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

by Auburn Tempest

  Emmet grins and points at my hand. “Take a tip from Elvis. A little less conversation, a little more action, please.”

  “What kind of action am I doing?”

  “Try out your Ostara charm stone.”

  “How? What does it do?”

  He shrugs and releases the bunny to fly away. “No idea. Pip says they adapt depending on intention and need. Focus and project its power. We’ll soon see.”

  I hold up the multi-colored rabbit turd between my thumb and index finger and focus on releasing its power. The last of the day’s light catches the bronze streaks and refracts out into the trees’ growing shadows.

  Intention and need.

  As we stand there, the depth and width of the treed area expand, stretching beyond our backyard’s physical boundaries exponentially without spilling out onto our neighbor’s property.

  “Cool.” Emmet steps into the new section of the grove. “Sloan’s stone added trees, mine added ambient magic in the air, and yours multiplied all of it.”

  My heart races as I step deeper into the woods. “It’s like a Star Trek holodeck or something. It feels so real—like the grove’s depth is real.”

  “Is real, silliness,” the purple Spriggan with the lacy white wings says. “Is magic.”

  Pip raises her hands, and I pick her up and sit her on my hip like I do Jackson and Meg when I carry them. She places both of her tiny hands gently on my cheek and chitters.

  I look at Emmet to translate.

  “She says that supporting a grove fit to power the heirs of Fionn mac Cumhaill is a worthy and honorable task. They are so pleased to be part of our successes.”

  I draw a deep breath. “Tell her it’s us who are honored to have all of them. Any success we achieve will be because we make a great team.”

  It’s late the next morning by the time I get up and get dressed. Sleeping in my bed is a luxury after a week on a foam mattress on the floor, and I laze about in my sheets longer than I likely should. By tonight, everyone else will be home, and the house will be full and busy again. This morning though, it’s a lazy daisy kinda moment.

  “Morning.” Emmet smiles up at me when I shuffle into the kitchen. He pushes the carton of almond milk across the table for me to use. “You headed into the bookstore today?”

  I grab a bowl from the cupboard and float my cereal. “Yep. I’m taking Sloan in to say hello to Myra. He wanted to talk to her about some ancient Aztec healing ritual book Wallace is looking for.”

  “Cool. Did Kevin stay over?”

  “No. We talked into the wee hours. Then he went home. Calum is supposed to head over to his place tonight when they get home. I asked him not to say anything to Calum until I’ve had a chance to tell everyone that he knows the whole story. I also told him we’d call with flight updates if there are any.”

  Emmet finishes his breakfast and heads to the sink. After rinsing his bowl, he stacks it in the drying rack. “I was thinking about what Gran said about the fae liking light and music in the grove. I thought I’d head over to Lowes or Walmart and grab a couple of dozen solar lanterns and a mile of string lights to hang from the trees. You know, like Iris Doyle had in her grove.”

  “That’s a great idea.”

  “It is, at that.” Sloan joins us in the kitchen. He sets his spellbook on the table and reaches into the pocket of his swanky vest to pull out his slim-line wallet. He makes a selection and hands Emmet a credit card. “Get anything you think might make yer grove homier for yer fae. My treat. No spending limit.”

  I wave my spoon. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Like ye mentioned when we were in Dublin. I owe ye twenty-seven grand for tellin’ yer bear to order trees. I suppose I should start payin’ ye back somehow.”

  I finish with my cereal and dump the milk into the empty sink. “I was razzing you. Of course, you don’t owe me that.”

  “No, I do. I’m embarrassed to say I don’t think about money the way most do. I’m accustomed to picking up what I want when I want it. It was thoughtless not to realize that not everyone lives that way.”

  “Not thoughtless.” I wash up. “Naïve, maybe.”

  “Semantics. Whatever the word, I’ve put ye in a spot, and I’ll make it right. I could use magic to wipe the debt clean.”

  I laugh and toss him a smile over my shoulder. “No. Don’t do that. The landscaping company provided a great service, and I’m thankful for their efforts. The way I look at it, I lost on the debt to Calum, but I gained on my Hellcat SUV, so I’ll consider it a car payment. I’ve had those before, and I’m good with that. You really shouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Buuut,” Emmet says, a glimmer of mischief in his bright green eyes, “if Fi doesn’t want you as her sugar daddy, I’m willing to put out for a new audio system.”

  I toss a tea towel at my brother’s head. “You’re a nut.”

  A thump and rustle noise at the table draws our attention to Sloan’s spellbook. It’s flapping its cover and getting antsy.

  Sloan looks at me and shrugs. “He misses Beauty. Do ye think she’d welcome a visit?”

  I smile. “Aww, of course. She’s in my bedroom, dude. On the side table by the window. Go on up.”

  I’ve barely got the words out before the brown leather book flaps its covers and flies like a bird out of the room and up the stairs.

  Emmet snorts. “Damn, Fi, both your bear and your spellbook are getting more horizontal hijinx than me. Have I lost my game? Did that Ciara chick hex me?”

  I laugh at the impossibility of that. “Go check on the grove. I’ll help you string the lanterns around four. Until then, you have the house to yourself. I don’t care what you do or who you do it with, but stay out of my room.”

  He holds up his hands and laughs. “One time. You gotta let that die its last death.”

  I meet Sloan’s curious gaze and give in. “I came home from a concert night sleepover and found this numbnut and one of my classmates sprawled and asleep in my bed.”

  Emmet’s grin is so unrepentant it’s hilarious. “Calum wouldn’t give us the room. What can I say? I was a horny and impulsive teenager.”

  I laugh. “And what’s your excuse now?”

  After breakfast and checking in on the grove, Sloan and I head out in my beautiful new Dodge Hellcat SUV. When we defeated the Black Dog brigade a few weeks ago in the druid circle—killed them is more accurate—they left behind half a dozen vehicles.

  After magically altering the paperwork, I claimed this one. Calum and Emmet chose a sexy new Lexus, and the rest we either returned to a significant other or donated to a good cause that needed a car.

  “How are ye likin’ yer new job?” Sloan asks as I park on Queen Street in front of Myra’s Mystical Emporium.

  “I love it. Myra is great, and she’s been incredibly good to me.” I open the back door and pick up the box Gran sent for her. “She lets me set my schedule and decide what days I come in and for how long. It makes it super easy to coordinate with Shannon when she needs help at Shenanigans.”

  “So, yer still working at the pub, too?”

  “On occasion. I suppose I’ll always pick up the slack at the pub. Shenanigans is part of our family.”

  Sloan’s usual scowl is firmly in place as he pulls the door open for me. The brass bell over the door announces our arrival, and I breathe in the magic that is Myra’s Mystical Emporium. Home sweet home.

  “Why does me working at the pub bother you?”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “Uh-huh. I don’t have to be an empath to know your pants are on fire.”

  He chuffs. “Ye needn’t worry about the fire in my pants.”

  Okay, that’s just wrong. I’m not sure if it’s a language thing or he doesn’t understand the idiom or what but I’m not touching that with a ten-foot staff. Shaking my head, I head to the back. “Myra! We’re home!”

  “Fiona!” Myra waves from the third-story bookshelf. “I’ll be right down. Handsome, co
me help me, would you?”

  Sloan strides over to stand at the base of the rolling metal ladder. “What can I help ye wi—oh—”

  Myra leans back into the open air and drops over the rail.

  “Slow Descent.” Sloan raises his arms, and my eccentric, meliae boss falls the two stories into his open arms. I imagine that was much the same scenario as when he caught me in the fortress, except I flailed and flattened him.

  Myra relaxes in Sloan’s arms and pats his cheek. “Thank you, hotness. You don’t disappoint.”

  I laugh and set the gift on the old, antique display counter. “My gran sent you this for your home tree.”

  “Lovely. What is it?” Myra, like most fair folk, has the soft, magical features humans find attractive: an enthralling smile, a melodic voice, and a slim, willowy frame. What makes her stand out though—and is most assuredly hidden behind illusion when she leaves the bookstore—are her vertically slit eyes, her funky electric-blue hair, and her silver skin, which if you look closely, is cracked with darker tones beneath like bark.

  The effect is stunning and cool.

  “It’s nectar for his roots, I think. She said the tree that comes through the center of her house sometimes gets cranky because of how little direct interaction it has with the outdoors. She concocted this elixir a few years ago, and her tree has been happier since. There are instructions, and if your tree likes it as much as hers, Sloan can bring more when he comes to visit.”

  Myra’s smile brightens the entire bookshop. “How thoughtful. Let’s see what he thinks.”

  Sloan and I follow Myra through the side entranceway into the reading area. The stained-glass domed ceiling lets in the warm, autumn sun and the leaves on her home tree reach almost to the glass. “Does your tree turn color and shed his leaves in the winter?”

  “No. He gets cranky and lethargic in the fall, but doesn’t fully embrace the winter.”

  “Who in their right mind really does?”

  “Exactly.” She approaches the wide trunk.

  The tree sits in the center of the area with three floors of bookshelves reaching up to the glass ceiling. Myra bought the land and had the building built around the tree rather than see it cut for the oncoming construction. “Look what we have here my love, a gift from Fiona’s gran for you.”

  Myra sits on one of the leather couches beneath the lush umbrella of the tree’s canopy to open the box. With it propped on her lap, she takes out a mason jar of clear liquid with herbs and essential oils floating in it and the instructions included within. “According to your gran, I pour this in a withershins ring around the trunk, and it will feed his roots and give him new life and vigor.”

  “If Gran says it will, I wouldn’t dream of doubting her. She’s incredible with nature magic.”

  “Lara is a wonder.” Sloan beams. “While Fi was in Ireland this week, there was an attack on a few sacred groves. Lara has them well on their way back from complete desiccation.”

  “Desiccation?” Myra gasps. “Who on earth would do something so horrifying?”

  I explain to Myra about the Barghest being in attendance for the Mabon ritual and kidnapping the fae from the groves.

  “Thank the goddess you were there to stop them.”

  I couldn’t agree more. “Speaking of the fae in the groves. When we returned, a selection of them came with us. They want to help our family establish our grove here. Could you help me with their care regimen until I learn what they need? Maybe you could meet them and see what they’ve done.”

  “What have they done?” she asks.

  “Honestly, a lot. They went straight to work and filled in our grove with a hundred trees. The growth is astounding, and we can already breathe in ten times more ambient power than we could before they got to work.”

  “And did their work, by chance, get underway last night around five-fifty in the evening?”

  I think about that. We arrived home around five, gave Pip and Nilm the tour, discovered the stowaways, and I chatted with Kevin. “Yeah, it would’ve been right around six. Why? How’d you know that?”

  Myra frowned. “Because that’s when I noticed the ambient magic dip dramatically here. There’s only a finite amount of natural magic in the city, Fiona. I think your little helpers are taking more than your fair share to fuel your new grove.”

  Oh, no. “I’m sure it’s unintentional. They’re used to the ambient power being practically unlimited in Ireland.”

  Myra nods. “Likely so, but that’s not the case here. In Toronto, like any of the major North American cities, there is only so much magic to go around. It doesn’t matter whether it’s fae magic, Wiccan, blood magic, or archaic, there’s a limit to what we can draw on before affecting the others.”

  Sloan purses his lips and looks more dour than usual. “And when these other sects discover it’s Fi’s grove drinking up all the power, what do you suppose they’ll do?”

  Myra frowns. “I don’t expect they’ll thank you.”

  “Well, no.” I try to think of what to do, but I’ve got nothing. “It was an honest mistake. Our fae didn’t know any better. They certainly shouldn’t be put on the hot seat for being thoughtful and trying to help.”

  Myra doesn’t look so sure. “Look at it this way, Fi. I know you and believe what you’re saying, but I’m no less concerned about my home tree. I won’t let him suffer so that you can have your sacred grove.”

  I hear the undercurrent of threat in Myra’s voice and understand. Her tree is her soul. Lines of friendship pale in importance next to that.

  “And yer not the only one who will feel that way.” Sloan meets her gaze, and I can tell he picked up on the same warning vibe. “There will be powerful folks from different sects that use their magic to sustain their lifestyles and their control over others. They won’t appreciate being downgraded by the noob druids.”

  I sigh. “Especially when they didn’t want us here in the first place.”

  Myra swirls the herb mixture in the mason jar elixir and sighs. “You were determined to find a source of magic before you left for Ireland. I’d advise you to continue with that and do it quickly. You’re about to have a lot of angry magically empowered folk beating down your door.”

  I stare up at the beautiful glass ceiling. “Why can’t anything be easy? Every time I think we’re moving forward, we get punched in the gut.”

  Sloan chuckles. “Speaking from a person on the receiving end of more than one sucker punch to the gut lately. Sometimes it means ye gotta pull up yer big-boy pants and work harder.”

  Myra frowns. “If you’re lucky, maybe we can find a way to keep you from becoming enemy number one in the magic world by the end of the week.”

  “That would be nice. But it’s not like this is totally our fault. Surely, we can’t be the only people who think the city has more potential for magical energy. Haven’t some of the other sects looked into it?”

  “Sure. That’s why the Wiccans have their Sabbat rituals, and your Barghest people are slaughtering innocents on the altar and draining them of blood. They’re making do in different ways.”

  “Well, the necromancer ways suck. We need more power, Captain.” I hold up my hands and do my best Scotty impression. Neither of them gets me. If my brothers were here, they would’ve got that. “Okay, so where do we start?”

  Myra raises her hand and gestures at the hundreds, possibly thousands, of books on the shelves surrounding us. “Dig in, pumpkin. If the answers aren’t here, I’m sure there will at least be a thread that leads you to an idea.”

  “So, I have to figure out a magical shortage problem no one has figured out in centuries, and do it before every super-powered being within an eighty-kilometer radius bangs on my door demanding my head?”

  “Sounds about right. Pitter patter, best get atter.”

  “Awesome.” I blew out a breath and look up at all the spines rising around us. “Living the dream.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sloan
and I search the bookstore and read everything we can on ambient magic, direct and indirect power sources, magical creatures that create energy fields, and naturally occurring ley lines. There are no cut and dry answers. Still, we need to find something because I’m not going to let angry witches hurt my fae or kill my family.

  The only witch I’ve ever met was Granda’s ex, Moira. I admit that I’m biased about not liking her, but I get the feeling that witches and I aren’t going to get along. I’ll take the Queen of Wyrms over cozying up to people like her again.

  “As much as there is on ley lines in Europe,” Sloan flops back in the leather couch looking beat, “there’s almost nothing about them in North America and even less about Canada. Look.” He points at a rudimentary sketch of the naturally occurring rivers of power beneath the Earth’s crust. “Why is there nothing at all above here? The magical energy just stops.”

  I study the map and shrug. “Well, it’s not a nature problem. Canada is the second-largest country in the world after Russia and has the third most forest on the planet. If ley lines and fae magic like nature, we have a shit ton of it.”

  “Maybe it’s because most of yer country is buried under a sheet of snow?”

  I laugh. “Are you serious? Do you know anything about Canada?”

  Sloan shrugs. “Yer allegedly overtly polite—although that has not been my experience—ye end half yer sentences with, eh?—I’ll vouch for that one—ye eat a great deal of maple syrup, and yer people live in igloos.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re staying at my house. It’s a century-old Victorian. My neighbors have a pool. Have you seen any sign of snow?”

  “No, but I’ve seen the pictures.”

  The text notification on my Fitbit buzzes against my wrist, and I read what Emmet’s saying. “Oh, shit, it’s four-thirty. I said we’d help him with the lanterns in the grove before everyone gets back. Bring the books of interest with us, and we’ll go through them at home.”

  Sloan and I put back the books we’re finished with, pack up, and say goodbye to Myra. “I’ll bring these back tomorrow. Is that okay?”