I straighten and shuffle silently back to my room. What aren’t they saying? What is more overwhelming than what I’ve already learned?
My door snicks shut, and I burrow beneath the old quilt on my bed. With everything in me, I wish I could talk to Da. I haven’t needed to hide under his covers to weather a storm in over a decade. If it were an option, I’d be there now.
Over the next three days, my grandfather and I work out in the training arena for hours every morning, then I help Gran in the gardens after lunch, and take a mid-day snooze while Granda visits the homes of others of the Nine Families and tries to figure out why I spontaneously wear the mark of the Fianna warriors.
Thankfully, I’m excused from those meetings for now, although he did take a picture of the tattoo and Sloan has to go with him to verify his part in triggering it.
Ha! Sucks to be you, Mackenzie.
And although I’ve initiated a dozen conversations about learning more, there’s no mention of “all of it” or the underlying reason of why they brought me to Ireland. I’ve interrupted a few whispered conversations that end the moment I walk into the room, but that’s it.
I refuse to believe it’s anything nefarious.
They genuinely love me and want me to learn about my heritage—and I am game to learn more—so, it grinds my gears that they’re holding back.
“But if we don’t figure out the tattoo thing,” I say on the afternoon of the third day, “does it matter?”
Granda’s face screws up like he swallowed a swig of sour milk. “How can ye ask that, Fi? Ye’ve been honored with the mark of our ancient order.”
“And no one knows what that means,” I say as I head to the gazebo. I’m sick of hearing about the mark but can’t say that out loud, or it’ll crush him. “For the most part, the questions I came with are answered. I miss home. If we don’t figure it out before I go back, it’ll have to remain one of life’s mysteries.”
“Back to the city, ye mean?” he says as if I’ve slapped him across the face. “Ye see and feel how magical Ireland is fer ye and ye’d consider going back?”
“Consider it?” I stop beneath the shade of the gazebo’s thatched roof and face him. “Granda, I came to visit you and Gran and learn about my heritage. I always intended to return to Toronto to resume my life.”
His expression contorted. Yep. That was the look I was trying to avoid. Now he’s crushed. “Ye’ll be the death of me then, will ye?”
I stiffen. “That’s not fair, and it’s not true.”
“It’s completely true. I hoped ye’d rise to be more than yer da, Fiona. Now, I see yer the same. Both of ye selfish and stubborn.”
A rush of energy ignites inside me, and I raise my finger. “Okay, stop right there. Be mad at me all you like, if you’re disappointed. But if you talk shit about my father, I’m on the first flight home.”
He pales. “And run off to the city to ignore yer family duties and gifts like he did?”
“In a heartbeat.”
His gaze hardens as he clamps his fist at his sides. “I expected more of ye, Fiona. I thought ye understood.”
“Maybe I would understand if you told me what’s going on. Stop manipulating me. I don’t like it, and I certainly don’t deserve it. Stop treating me like a child.”
“Maybe I would if ye stopped actin’ like one.” He stomps off, muttering under his breath, and I collapse into my hammock.
Strung pole-to-pole under a thatched canopy like the roof of the house, this hammock has quickly become my favorite location for a lazy retreat.
I groan as I swing. Thought I understood? Ha! I understand nothing. I’m stranded in the land of fae magic and druid gifts and miss everyone so much more now that I need them to talk to.
It’s been five days since I left home.
Five long, torturous days since I connected with my life.
Without electricity, I can’t charge my phone, or email my family, or check in on what’s been happening since I left. Brenny is deep undercover, and Emmet’s new on the job. So much can happen so quickly, and I worry.
I could use their phone, but it’s a party line with their neighbors, so I can’t talk about anything private and the time change makes things so difficult.
As much as I’m trying to honor what Granda and Gran want to teach me about our heritage, what does it matter in the big picture? Being branded a druid warrior is cool—I guess—but I totally see why Da left to build his own life.
“What’s the point of being an ancient keeper of the druid ways when the rest of the world is happening everywhere but here? In a world that needs change, why don’t druids stand up and make a difference?”
And what difference would ye make?
The voice in my head sounds similar to when Dax speaks to me. At the same time, it’s different.
I look around but don’t see any lemmings or pine martens or irate badgers. Still, Sloan said communication is growing inside me which means I should attract an animal companion at some point soon.
I search the trees close to the edge of the gazebo. A lynx would be cool. Maybe too conspicuous when I go home.
Can I take a wild animal into Canada?
I’d look that up, except, um…yeah, no electricity.
Hellooo? Yer boring me, Red. I’ll give ye ninety seconds to impress me. Go!
Well, all righty then. “If I had powers like my grandparents talk about, I’d help people.”
Och, like I haven’t heard the world peace angle before. Try something original.
Tough crowd. “All right. I’m good under pressure. I helped a friend get away from a mugger last week, and I liked the taste of it.”
So, ye’d be a guard? Like yer da?
I think about that. “Like that, but no. There are so many more things police could do if they didn’t have to follow regulations and protocols. I’d stay outside the constraints of that.”
Ye aim to be a vigilante then?
I blink. “I wouldn’t go that far. There’s an alarmingly big gap between justice and law.”
An important distinction. The two are not the same. And yer da, he’s strong in physical magic, is he?
I push my toe against the wooden floor to swing the hammock. “Yeah. That’s what Gran said.”
And do ye have his gifts? If yer aimin’ to take a stand, ye’d better be able to take care of yerself in a donnybrook.
I glance around, wondering about the animal I hear. “I’ve shown affinity in three of the seven disciplines so far. I’m attuned to plants and animals, I’m a decent fighter—although I attribute that to twenty-three years of older brothers—and Sloan feels illusion growing.”
Are you hoping for an animal companion?
I shrug. “It might be better if an animal selects me once I get home to Toronto, so it blends with the city surroundings.”
The bizarre scene of the squirrel running in the back door of the house last week suddenly makes sense. I was raving mad and likely throwing off animal communication vibes. Did I draw her to me? Could I?
I imagine how badly I can freak out Emmet and Calum if I organize the community squirrels to come for their nuts.
“Excuse me, fair Fiona.”
I jump, and my heart pushes at the base of my throat. A huge red deer with a massive rack of antlers is standing with its head inside the gazebo. He’s muscled and majestic and pee-your-pants terrifying—especially standing three feet away. “I am Eli, of the Kerry herd. I must speak to your grandfather about a matter most urgent. Is he here?”
My first instinct is to roll out of the hammock and run. Except, a quick escape from it seems unlikely. I picture myself face-planting and making an easy target for a good hoof-stomping.
Besides, you’re never supposed to turn your back to a predatory animal. Are gigantic talking reindeer predatory?
I have no clue.
“Eli, you frighten the poor thing,” a doe says, sticking her head under the canopy of the roof. “Breathe, child.�
�
The male takes a step back. “The red deer of Kerry would never harm a Cumhaill.”
I draw a breath and pull up my big-girl panties. “Sorry, I’m new to the whole druid, talking animal thing. I’m Fiona.”
“Eli,” he repeats. “Patriarch of the Kerry herd and this is my mate, Fawn.” As he introduces them, both deer fold their front hoof under their knee and dip their heads in a bow.
“It is an honor to meet you, Fiona Cumhaill,” Fawn says.
I try to wrap my head around this being my new reality. Snow—freaking—White. No matter what Gran says, it feels like a fairy tale. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”
They both straighten, and I try not to stare—Granda made that point clear enough—but holy hell it’s hard not to when an eight-foot-tall and equally as long deer stands directly in front of me with horned spikes raised above his head.
I tilt to the side and ease out of the hammock. “Granda was getting ready for a trip to town. We’re headed to the airport to pick up my lost luggage and then to Tralee for supplies for Gran.” I’m rambling. The deer king and queen don’t care what our errands are. Right. “I’ll get him for you.”
The giant deer swings his muscled neck out from under the gazebo and follows, plodding up the cobbled path. The click, click, click of their steps at my back punctuate our trip to the house. I try to keep a steady pace and not to let my nerves get the better of me.
Did ye know that click noise isn’t their hooves but a tendon stretching over a bone in their hoof? The animal voice says in my head. Gross, when ye think about it. And hello. Good thing they’re not predators. No sneaking up on prey with that racket.
I smile over my shoulder at the two deer. They don’t seem to hear the other voice. Good. Let’s not call the eight-foot beastie with a rack of daggers pointed in every direction gross, shall we?
“Eli,” Granda says while standing at the dropped tailgate of the truck with Sloan. The two of them seem deep in a heated chat, but both rebound well to our arrival. “To what do we owe the pleasure of yer visit, my friend?”
Eli dips his chin. “Good afternoon, Master Cumhaill. May I have a moment of your time?”
Granda sobers. “Is something wrong?”
The deer dips his chin. “I’m afraid there might be.”
As my grandfather withdraws to the shady side-lawn with two of Santa’s helpers, I realize this is the first time Sloan and I have been alone.
Ask him how his ball sack is. He’d appreciate that.
I cover my burst of laughter with a cough and slap my chest. “Sorry,” I choke, “spit went down the wrong pipe.”
Sloan seems more interested in what Granda and Eli are discussing than me choking to death at his feet.
“So, what were you two arguing about?”
He arches a brow looking less than amused. “It seems he’d rather not spend the afternoon in a truck with ye at the moment. He’s ordered me to take ye on yer errands.”
“Hard pass.” I wave him off. “You’re free to go.”
“Only I’m not,” he huffs and cuts me with a glare. “Yer grandfather is a Master Shrine-Keeper of the Druid Order, and I’m a Seventh-Level Apprentice.”
I snort. “And I’m a half-orc cleric with a leather fetish on a quest to find the enchanted chest of jibber-jabber.”
He doesn’t seem to share my amusement.
“C’mon, you realize you sound like a sixteen-year-old LARPer when you say shit like that, right?”
He grabs my wrist and yanks me around the back of the truck. I pull my arm free, but there’s no getting past him unless we throw down. The idea has merit.
He leans in, and I feel his energy activating my gift. “I get that ye don’t respect the Order, but Lugh Cumhaill is a huge feckin’ deal in our world. How do ye think it makes him look when his heir cracks wise about what we are?”
I roll my eyes. “You missed the point, dickwad. I was making fun of you, not him.”
“Oh, I heard that. I also heard ye threaten to leave it all behind and run off home. If it wouldn’t kill him, I’d say good riddance, but I respect the man too much to watch him die. Now, like it or not, it’s the two of us for the afternoon. Grab yer bag and hit the loo because I’m not making stops. I won’t drag this excursion out any longer than we have to.”
Chapter Nine
The trip to the airport is an ode to silence. Neither of us utters a word, and from what I can tell, that suits us both. It’s not until Sloan turns off the Land Rover’s ignition that I realize it’s me who must break the deadlock of wills. “Look, I don’t like you and you can’t help the attraction you’re fighting for me, so we just have to work through it.”
The look he spears me with is so utterly furious I bust out laughing. “Okay, neither of us likes the other much—that’s a given—but I’d like you to come inside with me.”
“And why on this blessed earth would I do that? I’m not yer bellhop, and I’ll not be carryin’ yer bag.”
The last thing I want to say is that the baggage lady scares me, but—“The baggage lady scares me.”
Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Scares ye? The mighty chosen one of the Fianna warriors?”
“You know I had nothing to do with that. As far as I know, some trickster god crossed the wires on the cosmic tattoo printer and is laughing his ass off while everyone else is trying to figure out how to take it back.”
“Finally.” He slaps the steering wheel. “That’s the first sensible thing you’ve ever said. Agreed. It’s one massive cosmic prank.”
I let him have that one. “Still, when I arrived last week, the woman working the claims counter set off every warning bell I have. It was before I knew about any of this. She’s not human, and I’d rather not face her alone not knowing what she is or what not to do around her. It would ruin my weekend plans to be eaten by a fae monster.”
He grins. “That would improve my weekend.”
Fine. Whatever. I won’t beg.
Da says I need to ask for help. I tried.
I’m halfway to the entrance doors when my escort for the day catches up. His legs are longer than mine, and his stride easily leaves me hustling to keep up. When we arrive at the door, he reaches around me and opens my way to the building. “To be clear. I’m here for Lugh and to find out how big a dosser ye are. So, go on now. Tell me about the female who gave ye a fright.”
I describe the ebony-haired angel as we walk and after a moment he stops and pulls me out of the flow of traffic. “Did ye mention any of this to Lugh?”
“No. With all the other weirdness filling my days, it didn’t come up until this afternoon. I would’ve told him, but he pawned me off on you.”
Sloan frowns. “And yer sure she was influencing them?”
“Yeah.”
“And yer sure she reacted to yer name and asked where ye’d be stayin’ while yer here?”
“Yeah.”
He presses his hand to the small of my back and turns us back the way we came. “I don’t like it. Let’s go.”
“What? Why?”
Sloan’s usual cocky veil is gone. His dark eyes are darker as he hustles us back through the doors. “Because whether she’s a siren, a silkie, a succubus, or the fucking faery queen, she took notice of ye. I’m not prepared to defend ye in a public place if she has designs on ye. It’s a good thing ye didn’t know where ye’d be stayin’. It left her waitin’ fer ye to return to collect yer bag. It’s too dangerous.”
“So, I forfeit my capris and yoga pants for my da’s forty-year-old khakis and Van Morrison t-shirts?”
We’re back to the truck, and the alarm beeps off to welcome us back. “It’s temporary. Trust me. There could be a trackin’ spell on yer suitcase, a mocker on yer clothes, a compulsion fer ye to harm yer granda—”
“Wait, first off, what is a mocker?”
“A hex.”
“Seriously? People can do that?”
“Of course. Stop thinkin’
like a civilian.”
“Easier said than done. I’ve been a druid for like two minutes, but whatevs. More importantly, why would someone want to hurt Granda?”
Sloan opens my door and waits for me to get in and buckle up. “I told ye before. Lugh Cumhaill is a big deal in our world.”
“Yeah, but that’s nothing new. Have hostile fae come at him before now?”
“Not overtly. Not yet.”
“You say that like you’re expecting it.”
“In a way, we are.”
“Well, there are more direct ways to get to a man than using my underwear.” I shake my head and wave that off. “Ew…bad choice of words but you get what I mean.”
“I do.” Sloan slides into the driver’s seat and starts things back up. “But Lugh’s never been this vulnerable before.”
“Because of me?”
He tilts his head and frowns. “Not directly, no. The fact is, Lugh is dying, and beings from the Unseen Realm sense the volatility in the balance. Those seeking power and change might think yer the way to get to him or stop the balance from being righted.”
I drop my head back and sigh. “Fine. Let the succubus bitch have my gitch. I’m getting used to the hippie grunge look anyway. But there is one thing I want for the sacrifice.”
“Och, and what, pray tell, is that?”
It doesn’t take long to get from the Kerry Airport to the suburbs of Tralee, and by the time Sloan pulls up in front of an old, stone cathedral, I’ve come to terms with forfeiting my clothes to keep my grandparents safe. Surprisingly, despite his declaration of no stops, he agreed to my condition.
After we finish our business in town, he’ll take me to an internet café or coffee shop to plug in my electronics to recharge. I desperately need to reconnect with the modern world. And who are we kidding—I miss my Cumhaill men.
“Welcome to Ardfert Cathedral.” Sloan gestures to the gray-stone ruin of a massive old church. He feeds the metered parking, and we’re on the move. “From 1117 to the 1800s, this church stood as the seat of the Kerry Diocese. Built-up, marauded, burned, and rebuilt more times than you could imagine, when it was abandoned as the keystone of faith in this part of the country, the druids moved behind the scenes to have it claimed as property of the Irish nation.”
A Gilded Cage (Chronicles of an Urban Druid Book 1) Page 7