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

by Auburn Tempest

  “Right? If the universe is flipping us the birds,” I raise my hand and point at the freakshow above, “you’d think it could at least give us a clue of what we’re in for.”

  He grips my elbow and gives me the bum’s rush across the concrete walkway and into the drag queen club owned and operated by my magical ink master—Pan Dora.

  “Pushy much?” I wriggle in his hold, and he lets me pull away the moment we’re inside. “Yes, the day seems to be going to shit, but let’s not get our thongs in a bunch. Maybe that flock of birds is only a flock of birds. There’s a chance they’re merely acting weird. Or maybe they’re trained birds, like homing pigeons or something.”

  “Are ye serious? Yer a feckin’ druid, Cumhaill. Reach way down deep into yer instincts. Do animals simply go off script and act weird?”

  “Is this a lover’s spat or can I welcome you in?”

  We turn to where Dora stands inside the open second door that divides the breezeway from the club proper. She’s wearing fishnets, stilettos, and a wildly bright fuchsia wig, but the rest of her usual outrageous fashion sense isn’t currently in play. She has an old Metallica t-shirt tied at her hips over a pair of Daisy Duke cutoff jean shorts.

  “We’re fine.” I take the interruption as an opportunity to gain a bit of distance from Sloan’s intensity. “It’s been a day. Sloan got spooked by some birds and is a bit wigged out.”

  Sloan rolls his eyes and explains the raven weirdness to Pan Dora. He looks out to see if they’re still out there, but apparently, the show is over.

  Dora swallows and runs a hand over her Adam’s apple. “I’m with the Irishman on this one, girlfriend. That sounds like a portent. Come inside. Let me finish my numbers with our lighting guy, and we’ll go upstairs and consult the cards. If it’s answers you want, Tarot will help you find them.”

  “That would be wonderful. And, of course, finish what you were doing. Sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  She ushers us inside the club’s dining area, and Sloan and I shuffle off and settle at a four-top. When we get there, I lay my head on the table. “And my day started so nicely. Our mistake was leaving our swings. I told you we should never get out of them.”

  “If only life were so simple.”

  Dora hustles her butt back to the stage and takes the stairs like a sprinter despite the four-inch, spiked heels. Cray-cray. “All right, Kenny.” She strikes a pose and nods toward the control booth in the corner. “Take it from the bridge.”

  As the music comes up, the lights go down, and Dora picks up her number. She finishes the song we interrupted, then does an amazing rendition of Burlesque, performing the movie’s title song as well, if not better than Cher did.

  “Have you seen this movie?” I ask Sloan.

  The look he flashes me is too funny. “No.”

  I can’t help the grin that takes me over. I grab my phone and start texting. “Tonight. Kevin is coming over, and he owns it. I’m telling him to bring it with him. Oh, it’s so good. You’re gonna love it.”

  “I’m smart enough not to argue.”

  “But not smart enough to steer clear of her altogether.” A man steps from the shadows and Sloan and I launch to our feet. He’s a fit, blond surfer-dude wearing a sleek silk suit. By the way it clings to the musculature, it’s tailored to his frame. “Netflix and chill must wait. If I were you, I’d head home for a go-bag and run. Your lot is marked, Cumhaill. Time to get outta Dodge.”

  I stiffen as he tosses an envelope onto the table. Unfolding the flap, I pull out a folded sheet of paper and open it. After a quick scan down the legal-sized page, I start at the top again and then read it over, trying to make sense of what I’m holding.

  It reads like a court document, but it’s not a subpoena. It’s a warrant for justice. It’s written in legalese and names me, Da, and the boys as offenders. “What’s a Vow of Vengeance?”

  I pass it to Sloan. He looks at it and shrugs. “I’ve never heard of it. Trumped-up bullshit, I’d guess.”

  Surfer Dude shakes that off. “No. A Vow of Vengeance is a legal and binding warrant that gives an offended party the legal right to hold the named party responsible for personal loss and hardship.”

  Something about this guy triggers my survival instinct. Reaching out with my senses, I try to recall why he looks or feels so familiar. It’s not a good kind of reminiscence. My guts are twisting, and I’m fighting the urge to run out of the club screaming. “Sorry. Have we met?”

  “Not officially.” A sly turn curves his grin. “More like two ships passing in the night.”

  Red? What’s happening? Do you need me?

  Stay ghosted and gather intel. Who is this dickwad? I draw a deep breath and release him. My hair tickles my cheeks as the breeze of Bruin’s exit stirs the air around me.

  It’s him. The male from the forest in Ireland. The one who tried to reel ye in with the poison vine.

  Okay, that’s unsettling. “So, are you from Toronto and followed me to Ireland, or are you from Ireland and followed me here?”

  The narrowing of his gaze suggests my question caught him off-guard. “What are you going on about?”

  “You’re the shadow lurker in the woods at Ross Castle. The night we busted up the Black Dog sacrificial pot-luck party, you cast a Creeping Vine spell and tried to drag me into the darkness. The invisibility and paralytic in the thorns combo was a creative touch. Too bad it didn’t work.”

  He has the nerve to glare at me and look angry. “What are you playing at?”

  “You’re stalking me. Isn’t that my line?”

  The music cuts off, and a moment later, Dora’s voice echoes all around us. “You’re not welcome here, Droghun.”

  Our surfer dude intruder leans back against the table behind him and crosses his arms. “Your hostility is unwarranted. I came in an official capacity to convey a message to our mutual friend. I’m not causing trouble. I’m well within my rights to be here on Guild business.”

  “Ye flat-out threatened her and ye belong to the villainous group that tried to kidnap and kill her on three different occasions since her druid powers unlocked.”

  Droghun frowns. “You’ve got me mixed up with someone else, Irish. I arrived in town two days ago and haven’t been to Toronto in almost a year before that. I’m not sure what happened, but I assure you I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Still, ye don’t deny being part of Barghest, do ye?”

  “Why would I? I’m proud of it. Barghest was founded by a visionary group of druids not afraid to step off the Emerald Isle. Your fiery flame isn’t the first to strike a different path. Barghest has evolved over the decades and has roots around the world. Your venom against us is unwarranted, I assure you. The organization is a powerful and respected pillar in the magical community.”

  I raise my hands. “Unwarranted? In the past couple of months, we’ve tied Barghest to fae massacre, exsanguinating innocent humans, dark magic, necromancy, murder, kidnapping, ensorcelling, and enslaving vampires…”

  “And that’s just off the top of her head,” Sloan says. “If ye’ve been at it for decades like ye say, there’s no telling what other vile things yer dippin’ yer wicks into.”

  He shakes his finger like we’re naughty children. “You two need to be careful about slandering Barghest. There are powerful members of the organization who won’t appreciate you painting us as magical mobsters.”

  “But that’s what you are.” I look from him to the Vow of Vengeance warrant, my mind spinning. How could we possibly be considered the bad guys here?

  Barghest is evil incarnate.

  I snatch up the warrant, fold it back together, and slip it into the envelope. “I’m sure the Lakeshore Guild will be interested in what I have to say. I’ll take this to them, and we’ll see who’s left blowing in the wind.”

  The cocky smile that he flashes makes my stomach twist. He pulls out his phone and takes a picture of me holding the warrant. “You have twenty-four hours
to counter the charge from the time you are served. The contact information of the Guild Governors involved and website are on the bottom of the page.”

  There’s a website to fight scum-sucking criminals?

  I take a closer look at the watermark stamp at the bottom of the warrant. Droghun’s signature is listed as the representative of Toronto druids. It strikes me then, his confidence and Myra’s warning about powerful people.

  “You’re one of the Guild Governors? Barghest holds a seat in the Lakeshore Guild of Empowered Ones.”

  He dips his chin and smiles. “I was named the interim Toronto representative of druids yesterday. I’ve been told my predecessor was brutally attacked and slain by a rogue family of druid startups intent on claiming Toronto as theirs. My first act in my position was to launch a full investigation.”

  My mouth falls open. “Bullshit. That’s not even close to the truth.”

  He shrugs. “As I said, I’m looking into it. I encourage you to respond to the claims. I look forward to hearing your side of things. Oh, that is if Clan Cumhaill is still around by the end of the week. Like I mentioned earlier, the Vow of Vengeance has been filed against your family.”

  “By who?”

  “The hobgoblins.”

  “And what’s the offense?”

  “I believe it was something about siphoning off the city’s ambient magic for personal gain.”

  Cat hack on the rug.

  “I take it you plan to fight the charge?”

  “You bet your tailored ass we’re going to fight—”

  Before I get the words out of my mouth, Droghan the Black Dog douche is gone.

  Pan Dora lets out a low curse in some forgotten language I’ve never heard before and glares at the warrant in my hand. “Did you siphon ambient power?”

  “We did…well, sort of… It’s a long story.”

  “And did I hear you correctly? Droghan tried to drug and capture you in Ireland?”

  “Yeah, I hadn’t even met him then. I know the Black Dog hates me and I’ve killed a few vampires they considered assets, but why the hell would the hobgoblins come at me like this? I never even laid eyes on one of them until today.”

  Dora shakes out her hands and magic sparks off her fingertips. “One of the closest allies to the necromancers you call Barghest is the Emperor Hobgoblin, Kartak of the Narrows. On a scale of freaks and creeps, he tips the scale of don’t wanna go there territory. If he’s part of this, you really should consider running as fast and far as you can.”

  I press my hand against my chest and try to draw breath past the lead weight pushing on my lungs. “Leaving the city isn’t on the table as an option. If their beef with me is written out in legal terms, I’ll prove them wrong. If there’s one thing my family knows like the back of our hands, it’s the law. Emperor Hobgoblin creeper can kiss my Irish ass.”

  Pan Dora’s apartment is located over the club and is an eclectic mashup of old-world ancient meets bedazzling bathhouse meets brash and sassy drag queen delight. Sloan and I follow the zebra-print runner into the studio apartment living space and are momentarily stunned by the overwhelming Pan Dora-ness of it all.

  “Oh, wow.”

  Dora smiles adoringly at her home and sweeps her hand through the air. “I know. Takes your breath away, doesn’t it? I could spend every waking hour here. Doesn’t it exude homey comfort?”

  It exudes something.

  “It’s…amazing. Truly amazing.” My gaze bounces from the peacock velvet lounger to the black and white glossy of a male orgy above the couch, to the feather boas used as drapery ties and valance accessories along the window wall. “I’ve never seen anyone decorate with such…”

  “Passion and personality,” Sloan suggests.

  “Definitely. Passion and personality.”

  Dora beams and gestures toward the teak table heaped with glitter and sequins. It seems that not only does she own the club and perform, as well as possess the unique ability to ink magical druid spell tattoos, but she also Martha Stewart’s costumes in her spare time.

  Talk about a triple threat.

  “Clear yourselves a spot. I’ll get my deck, and we’ll figure out what the hell has skewed your juju. Myra mentioned you were a magnet for drama and disaster. Being on the watch list of an Emperor Hobgoblin, the Guild, and Barghest certainly solidifies that.”

  “The Alpha Were, Garnet Grant, and his Moon Called have issues with me too.”

  Dora’s glossy painted lips fall open. “My good gracious, I underestimated your talent for pissing off the wrong people.”

  I chuff. “Yeah, it’s a talent. Mind-boggling, isn’t it?”

  Dora slips into one of the back rooms and comes back a moment later wearing a velveteen cheetah-print sheath dress. She stops in front of an ancient apothecary cabinet and pulls open one of the drawers.

  Detecting someone’s aura isn’t something I do frequently or purposely. I get little glimmers of color now and then, but the moment she takes hold of her Tarot cards, Pan Dora’s aura bursts off her like nothing I’ve ever seen.

  Unlike the usual reds, oranges, greens, and blues, her aura is an amazing bronze color with silver swirls in it that twist and turn like wispy ribbons. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  It makes me wonder what Sloan sees.

  I reach across the table and take his hand. As I suspected, Pan Dora isn’t at all that she appears. Whatever or whoever she is, her existence goes way beyond my realm of experience and likely my understanding.

  “Is it rude to ask what magical sect you belong to?”

  She eases down into the embroidered chair opposite me and shuffles a well-worn deck of Tarot cards. “Not rude, girlfriend. A bit cheeky, because we don’t know each other well yet, but not rude. But, considering the forces gathering against you, whether it’s curiosity or caution behind you asking, I don’t hold it against you in any way.”

  When she doesn’t say any more, I figure that’s as far as I’m getting with that. I release Sloan’s hand and return her privacy to her.

  “I don’t usually get involved in magical mayhem, but Droghan came into my sanctum and pissed me off. I’m also no fan of hobgoblins. How about we play a little game of quid pro quo?”

  “Sure, what do you have in mind?”

  She arches a dramatically penciled brow. “I sense a great spirit with you. It’s either tethered to you or haunting you. It feels familiar to me, and I’m wondering about it.”

  “Oh, that’s not even cheeky. That’s my animal companion. Would you like to meet him?”

  She dips her chiseled jaw. “I would.”

  I look around her loft and point at the coffee table. “Sloan, will you help me move this so it doesn’t get crushed?”

  When the area is clear, I invite Bruin to take form and meet a friend. When he manifests into his full, furry frame, Dora surprises me by approaching him with a smile.

  “Killer Clawbearer, I thought that was you. It’s been an eternity, my friend.”

  Sloan looks at me. I shrug.

  Like she pointed out, I don’t know the woman well. Myra put us together and Dora’s spent more time with my brothers to record their mastered spells than with me. I’ve chatted with her when our paths have crossed, but I can’t say I know her.

  Bruin cants his head to the side and looks confused at first, then he lumbers closer and sniffs. “An eternity doesn’t begin to describe it. You look different these days.”

  Her laugh is deep and genuine. “Life’s too long not to live authentically.”

  Seeing how my bear is the actual Bear of lore, I wonder how old Pan Dora is and who she used to be and how they know each other. I try to bite my tongue and mind my own business. Can’t. Stop. Too. Much.

  Yeah, I don’t know why I even tried. “So, you two know each other from back in the day? Another life?”

  “Another life, to be sure.” Dora looks unsettled by my question. She studies me again and must see something she trusts because
she relaxes and presses her hand over her chest. “Over time, I’ve worn a great many titles, Fiona. Some I am proud of, others, I am not. Wizard. Prophet. Drunk. Confidant. King’s advisor. Mentor. Your friend Killer Clawbearer and I met a very long time ago. And while I believe we learn from the past, I don’t enjoy looking back. I believe how we handle the present dictates if you live long enough for a future.”

  “Preach.” I hold up my knuckles for a bump. I give up on the curiosity and resolve to bombard Bruin with questions later. If she doesn’t like to remember a painful past, I’m certainly not going to make her relive things.

  Reclaiming my seat at the table, I gesture at the Tarot deck. “So, speaking of living long enough to have a future, explain to me how this works.”

  Dora sits opposite me once again and shuffles a little more. Then, she fans the deck face down in a sweeping arc in front of herself. “Without touching the cards, scan the deck, and one by one, pick out nine cards for me to place in what’s called a spread.”

  “And this spread will tell you what’s going on?”

  “The cards will tell a story, which we will interpret together. Some images will relate to you and your journey of past, present, and future, while others might represent the people and forces surrounding you. Your dark mocha manliness, here, will take notes and you can review them and think about possible deeper meanings over the next hours and days.”

  I waggle my brows at Sloan. Dark mocha manliness suits him. If we are going that route, I’m a chai tea latte girl, extra cream, with cinnamon garnish freckles.

  Dora waves her hand over the fan of cards. “Point to the ones that hold energy for you. You don’t have to go left to right or right to left. Pick and choose as inspiration strikes.”

  “All right.” I focus on the backs of the cards and try to connect. I study the triple goddess moon symbol glowing against the galaxy pattern of constellations. It’s easier to choose than I thought. As I stare at the deck, the card I’m meant to pick practically vibrates on a frequency that sings to me. I point at the first one, then rinse and repeat from my second through to the ninth.