A Gilded Cage (Chronicles of an Urban Druid Book 1)

by Auburn Tempest

  Granda is Gran’s everything, too.

  But asking Da to come back here is about more than losing him. He keeps my brothers safe. He leads them by example. He’s needed there.

  What do I contribute to my life and community? I love my family fiercely, but am I indispensable? I think about my Da and my brothers, and Shannon and Liam.

  Can I give them up?

  The burgeoning hope and expectation in my grandparents’ gazes make me want to scream. How dare they ask this of me? My guts twist. And Granda called me selfish.

  They love their life as much as I love mine.

  “I can’t talk about this right now. If you’ll excuse me, I need time to think.”

  Fiona, wake up.

  I stir from a restless fit of sleep, tangled and tied down by a twisted quilt and sheets.

  Fiona, open yer eyes.

  I scrub a rough hand over my face and blink at the darkness. Gawd, I feel like I’ve been run over by a garbage truck and tossed in with the rest of the trash.

  Fiona, ye need to wake Lugh. The mocker is building back and yer in trouble.

  I’m still trying to make sense of the warning from my mysterious animal companion when my stomach lurches in a violent churn, and I rush for my door. Thank the stars for phosphorescent fungus because the glow of light is the only way I make it to the toilet before I hurl.

  Pressing my palms on the seat, I brace myself as Gran’s stew and biscuits make an unwelcome return. My ab muscles tighten, and I retch again. The quakes take me then.

  Red! Call fer help.

  “I’m busy,” I whisper, setting my head onto my arm. My head is a tidal wave, my skin achy, and my back is on fire.

  Busy dying. Now, get over yerself and call Lugh.

  Man. Why are animal companions so snarky? Okay, fine. I might be in trouble here. “Gran… Granda…”

  My voice is weak. I haven’t got the strength to push out more than a squeak. I swallow and try again, but my voice won’t carry. I push forward, and my stomach continues to empty.

  Red, I need ye to repeat what I say. Chun liom a bheith faoi cheangal. Ta dha cheann acu, fuaim mo chinnidh.

  I do my best, my mouth stumbling over syllables as my strength wanes. The moment I speak the last word, I gasp at the invasion of another entity bursting into my body.

  What did I do?

  Before I can think anything more about it, I collapse to the floor.

  “Don’t move, luv,” Gran says close to my ear. Her voice is muffled like she’s speaking to me from a distance. I fight to follow the warmth of her gentle hand on my shoulder, and she comes into focus. Oh, she’s been crying.

  I blink at her, my cheek cool against the polished wood of the kitchen table. “What happened? Why am I laid out like Sunday dinner?”

  Someone touches my back with an icy gel, and I stiffen.

  “Relax, Cumhaill,” Sloan says from somewhere out of my line of sight. “My da is a healer. He’s taking the bite out of the rash on yer back.”

  “It’s a fair bit more than a rash,” the man says above me. “The girl’s been cursed to within a breath of her life.”

  I close my eyes and sigh. “I thought I was hexed. Are you saying Sloan made me drink liquid manure and chew those nasty leaves for nothing?”

  “Ye were hexed, ye ungrateful witch—”

  “Enough,” his father says, silencing his son. “Sloan was correct. Ye were hexed, and now yer cursed.”

  “A double-whammy. Yay me.”

  Sloan chuffs. “It seems I’m not the only one ye rub raw.”

  I groan. “Who else did I piss off?”

  “My question is what was the purpose of two spells,” Granda says, “and why didn’t they work?”

  “Don’t sound so disappointed, old man. I’m rather pleased they didn’t.”

  Gran chuckles. “He’s not disappointed, sweet girl. Quite the opposite. The fact that yer body held back a dual magical attack for this long speaks of great natural resistance. Sloan cleared the mocker’s effects, but didn’t realize there was a curse running along with it, too.”

  Rude. Seems like overkill…well, thankfully not.

  No-kill tonight, folks. Score one for the good guys. “Okay, yeah. I’m with Granda. Why go for a twofer and why didn’t it work?”

  Sloan’s father secures a compress on the affected skin between my shoulder blades, then tightens the towel that I’m lying on around my back. He and Gran help me sit up, and I tuck the corner of the cloth under my arm to keep it from slipping.

  Growing up with five brothers, I’m not overly shy, but I’d rather not parade the girls in front of Granda, Sloan, and his father.

  “Hello, Fiona,” Sloan’s father says while thumbing the bottom lids of my eyes to check them. He’s tall, jogger-fit, and possesses the same chiseled features as Sloan, although his skin is a great deal darker than Sloan’s warm mocha shade. And by the way he’s eyeing me, suffers from a serious lack of humor, like his son. “I’m Wallace Mackenzie.”

  “Wallace is the Master Healer in the Order, luv.” Gran hands me a cup of honey tea. Then, she gestures to a fierce-looking Asian woman by the fridge. “And this is Janet. Sloan portaled his parents here the moment we called.”

  “Thanks for coming,” I say, my head still a little groggy. “So, what do you think this is about?”

  Wallace frowns and turns to address my grandfather. “My best guess is the tattoo acted as a shield to the initial attack. From the energy siphoned off the festered skin, and her symptoms, I’d say the mocker meant to sterilize her from being a vessel for druid power and the curse was a backup which activated to kill her when the hex failed to do its job.”

  “Kill her?” Gran says. “It was intended to do this? What on earth is going on, Lugh? No one has dared come after a member of the Ancient Order for centuries, and now there’s been two attempts in as many days?”

  “Two?” I ask. “What was the other one?”

  Gran frowned. “That’s why Eli and Fawn came by yesterday afternoon, luv. They wanted to tell yer granda that a member of the Kerry herd saw someone in a cloak tampering with the wards at the back of the property.”

  “When I stayed behind and sent Sloan with ye to town,” Granda says, “I spent the afternoon rebuilding and reinforcing the wards.”

  “Who’s doing it?” I ask. “What do they want?”

  Granda pauses, and I notice he has the same vein by his left temple that pulses when he’s pissed that Aiden and Da have. “I can’t say who, yet, but why is clear enough. Some of the dark fae races want out from under the watchful eye of the Order. I assume news of my ill health is out. It seems they intend to keep my position vacant when I’m dead.”

  “And they need me to either be a magical dud or die?”

  Granda nods. “That’s my take on it.”

  “And it almost worked,” Gran says. “If we hadn’t been woken up and found ye when we did, ye would’ve been too far gone for Wallace to revive ye.”

  I frown, remembering a foggy version of my night. Me slumping beside the porcelain god, trying to get their attention. “I didn’t think I called you loudly enough to wake you.”

  Granda pops a brow. “Och, that wasn’t what woke us. It was Dax and a gigantic brown bear facing off in a fur-flying fight at the foot of our bed. When did ye bond with a battle beast and why the fecking hell didn’t ye tell us?”

  I look from him to Gran to Sloan to his father. “What’s that now? I did what?”

  “Don’t play dumb, missy,” Granda says. “Ye can’t bind yerself to an animal totem without convincing the beast and speaking the binding spell.”

  “I don’t get how she did it at all,” Sloan snaps. “It takes a fourth level druid to summon elemental spirits, and she hasn’t even accepted her heritage powers. How could she possibly have the strength to lure, trap, and bind an animal as powerful as a bear spirit?”

  I snort. “I honestly have no clue what you’re raving about, but it’s hilar
ious that it makes you so mad.”

  He’s talking about me.

  I blink. Hubba-wha? “My imaginary friend is a spirit bear? News to me.”

  Sloan rolls his eyes and looks at his father. “Do you see what I’m saying? She’s practically brain-dead and supposed to be some great druid messiah? It’s ludicrous.”

  “You’re ludicrous,” I snap, making a face at him. Okay, not my most mature comeback but hey, half an hour ago, I was dangling over the rim of a composting toilet looking into the dark precipice of death.

  Granda clears his throat, a look of stern disbelief etched on his face. WTF, how is this my fault?

  “Okay, so, yeah,” I say, setting my teacup down on the table. “I chatted with an animal companion a couple of times. I thought it was weird that he never came out of the bushes or showed himself, but hey, he could’ve been shy. Sloan said I might attract attention, so be open to it. That’s what I thought it was. I may be naïve, but I’m not duplicitous. I certainly didn’t lure him, trap him, or bind him.”

  Sloan snorts and throws up his hands. “Then how do you explain a giant brown bear—an animal which is extinct in Ireland and has been for donkey’s years—racing into Lugh’s and Lara’s bedroom on yer behalf?”

  “I’m not saying it didn’t happen, only that it didn’t happen the way you’re describing it. I didn’t bind him. If anything, he bound me.”

  Cue more screwed up faces of disbelief.

  “It’s true. He woke me up tonight when I was sick and said I needed to get help. When I was puking and getting weaker, he told me to repeat what he said if I wanted to live. I did, and so I did.”

  “How stupid do ye think we are?” Sloan shouts.

  “Them, not so much. You—very.” I grab the tuck of my towel and drop to my bare feet. My legs wobble under my weight, and I’m glad to have the table to lean against. “Believe what you want—you obviously will anyway—but I’m telling you the truth.”

  I blink against the sting of tears and feel my new companion growing growly and restless with my upset. Why aren’t my grandparents sticking up for me? Don’t they believe me? I search their faces, and the answer is plain.

  No, they don’t.

  I press a hand against the ache in my chest and try to breathe. “I didn’t ask for any of this, and if a magic spirit bear wants to be my friend and save me from being murdered by your enemies over a world I know nothing about, then fine, I’m happy to have at least one person on my side.”

  “Fiona, luv,” Gran says.

  I hold up my hand, my heart too battered for one night. “Whether you meant to or not, you two dragged me into a mess of danger and obligation. You accuse me of luring, trapping, and binding, but I didn’t. You did.”

  “Watch yer tone, young lady,” Granda snaps.

  I wave off his warning, my hands shaking. “I came here, excited to meet my grandparents and instead, you used family honor and magical wonder and guilt to coerce me into being the heir you need. Now, you point fingers at me and accuse me of being a liar when things don’t make sense to you? Well, screw that! Guess what?” I swipe the heat of traitorous tears from my cheeks. “None of this makes sense to me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  By noon the next day, I’ve cried myself to sleep, woken angry, indulged in a massive pity party, and run out of steam. I’m starving. I’m bored. And I’m not looking forward to facing my grandparents. It’s not that I said anything I don’t think is true, it’s simply that I shouldn’t have said it—at least not in anger and not in front of mixed company.

  Sprawled sideways on my bed with my photo albums open and glossy images of my family smiling up at me from every page, there’s nothing I want more than to go home.

  “As much as I love the druid stuff, I don’t belong here.”

  That’s plain. And as much as I feel yer angst about disappointing yer gran and granda, yer happiness matters too.

  “Is that selfish?”

  Not from where I sit.

  “That’s okay with you? Leaving everything you know?”

  I didn’t bond with ye to cavort across the rolling hills of Ireland fer the rest of our lives. I’ve done that fer far too long. I’m ready for adventure and conquest and all the city offers.

  I lay there for a long time, staring into the eyes of my father. He chose his path and walked away. From what I’ve seen, he lived the life he was meant for. “I’m meant to be a daughter and a sister and an auntie. As honorable as all this Master-Shrine Keeper stuff might be, it’s not who I am.”

  Then speak the words and let them be so.

  I kiss my fingers and press them to our family picture. “What happens to you if I don’t become the mighty druid they want me to be?”

  I accept who ye are this minute. Ye needn’t put on airs and be what ye aren’t. Even without Lugh offloading powers into yer system, yer a druid by blood and by nature. We are bound. All is well.

  I’m glad about that. “Hey, would you come out of me, so we can properly meet?”

  Are ye easily scared?

  “Not as a rule. You?”

  What’s there to be scared of when yer the disembodied essence of a beast that’s been extinct fer centuries?

  “Good point. Well, we have bears where I come from. You won’t shock me. Just don’t eat me. Deal?”

  Wouldn’t dream of it. You’re my ticket to freedom.

  It’s weird to feel another entity maneuvering inside a body I’ve spent twenty-three years living in solo. A flutter builds in my chest, a gentle pressure in my lungs, then the pressure pops.

  I stare into the whiskey-colored eyes of a nine-hundred-pound bear that even standing on all fours comes up to my chin. “Wow, you’re bigger than I expected.”

  And that is what every male wants to hear in the bedroom of a lovely lady.

  “Funny guy.” I chuckle as I check him out. He fills the room, and although there is enough space for both of us, it’s claustrophobic with him out.

  Despite my assurance to the contrary, I thought I might be intimidated. I’m not. He is part of me. Somehow, I know that on an instinctual level. I lift my hand but hesitate before reaching forward. “Do you mind if I touch you?”

  I thought ye’d never ask.

  “Flirt.”

  It’s been centuries since I held physical form. I want to feel the breeze blow through my fur and tear at the rich soil with my claws as I run, and mount the round haunches of females and rut until I drop.

  I hear the longing in his voice. It’s sad. “Well, I’m not sure how to get you laid in a country where bears are extinct, but when we get home, we’ll work on it, I promise. I’ll be your wingman.”

  And I yers.

  I let my hand sink into the depth of his thick pelt. He is soft, shaggy, and smells of spruce needles and clean outdoors. My fingers knead over the coarse brown guard hairs, and through the sultry underfur beneath. “You’re incredible.”

  I am, at that.

  “And humble too.” I revel in the juxtaposition of touching the two textures of fur, tough and coarse on the outside, decadently velvet underneath. “What’s your name?”

  Among bears, I was known as Himself. Among the countryside folks and in legend and song, they called me Bruinior the Beast or Killer Clawbearer.

  “Wow, okay. Those are aggressive. They don’t roll off the tongue though. Maybe for a new life, you should have a new name.”

  Ye said ye need yer animal companion to blend in the city. What’s a good name for that?

  I laugh. “I think blending is out.”

  Leaving my bear companion in my room to stretch his paws, I grab a clean outfit and make it into the bathroom without running into anyone. Winning! If I can pull myself together before the awkward morning after face-to-face, all the better.

  Under the hot spray of the shower, I lament how often I laughed at Liam’s “morning after the night before” stories. The grass is not greener on his side of the fence.

  “What
about food?” I ask after finishing with the daily battle of pulling a brush through my hair fifteen minutes later. “Do you eat?”

  Bear twitches his moist black nose in the air and nods his massive head. I think so. Dunno. This is new to me.

  “Cool. Finally, I’m not the only one figuring things out while everyone around me knows what’s going on. Come on. I’ll heat you some stew and biscuits.”

  The house is quiet as we make our way to the kitchen and I take that as a good sign. Maybe my grandparents feel as bad about last night as I do. I hope so.

  Well, I’m not hoping that I made them feel bad, but I am hoping they finally see things from my side. I set out two plates and head over to the fridge. Taking out the leftover stew, I grease a pot and dump it in to heat up.

  As the air fills with the rich scent of meaty gravy, my stomach growls. I can do this. I’ll eat, apologize for my outburst last night, and explain that as much as I wish I could stay and be the dutiful druid they hoped—I can’t.

  That smells amazing.

  I nod and dish us each a full plate. “And tastes twice as good. Slainte mhath.” I set his plate on the floor and sit at the table for mine. “Why is it that stew tastes better the second day?”

  Another of life’s mysteries, I guess.

  It doesn’t take long before our plates are empty and I’m staring out the kitchen window while washing our dishes. Movement by the tree line brings my attention to Gran and Granda coming out from the grove. Like always, they’re holding hands as they stroll across their property, enjoying each other’s company.

  Barmaid, fetch me some ale. That stew left me parched.

  I arch a brow at my bear and fill a large bowl with water to set on the floor. Ha! How crazy is that—my bear.

  “I can’t keep thinking of you as Bear,” I say as he lifts his big, boxy head with water dripping off his maw. “Let’s try out a few names until we find one you like.”

  Where should we start?

  “I don’t know. Bears are Ursidae. Do you like Sid or Ursi?”

  Not really.

  “Winnie, Ted, Fozzie, Yogi, Baloo?”