A Sacred Grove (Chronicles of an Urban Druid Book 2)

by Auburn Tempest

  When the mated couple returns, the tree lady I met is with them. She walks in long, measured steps and doesn’t look pleased to see us. There’s not much to be done about that. We need this to narrow our search.

  “Hello again, milady.” I bow my head as they approach. “I take it they told you about our problem?”

  “Parted mates, shared sight, and gauging distance. To save others, we help this instance.”

  “That’s all we ask. If we can narrow down where they took Pip’s mate, we have a better chance at getting all the fae back before something awful happens.”

  “Too late for that, our lives are altered. The groves attacked; our faith has faltered.”

  The accusation in her tone isn’t subtle. Neither is her anger. “That’s understandable. Hopefully, we can earn back your faith. Druids are your champions evermore. I assure you, we’ll do everything we can to make this right.”

  “In days of old, our true protectors. On this occasion, our tormentors. Druids noble or honor lost. Ties of past aren’t worth the cost.”

  Wait… What the hell does that mean? Can the fae withdraw from the lives of druids? Can they rescind the gift of us having powers? These stupid Black Dog assholes are going to ruin it for everyone.

  “We’ll fix this.” I’m impressed that I sound more confident than I am. “We’ll find the ones responsible and bring them to justice.”

  “One chance you have, to right this wrong. Justice swift and punishment strong.”

  A woman after my own heart, Bear says in my mind. Assure her Killer Clawbearer will see to the punishment. It’ll be strong, all right.

  I bow my head. “Those responsible will pay for their treachery, milady. We won’t rest until we stop these men.”

  Over the next hour, Sloan, Emmet, and I work with the brownie mated couple from Gran’s grove. Then we find two mated couples in his home grove that agree to help as well. The data doesn’t waver much between experiments. The range of shared sight seems to end once brownie mates are more than fifteen to twenty miles apart.

  We find Granda in his study, poring over the scrolls.

  “Och, that’s great news, kids,” he says when we report in. He pulls a large atlas off the credenza behind his desk and opens it to the page that shows Ireland’s landscape. “That means that we’re lookin’ at an area no farther north than Tralee or south of Kenmare. On the west, Glencar and the east Barraduff.”

  “That’s still a large area,” Sloan points out.

  “But manageable.” He grabs his phone, sends off a few texts, then lifts the cell to his ear. “We have a search area. I sent it to Dempsey, and he’s takin’ his wee plane up. Would ye ask yer boys to fly over the area of Glencar to Molls Gap and the Bridia Valley? We have the details of what we’re lookin’ for…that’s right. And if they see anythin’ they’re wonderin’ about… Perfect. Let me know.”

  He hangs up. “The Perry boys both have advanced Wildform Transfiguration and can shift into eagles. After what happened to their grove, they’re burnin’ to help.”

  I’ll go too, Red. Let me out.

  I release Bruin, and he takes form between the desk and the wall. There isn’t enough space in the office for his hulking frame and the chair leg squeals as it scrapes along the floor. “Where can I look, Lugh?”

  Granda points at the map. “Killarney National Park falls squarely in our search zone and is too big and dense for us to check on foot. Scour the area and see what ye find.”

  Bruin looks at the map, and his black nose twitches over the page. “I’m on it.”

  “Be careful, buddy.” I wrap my arms around his thick neck. I kiss his ear and press my cheek to his head. He’s warm and soft, and I love him so much. “Take care of you, Bear. These men are horrible.”

  Take care of yerself, Red. I love ye back.

  When I straighten, Bruin disappears, and the room seems emptier than before. “And what should we do?”

  Granda pulls up another contact on his phone. “Moira, it’s Lugh. Could I entreat ye to do a favor for an oul friend? The druids are in a fix with the fae and need a win.” He nods a few times and writes an address on a piece of paper. “I’m sendin’ my grandkids over to fetch ye. I appreciate yer help.”

  When he hangs up the phone, he hands Sloan the address. “Moira Morrigan lives a block away from Trinity College across from the Regent House. She’s expectin’ ye, so quick there and straight back.”

  “And who is Moira Morrigan?” I ask.

  “Lugh Cumhaill, ye didn’t!” Gran is standing in the open doorway with her hands propped on her hips. She’s scowling with more fire and fury than I realized she possesses. “Yer bringing that witch into our home after the way she carried on the last time she had ye alone in a room? Where’s yer bloody head?”

  Granda rubs a hand over his face. “Lara, that was forty years ago. She’ll not be the same woman now she was then. There’s no reason to get up in arms.”

  “Yer wrong about that, and ye’ll not be alone with her a minute while she’s here. Do ye hear me, man?”

  Granda gives her a curt nod. “Och, I heard ye. The kids in the living room heard ye. I’m sure the O’Rourke’s heard ye down the way, too.”

  I look at Sloan, and he finds this as baffling as I do. “I take it she’s an old flame of yours, Granda?”

  “Before yer Gran and I got together, I spent time courtin’ the woman.”

  “And after ye were married, she took another run at ye. We had wee Niall runnin’ around the house, and it didn’t stop her. Shame on the woman.”

  “Nothing happened, Lara.”

  “Och, don’t give me that. Do ye forget I walked in on her makin’ her play?”

  Granda winces. “All right, nothin’ worth drudging up happened. How’s that? I haven’t spoken to her in over a decade.”

  “Ex’s can be tricky,” Sloan offers.

  “She’s a witch,” Gran huffs. “A loose-bosomed, skirt-liftin’, homewreckin’ witch and ye invited her into our home. I’ll not forgive that anytime soon.”

  Granda rounds the corner of his desk and moves to soothe Gran’s pique. She won’t have it. She turns on her heel and stomps off.

  Granda sighs and blows out a long breath. “I best sort this out before ye get back. Maybe not straight home. Ye better give me twenty minutes.”

  The door to their bedroom slams down the hall, and it shakes the whole house. The vines growing on his office’s living wall twine around his wrists and neck and pull at his clothes. He frowns and pulls himself free.

  “Maybe make that half an hour.”

  Sloan portals us straight to Dublin, and we materialize in a shadowed back stoop of what I guess is one of the Trinity College buildings. I follow him off the steps, around the corner, and read the signpost for Grafton Street. With daylight still holding strong, I check out the interlocking brick walkways and the old buildings with iron rail fences and heavy wooden doors.

  It feels like old Yonge Street back home.

  I smile at the buzz of pedestrians, the double-decker buses, and the four-story buildings lining the street. It’s funny, but although I’ve never been here, this is a world I can maneuver. As much as I enjoy Gran’s and Granda’s place, I’ll never be anything but a city girl.

  “This.” I hold out my hands. “What’s wrong with wanting to do what we do, be who we are, and live somewhere like this?”

  Sloan shrugs. “Not a thing. If ye haven’t figured it out by now, I’m solidly on Team Cumhaill. Keep in mind, though, Dublin is one-third the size of Toronto. The folks who make it work here don’t face the same challenges.”

  “But it proves it can be done.”

  “With the ambient energy in the air and the ley lines pulsing in the ground beneath our feet, sure. I don’t know that every druid could take on a city the size of yers, but I don’t doubt that yer family will break the mold.”

  “Aww, that was super sweet. You better watch it, or I’ll think you’re going soft on m
e, surly.”

  He chuckles and steps aside as a cluster of university kids pass us. “Regent House is up here.”

  “You seem quite familiar. Did you go to school here?”

  “I did. I took four years of Ancient and Medieval History and Culture.”

  “How’d you do?”

  “Graduated at the top of my class.”

  “I’m not a bit surprised. And I bet you were a dream student, weren’t you? Teacher’s pet. Always bright-eyed and ready for classes.”

  “I enjoyed the learning, yes.”

  My stomach rumbles and I start searching the storefronts for someplace where I can fill my belly on the quick. There’s a McDonald’s down the way, but I don’t feel like that. This is my first time in Dublin. I want something authentic.

  “Hey, since we’ll miss dinner, how about we grab a bite to eat while we give Granda a chance to settle Gran? This is your old stomping ground. Pick somewhere this girl can get a quality cheeseburger. Oh, and you’re buying. I didn’t bring my purse, and you owe me twenty-seven grand after convincing Bruin to order landscaping in my back yard.”

  He laughs and points the way. “I know the spot. We’ll order to take out. We have a long night ahead of us.”

  “Villains to track, fae folk to save, yeah, I’m aware.”

  We order at O’Donaghue’s Bar, and in fifteen minutes we’re sitting on a bench pigging out. “Dayam, surly. This is good food.”

  He nods and licks barbeque sauce off his finger. “I don’t know if the ethical debate of foods has entered the scope of yer thoughts yet, but O’Donaghue’s only uses local organic, free-range, and ethically produced ingredients.”

  I look at my half-devoured burger. It’s hot, juicy, and gloopy with cheese. I hadn’t given it any more thought than that. “Is it wrong that I’m a druid and a total meatavore?”

  “Not wrong. Make it a conscious decision though, and give thanks for the life that died to sustain you whether that’s animal, vegetable, or mineral. We’re part of the cycle of nature, and when we die, we’ll be food and fertilizer for others as well. Just be aware.”

  “I buy local as much as I can.”

  He nods. “That’s an important start. Less import means fewer food miles and lower pollution. It all matters.”

  I take another bite and decide my burger tastes even better, knowing it has the druid seal of approval. “Good call on O’Donaghue’s.”

  “Yeah, me and my school buds used to meet up here after classes every day. Over the four years, I’d hate to guess how many hours we spent sitting in the front window. We called it ‘the office,’ so if anyone was lookin’ and asked where we were, the answer was always, ‘at the office.’ Between the dart nights, the DJ’s, the girls, and the food, the place never fails.”

  I swallow and wipe my mouth. “You’ll have to bring me back one night when we can eat in and have a few pints of Guinness.”

  He gathers up our food wrappers. “We’ll do that. If it’s before ye leave this trip, yer brothers will enjoy it too. The live music draws a fun crowd.”

  I stand and wait while he tosses our trash in the bin. “What do you suppose happened when Granda and Moira were alone in a room that Gran labeled her a loose-bosomed witch?”

  He shakes his head. “Not just that—a loose-bosomed, skirt-liftin’ witch. That paints quite a picture, don’t ye think?”

  “It does, but Granda is devoted to Gran. I can’t see him getting swept away by an old love. Maybe it was a costume malfunction, and some girl parts spilled out.”

  He waves his hands. “I don’t want to know.”

  “How could you not want to know?”

  When the light turns green, we cross, and he takes the address out of his pocket. “Because in five minutes, we’re going to introduce ourselves to the woman. I don’t want to have images of her flashin’ her tits to Lugh in my head while I’m shakin’ her hand.”

  I laugh. “Okay, I’ll give you that. Awkward.”

  Sloan points at the historic brick buildings that run the length of the block, and we find the unit we’re looking for. It’s a three-story rowhouse with arched windows and neoclassical lines and architecture. “Why do you suppose Granda wants her help? Is she a druid, do you think?”

  Sloan squints at me like I’m daft. “She’s a witch.”

  “How are you so sure?”

  “Because Lara told ye as much. In fact, she said it more than once.”

  I think back to Gran’s rant. “Ohhh, yeah no, I didn’t get that. I thought she meant Moira was a witch—like a hubby-stealing wench—but she meant a genuine Wiccan woman with powers.”

  “Now you’re suckin’ diesel.” He lifts his knuckles to knock, and I catch his arm and pull out my phone.

  “One sec.” I call up our family WhatsApp group.

  Bringing an ex-flame of Granda’s home to help. She’s a witch…like, a real Professor McGonagall witch. No one step in it. Gran’s already furious and hurt.

  Sloan reads what I wrote and chuckles. “Wise choice. Yer family tends to speak what’s on their mind whether it’s advisable or not.”

  “It’s part of our charm. At least you never have to guess what we’re thinking.”

  “True enough.” He knocks on the door and pegs me with a sober look. “Now, take yer own advice and don’t step in it.”

  “Me? Seriously? I’m the reigning Queen of Amazeballs.”

  Chapter Eleven

  As much as I hope Granda’s old flame has aged poorly on Gran’s behalf, Moira Morrigan is a traffic-stopping elegant blonde beauty with long legs, an hourglass figure, and a come-hither smile that could warm even the coldest of hearts.

  Damn. In no scenario do I see this ending well.

  “Ms. Morrigan?” Sloan asks without missing a beat. “Lugh Cumhaill sent us to fetch ye.”

  “I’m ready. Will ye be so kind, young man?” She steps onto the covered porch and holds out a large carpet bag. Sloan takes the weight of it and slips the long handles over his shoulder. “There now, let me lock up, and we’ll be off.”

  The key snicks into the lock and she twists her wrist.

  The action is more for show than anything because as the metal tumbler clicks into place, a rush of magic surges forward. I blink at the power of her wards as they go up. Either she’s super protective of her space or she has some powerful enemies and wants to ensure she doesn’t come home to any unpleasant surprises.

  In a flash, she’s finished. She straightens, drops her keys in her pocket, and smiles. “All set. Where’s yer car?”

  “I’m a wayfarer,” Sloan says.

  “Oh, that’s fine. We’re good to portal out from here. My front step is spelled for privacy. Shall we?”

  Sloan poofs us onto the front doorstep of my grandparents’ quaint little thatched-roof home, and I understand his reluctance. He doesn’t want to offer her entrance into Gran’s space. She’s here for a visit only, so should come in like any other stranger.

  Sloan gets a point in the win column for that.

  “Shall I pull up a chair or will we go in soon?” Moira casts a knowing glance between Sloan and me.

  “Oh, sorry.” I shake the cobwebs free and grab the handle of the door. “Come on in.”

  It’s only been half an hour since I left the house, but I blink at the condition of things when we step inside. The heap of shoes at the front door is gone. Every surface is polished, and every nook is tidied.

  Yay team! Oh, how I love my boys.

  No doubt they got my text and knew a glowing impression of our life would make Gran proud. It’s not over the top. When we step into the sunken living room where everyone’s hanging out, no one is putting on airs, but they’re all well put-together.

  “Moira.” Granda strides over to welcome his guest. “Thank ye for coming. I wouldn’t have bothered ye if it weren’t a true case of life and death.”

  Moira leans forward and does the European double kiss greeting. Granda’s smart enough to
step back as soon as that finishes. “Of course, Lugh. I’ll always come when you need me. Whose life or death are we talking about? Are you and yours in danger?”

  “Och, not directly us. We’re well. Thank ye for askin’.”

  Gran enters the living room from the kitchen entrance, and I give her credit. If I knew my nemesis female was coming to see my man, I would’ve dolled up and shown off.

  Gran’s wearing the same cotton dress she had on earlier, her hair’s the same, and she’s carrying two plates of warm pastries for the family. “Fresh from the oven, my darlin’s.”

  When everyone launches up to claim their prize, Gran exchanges the plates for Meg and makes her way over. “Hello, Moira. It’s good of you to come to help the Order.”

  “Hello, Lara. You’re lookin’ well.”

  She is. Gran might not put on a show of looking snazzy, but she’s a beautiful woman. And as far as I’m concerned, every gray hair and laugh line she possesses was well earned in a long, happy life with Granda. “I am well. Slainte.”

  She brushes a stray lock of Meggie’s hair out of her face and smiles. “Now, it’ll be dark in a few hours, so time is of the essence. I’ll take Kinu and the great-grandbabies outside while you all talk. Good luck.”

  When she turns, her spine is straight, and her head is held high. Good one, Gran.

  “Come.” Granda gestures to the room. “I’ll introduce you to my kids, and we’ll get to business. Lara’s right. We haven’t time for pleasantries tonight.”

  “Necromancy is a nasty business,” Moira says after Granda explains everything to her. “I can see why the fae races are upset with ye. To have their druid protectors turn on them and use them as batteries to power up is vile, to say the least.”

  “It is,” Da agrees. “Which is why we hope you can help us ward the sacred groves. These men are druids. They can theoretically undo any wards or spells we cast to protect the groves from a future attack.”

  “So, you want magic with a different set of rules and parameters to help foil future harvesting?”