never be friends, but it’s nice not to be at war with her either.

  “Oh, and just so ye know.” She meets my gaze. “Janet asked me to turn on my wiles and seduce him away from ye. Watch yer back. She’s not keen on havin’ ye around her thoroughbred son.”

  I search her expression and wonder what her angle is for telling me. “I take it you declined?”

  “Officially, I never commented either way, but between us, I don’t need to scheme for sloppy seconds.”

  “Of course not.” When she frowns, I wave away her skepticism. “No. Seriously. You’re gorgeous and educated. I don’t think for a second you need to set your sights on picking anything but the top fruit on the tree.”

  She nods. “Besides, it’s moot. One look at him, and it’s obvious he’s a lost cause.”

  “Hello, ladies…him’s standing right here.”

  I chuckle and take his hand. “Actually, you’re not here—we’re not here. You didn’t see us. You didn’t find us.”

  Ciara nods. “I can do that. Off ye go. I have to go play poison Florence Nightingale to five very distraught fae-infected humans.”

  “Does Wallace think he can help them?” I ask.

  Ciara raises a shoulder looking bored. “Help them during their transitions? Yes. Help them return to who they were and the lives they had before this morning? No.”

  “That’s sad.”

  Ciara nods. “It is at that. Now go before someone else sees ye and yer stuck.”

  “Thanks for the save.” I lace Sloan’s fingers in mine. “Manx, you too. We’re getting outta Dodge, buddy.”

  The lynx lifts his chin and trots in between us. “And off to our next adventure.”

  By the time we get to Gran’s, shower, and eat, it’s nearly three in the afternoon. A message bings in on my phone and I check to see what it’s about. It’s the death benefits guy again. As much as I don’t want to acknowledge Brendan’s death, Myra’s right. Da’s not the only one who’s not getting over the loss well.

  This guy’s only doing his job, and I’m acting rude. I open the text and type my response. Out of town for a few days. I’ll be in touch as soon as I’m back in Toronto. My apologies.

  When that sends, I realize there’s a missed call from Garnet. I leave Sloan, Gran, Granda, and Calum in the living room and slip into the kitchen to call him back. “Hey there. Sorry I missed your call. What’s up?”

  “Not a problem. I figure you were probably battling dark witches or taming a dragon or something.”

  “Yes on the dark witches. No on the dragons. I don’t need to tame the dragons. They’re my friends.”

  “Right. I forgot.” The line muffles as if he’s cupped his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone, then he returns. “Sorry about that.”

  “Not a problem. So, what do you need?”

  “What do I need? No, no, Lady Druid, it’s what you need that’s in question.”

  “All right, I’ll bite. What do I need?” Saying that out loud brings so many answers to the fore. A vacay from cray-cray, an afternoon with Liam, a visit to my grove, and quite a few things involving Sloan’s healing hands, King Henry, and a lot of almond oil...

  I pull back from my mental meand
ering and focus.

  Garnet has piqued my curiosity, and now I’m looking forward to his news. “Would the location of the dark witches’ targets and the purpose of it all be on that list?”

  “That would be awesome. Is this a bait and switch or is that what you’ve got? And how did you get it?”

  “My colleagues you met last night may have taken it upon themselves to interrogate your witches today—unsolicited by me, I assure you—and ended up with some answers you might be interested in hearing.”

  “Hells yeah. What did they find out?”

  “According to Jimmy, the witches confessed to making away with nine casks of primal fae energy before they were discovered. They stashed two at the River Shannon, which you know, two at the River Boyne, and four at the mouth of the Three Sisters.”

  “What is the Three Sisters?”

  “It’s a river basin that splits off into the Rivers Barrow, Nore, and Suir.” Sloan joins me. “Sorry, ye’ve been gone a while. It’s always prudent to check when ye’ve gone missin’ again.”

  I hit speaker on my phone and hold it out for Sloan to hear as well. “You’re on speaker now, Garnet. Carry on. You were saying the witches have four casks at the mouth of the Three Sisters?”

  “So I was informed, yes.”

  “That’s a lot of ground to cover for a search,” Sloan says.

  “Then you’ll be happy when I say you won’t need to cover it.”

  “What? Why?” I make a face at Sloan, and he arches an ebony brow at me.

  “Jimmy is in charge of what you might call a privately funded force. When they heard the witches’ stories, they went out and located your silver kegs of prana poison. All you need to do is show up and collect them.”

  “Seriously?” I blink, my heart picking up speed. “You mean we might have really, actually, finally caught a break?”

  “What’s the catch?” Sloan looks skeptical.

  “They mentioned they might have a favor to ask.”

  Sloan’s skepticism blooms into a fully darkened scowl. “What kind of favor? Are ye barterin’ with Fi’s safety, Grant? How well do ye know these mercenaries?”