“Aww. You do get me.”
“Despite all logic, I’m starting to.” He sits in his chair, a mirror copy of mine, and leans back looking pleased with himself. He should. He gets a big point for understanding how I work. Most don’t.
Or don’t take the time to try.
We swing for a little while, and I watch the Spriggans flitter around. The stag comes by to tilt his rack in greeting, and I bid him a good morning in return. It’s incredible how centered I feel here—my connection to nature fulfilled and at ease.
After a long while, I break the silence. “You know, you claim it’s the allure of lounging in my grove that’s keeping you here, but I can read you too.”
He opens one eye and grins. “And what do you think you see, Cumhaill?”
“You want to stick around until you’re sure our work with the ley lines has taken hold and you know we’re in the clear. You’re worried about me and know you’ll worry more if you go home and can’t just blink back here.”
He shrugs. “Why not take the extra days and be sure, if I haven’t worn out my welcome?”
I run a loving hand over my new chair swing and smile. “After this, your welcome is in mint condition.”
“Then my evil plan has worked.”
I laugh while lounging back into the cushion. I may have joked about never getting out of this swing, but I genuinely don’t want to. “Besides, why should you leave when there’s potential for us to get attacked by a horde of angry preternatural beings? You’d miss all the fun.”
“Fun, ye say? You have a warped sense of self-preservation.” He stretches out his long legs, and I do the same. The soles of our shoes meet, and we use them to push off one another and swing.
“I also thought we could train. We’ve been so busy with the magic shortage and establishing the grove and yer fae that we haven’t worked on yer skills. Yer stronger every day, but there’s always someone stronger.”
I hear the worry in his tone and appreciate it. “How about we take the books back to Myra, make a few stops, grab some lunch, then we can face off for the afternoon?”
“That works. It so happens I’m free.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Myra is busy with one of her repeat customers when we arrive at the bookstore. She waves us off, so we take the books we borrowed into the home tree part of the bookstore and replace them on the shelves. Once that’s taken care of, we search for the healing reference textbook Sloan’s father Wallace wants to add to his collection.
Myra doesn’t have Ancient Aztec Healing Rituals, but there is another book by the same author called, Healing with Herbs and Rituals: An Exploration of Mexican Traditions.
Sloan selects it as a close runner-up, and we lounge on the leather sofas until the brass bell over the door chimes and tells us the coast is clear.
“Sorry about that, kids.” Myra accepts the book and scans it into the computer. “If your father has specific titles he’s looking for, Sloan, I’m happy to search for them in the future. Are you sure this one will do?”
“Och, ye never can tell with Da. If ye can have a look for the exact one he wants, that would be much appreciated. I’ll tell him I got this one in the meantime.”
“That works.” Myra opens her big leather ledger and starts a page for Sloan/Wallace Mackenzie.
“Look at that.” I waggle my eyebrows and tap a finger on the parchment. “You’ve made it now. You have a page.”
Sloan chuckles. “Yer a nut.”
“Nice of you to notice.” When Myra’s finished writing down the title of the book Wallace Mackenzie wants, I gesture at the ledger. “Is Garnet Grant one of your regular clients?”
Myra casts me a sideways glance. I can’t tell if her smile tightening is personal or professional, but something about my question annoys her. “What makes you ask about Garnet Grant?”
“He had her kidnapped yesterday,” Sloan answers.
Myra puffs up like a black cat on Halloween. Yep. Without a doubt, something about Garnet Grant rubs Myra the wrong way.
I hold up my palms to allay her panic. “Technically that’s true, but we got it sorted.”
“For the moment,” Sloan adds.
“For the moment, we came to a tentative truce while we await the return of ambient magic.”
Myra places the book in a singing bowl and cleanses its energy before wrapping it to go. “And how goes the quest to restore the city’s power?”
“Good, I think. We figured out the problem and spent three solid days working on fixing it. I think we’re in good shape. We were able to tap into the ley lines and free up some of the magic flow. I think once things settle you’ll find there’s more magic than there was.”
She looks skeptical. “I don’t feel it yet.”
“No, but ask your tree later if he can feel it in his roots. Like the ley lines in Ireland, there is power coming from beneath the ground. We simply needed to release it. If things pan out like I think they will, the fae magic will flow into the water table and Lake Ontario. We expect it to build naturally around the city. Then everyone will be happy again.”
Myra seems appeased by our progress and lets out a heavy breath. “Good. I’m relieved for you.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet.”
“What do you mean by that?”
I explain to her about my visit with Garnet and his concern that those affected by the full moon won’t be able to fight their beastly side tomorrow night. “I’m not keen on the streets turning into a raging bloodbath.”
Myra frowns. “Likely no one is.”
“Except maybe the vampires.”
Sloan and Myra both flash me a disapproving look.
“I’m not wrong. If there are vampires in the city—and I know there are—a bloodbath in the streets would be right up their alley. Their plasma-sucking disgusting alley.”
Myra blinks at me, then changes the subject. “So, you’re on the Guild’s radar, are you?”
I push down the images polluting my daymare and focus. “Is that a bad thing? I kinda liked the idea of a policing organization watching over magically powered people in the city.”
“It depends who’s watching and why,” Myra says.
“And how effective they are,” Sloan adds.
I shrug. “Garnet spoke like we should be impressed. I got the feeling the Guild is a big deal.”
“A lot of good they did ye with Skull Trim. That lunatic and his men nearly killed ye. More than once, and in very public parts of the city.”
“True story.”
Sloan accepts the brown bag once his purchase is wrapped and ready to go. “My thought is that ye shouldn’t put yer faith in an organization ye know nothing about. The Lakeshore Guild of Empowered Ones is an unknown player and yer not yet familiar with the rules of the game. They could be good or bad depending on where ye fall on the scale of their goals. Maybe they know what the Black Dog is up to and are helping them, or maybe they choose to turn a blind eye and not interfere.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Myra closes her ledger and stashes it beneath the counter. “The thing with powerful people is sometimes they don’t want to take on other powerful people for fear of physical or political blowback.”
I frown at them both. “But isn’t that the whole idea behind the policing power of a Guild? The power of many controlling the unwanted actions of the few?”
“In theory, yes,” Myra cautions. “But not all things play out as well in practice as they do in theory.”
“Huh. Well, that sucks. I hoped the Guild would offer us a few answers, not add more questions.”
Myra’s electric blue hair swings loose as she shakes her head. “Your fresh and hopeful outlook is admirable, if not somewhat unrealistic. Still, go out into the world and form conclusions for yourself. Don’t get jaded by the old girl you work for.”
I blow Myra a kiss and wave over my shoulder as we head out. “I happen to adore the old girl I work fo
r.”
Sloan and I emerge onto the sidewalk and cross through the pedestrians to my SUV parked at the store’s curb-front. No one takes notice of us because very few people take note of much in the city and because Myra’s Mystical Emporium is spelled to blend into the background and mask its clientele’s comings and goings from those who don’t need to see. It’s her way of ensuring that only those who need her can find her.
“Do you think we should be wary of the Lakeshore Guild?” I hold out my fob and unlock the Hellcat.
“Unfortunately, I do. I love that it’s yer first instinct to accept new things, but it might prove prudent in the magical world to flip that on its head. In theory, you can hope everyone is what they seem, but in actuality, it’s important to remember that illusion is real in this world. Things usually aren’t what they seem.”
He slides his hand into mine and laces our fingers. It looks innocent enough to strangers on the street, but I recognize it for what it is. He wants me to see what he sees.
Even after swapping spit with the elf in the Doyle grove, I don’t see as much as he does with his enchanted bone ring. I get to see the fae in my grove, which is great and what I’d asked him for, but Sloan sees everything.
The aura of people. The true faces of creatures and beings who use illusion to blend into everyday life.
And who or what is that?
Sloan spins me in his arms and pushes me up against the passenger side door. Feigning an affectionate touch, he brushes a long strand of hair away from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “Don’t stare, Cumhaill. Ye gotta work on yer subtleties.”
I chuckle. “Subtle isn’t my best event.”
“I have noticed that a time or two.”
I smile at him, keeping up the pretense of a girl admiring her yummilicious man. It’s not a hard sell. This close, my traitorous heart starts pumping wildly although my head knows this is staged. “So, what is that thing across the road? Is he watching us or did he simply notice us?”
“He’s watching and cloaked to avoid detection. I’ve only seen pictures in books, but I believe that’s a hobgoblin.”
“I thought they were little, dumb, and slightly green.”
“That’s a goblin. Hobgoblins are their larger, smarter, and much more vicious cousins.”
Oh, goody. “So, why is he watching us? Who do you think I pissed off this time?”
“There’s no telling.” He leans closer, changing his position to get a better view. The shift of his shoulders brushes my arm, and I remind myself yet again that this is staged.
“Get a room,” someone hollers as they pass.
“Get a life,” I shout back while throwing up my middle finger.
When I look back up at Sloan, he looks baffled. “What was that?”
“Normal city interaction. Why?”
He shakes his head and steps back, putting more space between us. “I thought you were a live and let live person.”
I chuckle, round the hood of my truck, and climb in. “Live and let live goes both ways. So does get in my face, I’ll get in yours.”
The engine stirs to life with the turn of the key, and I check that the way is clear. “Is he still watching?”
Sloan stretches his hand behind my headrest and twists to face me. “Nope. Whoever he is, he’s gone now.”
I pull into traffic and let that rattle around in my head. “Do you think he might’ve been on the street, spotted us, and simply been curious?”
“Maybe, but knowing that yer stalker from the woods at Ross Castle had contact with a species that lives down in the subway tunnels, I’m pretty confident that would be a no.”
“Too bad. A coincidence would be nice for a change, wouldn’t it?”
Sloan chuckles and adjusts in his seat to face the front. “It would. Although, even if something seemed innocuous, I’d still find it suspect if yer involved.”
“Paranoid much?”
“Until recently—no. That has changed, however. Seems prudent now though.”
The traffic on Queen Street is always steady, but that’s what you get in a city with three million citizens. “Crap. There are no spots.” I pull to the curb and pull my wallet from my purse. I give him the claim ticket for the tailor and forty bucks. “That should be plenty. Make sure she gives you two jackets and three pairs of pants. Mrs. Allison is an amazing seamstress, but she’s old and forgetful. Oh, and if she asks to measure your inseam the answer is not today, you’re in a bit of a rush.”
The horrified gaze Sloan hits me with is too funny. “She’s going to try to touch my pants?”
I laugh. “It’s not your pants she’ll try to touch.”
His frown darkens. “Maybe you should go in.”
I laugh harder and slip it into Park. “Scaredy cat. Fine, hop in the driver’s seat. If a cop comes up behind you and bleeps his siren, go around the block and pick me up. Or if a spot opens up—”
“I know how to drive in a city, Cumhaill. I lived in Dublin for four years, remember?”
“Actually, I didn’t know that. I figured you poofed home. I’m glad to hear you got the whole experience.” We get out and meet at the front grille as we trade places. “I’ll be quick.”
And I am.
As it turns out, Mrs. Allison is home with a sick cat so her niece is minding the store. That makes picking up the tailoring that much simpler. When I get back out front, I’m met by an empty curb and three still-full parking spots.
Yep. I saw that coming. He got looped. I step over to the bus shelter, lean on the glass, and wait for my ride to circle back around.
With the zippered clothes carrier draped over my arm, I pull out my phone and check if anyone needs me.
Nope. S’all good.
I glance up the road to my left but there’s no sign of my truck. I pull up the shopping list and start reading it over. If Kevin’s coming over, I should pick up the spinach salad he likes with the berries and nuts.
Despite him insisting all is forgiven, I’ll be taking special care of him for ages. I can’t believe how close I came to breaking him and Calum up.
It hurts my heart to even think about it.
My shield tingling brings my head up fast. I slide my phone back into my pocket and scan the street up and down. I can’t see half the stuff Sloan can, and from what I see, nothing seems out of the ordinary.
Except, I know better.
Red? You all right? Do you need me?
Just a bad feeling. So far so good. No need to cause a citywide panic.
The deep rumble of his laughter eases my stress a little. Better that than you getting dead.
True story.
My Hellcat pulls up in front of me, and I jump in, clothing bag and all.
“What’s wrong?” Sloan takes the bag off my lap and flings it into the back seat. “What happened?”
“Just my Spidey-senses telling me that something wicked this way comes. Is my hobgoblin friend here?”
Sloan swings a nonchalant glance across the windshield’s span, then launches out the driver’s side door.
“Shit on a stick.” I jump out of my seat, but by the time I get around the fender, Sloan’s doing a damned good impression of Usain Bolt, sprinting across the street.
A taxi honks at my open driver’s side door and I run to get into the SUV.
“Where is he?”
In between the cars and buses passing, I catch snippets of Sloan in the alley across the way. He has a homeless lady—or what appears to be a homeless lady—by the shoulders of her ratty shawl and is shaking her.
Concerned citizens are closing in, and there’s a cruiser on the other side of the lights. “Fuck a duck.”
As a dump truck passes, I focus on the load heaping above the top of his vehicle. “Dirt Devil.”
A gust of wind picks up, and Queen Street is suddenly swirling in a dust cyclone that rivals any desert storm. As cars screech to a halt, I check that the way is clear, pull away from the curb, and make a reckle
ss U-turn across the four lanes.
At the curb across the street, I honk my horn and hit the button to lower my window. “In the car, crazy man. Now. The coppers are coming.”
Sloan looks up and notices the angry citizens. He curses, releases his hold, then jumps into the Hellcat. Before the door closes, I hit the pedal and gun it down the first street to get out of sight.
“Seriously? You lecture me about subtlety, then shake the stuffing out of an old homeless lady in broad daylight in front of twenty people?”
“Feckin’ hell. Is that the glamor he had on?”
“Yep.”
Sloan sinks low in the seat and points at the street on the right. “Take us around the block and back again. I’ll cast a bafflement spell and wipe whoever’s there.”
“Good plan. Otherwise, dinner will be very interesting tonight when five cops come home from their shifts with your description in their daily sheets.”
He winces. “Yeah, let’s try to avoid that.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Our next stop of the day takes us to the Queens on Queen nightclub. I park in one of the public spots on the street out front and pass Sloan a few coins for the meter. As I step onto the sidewalk, the loud cacaw-cacaw of a raven draws my attention skyward.
I stop beside the parking meter and stare up as one, two, then a dozen blackbirds fly in a circle above. No. Not a circle. As they arc and glide through the air between the towering glass buildings, the lead birds shift toward the center of the ring, and it becomes a moving spiral.
The hair on my arms stands on end, and I wince. “Well, that’s not something you see every day.”
Sloan follows my pointed finger and frowns. “That’s not something you see ever. Not naturally, anyway.”
“Sooo, cryptic. What unnatural catalyst or omen do you think will top our daily sundae of stalking and assault?”
Sloan feeds the coins into the meter’s slot. “With you here and everything we’ve done the past three days to stir up the magical world, there’s no telling.”
A Sacred Grove (Chronicles of an Urban Druid Book 2) Page 22
