We follow Emmet into the kitchen, and the noise of the gathered crowd dulls to a constant hum in the background. I point to the server prep station, and we head over to where Dillan is standing guard over his girlfriend as she wraps napkins around cutlery.
Dillan glares. “I don’t like this.”
“Noted.” I lean past him to hug Kady. “Trust me. Sloan’s not a bad guy. And if a quick apology can help smooth out Kady’s troubles, it’s best to get it out of the way.”
Kady doesn’t look so sure. She’s eyeing Sloan like he’s the evil nastiness of her worst nightmares. In turn, Sloan seems to be trying to make himself smaller and less threatening and failing miserably.
“Kady.” Sloan meets her gaze. The tingle of my skin tells me he’s working his magic. The tension draining from Kady’s body tells me it’s working. “It’s nice to meet ye. I’m ever so sorry fer yer scare. It’s not as ye thought it was. It was an unfortunate misunderstanding, but ye handled it with grace and strength. Ye can feel better about it now.”
Her smile is warm and easy as she reaches past Dillan to extend her hand. “It’s nice to meet you too. Niall says you’re visiting from Ireland?”
“I am.” The energy in the air dials back. “Only fer a day or two more. I wanted to apologize fer givin’ ye a fright last time. It wasn’t my intention.”
Kady shrugs. “Niall explained everything to me. No harm done.”
Dillan scowls and looks from Kady to Sloan to me. “Fine, he’s done what he came to do. How about he leaves now?” Dillan is a cop, protective of women, and involved with Kady. I don’t blame him for his hostility.
“Cool,” I say, turning back the way we came. “Good to see you, Kady.”
“You too, Fi. Glad you’re back safe. I’m so sorry you came home to heartache.”
I nod, my heart heavy. The next hours are going to hurt like hell. “Yeah, me too.”
With Kady taken care of, we head back out to the party going on in the pub proper. Dillan’s still put out, but he’s quick to forgive once things are sorted, so I’m not worried he’ll hold it against Sloan for long.
“Good, yer back.” Da finishes a shot and slams the glass on the bar. “It’s time to send yer brother off with flair.” He looks at Liam and nods. “Maestro. If ye please.”
“What are you two up to?” I ask.
Da smiles and gestures toward the dance floor. “Brenny always loved to dance. I think it’s only right that we give him a final show in his honor.”
“Da, I just got back. I haven’t danced in donkey’s years.”
“And we’re three sheets, Da.” Emmet gestures at himself and Calum.
I give in the moment the music comes up and the beat of the reel hits me. “For Brenny, then.” I nod at the boys. “If I’m doing this, I’m not doing it alone.”
I toss my sweater onto the bar and pull up my socks. My dress shoes have a square heel on them, so they should work. Dillan takes off his blazer, and Emmet rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. I press my finger and thumb together and let out a whistle. “Clan Cumhaill, report to the dance floor.”
Aiden waves at me from the other side of the bar and hands his drink to Kinu.
The crowd opens as we gather on the dance floor and pushes out to give us a wide berth. The six of us had years of lessons. Ma loved it. I think Da loved having the house to themselves for an hour and a half every Saturday.
Whatever the motives, the six of us became fleet-footed.
Together we face the audience, turn our feet, and settle into our beginning pose. Hands on our hips, I count us off. “On my mark, ladies. One. Two. Three.”
The night drums on, the band is great, the liquor goes down easier by the hour. By the wee hours, most of the polite, “pay their respects people” have cleared out and we’re left with those here to celebrate Brendan or console one of us. Sloan returned to the house a couple of hours ago to rest. If he’s going to portal back to Ireland in the next couple of days, he needs to recharge.
Do you feel that? Someone is watching us.
Lost in the fog of drink and hilarious family memories, I have to fight to focus on what Bruinior is saying. He’s right. The hair on the nape of my neck sparks with the knowledge that I’m being observed. I lift my tumbler to my lips with a feigned smile and pivot my bar stool.
I scan the crowd and know or recognize pretty much everyone in and out of uniform—except.
My early warning system fires to life as I pan past a stocky dude in a black blazer and jeans. “Hey, Liam. Who is the skull-trimmed guy over by the back hall?”
Liam scans the crowd and frowns. “What skull-trim guy by the back hall?”
I set my glass onto the bar and reach over for the chrome napkin dispenser. Angling it toward the back hall, I find him. “To the right of the V. I. Pee sign for the loo.”
Liam finishes pulling a couple of draughts and sends Kady on her way. “Either I’m blind, or you’re hallucinating. There’s no one there.”
“Why can’t he see him?”
Liam frowns. “Are you talking to me?”
“No. That was for Bruinior.”
He nods to a regular and goes to the register to close out a tab. When the printer spits out the bill, he comes back and sets the plastic tray on the bar. “A bit of friendly advice, Fi. First, people are gonna think you’ve lost your mind if you start talking to your invisible bear in public. Second, Bruinior the Brave is a mouthful and unhip. You said he came to start a new life. Why not give him a snazzy new city name?”
“We’ve talked about it.”
Ask him what that should be?
I frown. “Can we focus on the creepy peeper in the back and worry about the name game later?”
Liam takes another look and shrugs. “I got nothin’.”
Seeing that Liam is no help, I take my half-eaten basket of wings down the bar and hop onto the stool next to my father. Tonight has been cathartic. I still miss Brenny like crazy, but if anyone would want us to think of him fondly, raise a glass, and laugh, it was Brendan.
Da seems a little lighter too. I’m relieved. “Hey, Da? Quick question. In the magic world, you know how you and I can hear Bruinior speak, but the others don’t?”
“Uh-huh.” He snags a wing from my basket.
“Can that happen with people? Could I see a creepy stalker near the back hall and Liam not?”
Da drops the wing and frowns. “Where?”
“Under the Pee sign.”
Da looks, and the crease in his brow deepens. “Do ye still see him now?”
I look and sigh. Whoever he was, he’s not there now. “I guess he bugged out.”
Want me to have a covert look around?
I snort. “I don’t think a bear in a bar in the middle of the city will be considered covert.”
The rumble of his deep laughter feels funny in my chest. I meant as a spirit ye eejit.
“Oh, okay. Good idea. Don’t get into any trouble and don’t be long. Jetlag is real. I’m ready to head home to bed.”
If I’m not back by the time ye leave, don’t wait up.
“What? No. Bear—” I turn and scowl as the pop of pressure in my chest signals his departure. “Dammit. Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret this?”
Chapter Nineteen
I’m sitting at the kitchen table nursing my coffee when Calum and Emmet come down dressed for work. I’m not sure how they’re upright and looking so chipper. Did I drink that much more than them?
“Is your other half back yet?” Calum asks.
“No. Not yet.”
“I’m sure he’s fine.” Emmet heads over to the dishrack. He grabs two bowls and two spoons and joins me. “He’s a bear loose in the city streets of Toronto. How bad could it be?”
I snort at his attempt to cheer me up. “Now I have Godzilla scenes flashing in my head.”
“Nah.” Calum pours two coffees and joins us. “Godzilla was mindless. Bruinior the Beast is smart.”
/>
“Don’t indulge him by calling him that. I’ll think of something better.”
Emmet fills a bowl with Honey Shreddies and slides it over to Calum. “Whatever his name, he’s new in town. Maybe he got turned around and is lost.”
“I don’t think he can get lost. He’s bound to me.”
“Well, he’s only been gone for eight hours. You’ve got a long wait before he’s officially missing.”
“And what? Am I putting out a missing person’s report? I’d love to see how that goes over.”
Calum pours milk into his coffee and stirs things up. “If he’s bound to you, can you find him by tracing that connection back to its source?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does he need to, like, recharge or something if he’s out too long? Any chance he gets weak or sick?”
“I don’t think so. I was in the dragon’s cave for seven weeks, and he was fine.”
The boys grow horribly still.
“Don’t remind us,” Calum says.
Emmet sets his spoon down and pegs me with a look. “We were out of our heads, Fi. And Da… He’s not been right since ye went over there. Now, with Brenny’s death…I’m worried about the old man.”
“Worried how?”
Calum leans back to look up the hall toward the stairs. “He’s been drinking more and more. And not just with friends or at the pub. He’s been drinking alone, too.”
Emmet leans in. “I rarely see him without a drink in his hand now. It’s not good.”
No. It’s not. “He got like this for a while when Ma died.”
“Yeah, but he had six kids to raise then. Now, his time and his money are pretty much his own.”
“Well, I’m home now, and I’ll watch him. Maybe now that the wake is behind him, he’ll slow down. Maybe it’ll help if we all slow down. You know, out of sight out of mind.”
There’s a noise in the back alley, and I stand to look out the kitchen window.
“Is it your bear?”
“No. It’s the Navar kids setting up hockey nets with their friends. If he does come back, he probably won’t be clunking around behind the house. He’ll wisp in like a breeze.”
“How does the whole spirit thing work anyway?”
“I don’t know. He came to me. He’s a spirit. He saved my life. That’s all I know.”
“That’s it, is it, Cumhaill?” Sloan tops the last of the basement steps. “I thought ye’d be further along unraveling the mystery by now.” He flashes me a GQ smile. He’s way too cocky for his good.
“Tell me, Sloan. What has my inferior intellect failed to realize about my bear?”
“That he’s not a spirit bear, he’s THE spirit BEAR.”
Emmet’s eyes widen, and he laughs. “Do you think if you say it louder and with more drama, we’ll hear a difference? Is that a druid thing?”
Calum finishes chewing a mouthful of cereal. “You’re aren’t only my brother, Emmet. You’re MY brother, EMMET. Did that change anything?”
“NOPE,” Emmet shouts.
I crack up. “Man, it’s good to be home. I missed you, boys.” They both smile up at me, lost in their crunching and chewing. I sweep a hand toward the counter. “Sloan, help yourself to cereal, toast, or the buffet of leftovers from last night. While you fend, you can explain what you mean.”
Sloan makes himself a plate and sits—in Brendan’s chair. I stiffen and start to protest but catch myself. The boys have the same reaction, but none of us says anything.
What is there to say?
Sloan doesn’t seem to notice. Then again, he’s an only child, so he doesn’t always pick up on the subtext telepathy between my siblings and me. “Despite what your sister says, or maybe even believes, bonding with a spirit animal is rare.”
I swallow my coffee and squint at him. “I thought physical druids got a battle beast as one of their skills. You said druids use spirit animals as weapons when fighting.”
“Och, they do. Did ye see how yer bear responded to that notion when I mentioned that fact in front of him? He’s more than that.”
“More, like how?”
“Do ye remember what he said when ye asked how old he is?”
I think back. “He said it was a blur but maybe a century or two.”
Sloan takes a bite of his raspberry Danish and chuckles. “Try nine hundred.”
“Whoa,” Emmet interjects. “Your bear is a geezer.”
“Is not,” I snap. “Sloan’s full of shit.”
“What is my discipline, Cumhaill?”
“Health and Spiritual.”
“And he’s a what kind of bear?” He waits for me to fill in the blank.
“Spirit. Okay, I’ll give you that.” I make a quick trip to the counter to grab my Danish. “What does that matter?”
Sloan takes a long drink of water. “As ye might remember, part of my discipline is gauging the power and potential of magical beings. From the first time I came in contact with yer walking rug, it was clear as an Irish sky. He is BEAR, the spirit king of all bears.”
“Ooo, royalty.” Calum points at me with his spoon. “You’re stepping up in the company you keep, Fi.”
I open my mouth and show Calum my half-chewed Danish, and he snorts and goes back to his breakfast. “What do you mean, spirit king?”
“Are ye familiar with the stories indigenous people tell about their totem animals?”
“You mean like Thunderbird and Coyote?”
He nods. “The same. In folklore, Bear is considered a powerful enforcer who punishes the disrespectful and protects the clans with his godlike powers.”
“I don’t buy it. If he’s a spirit god, why was he hanging around Granda’s place looking for something to do?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say that when the bears living in Ireland died out and disappeared, he lost focus. Maybe he doesn’t remember being a god, or maybe he does, and he wants a demotion.”
“Rude. Why are you considering me a demotion?”
He scowls. “My point is, I can’t be sure of exactly what he is, but his potential power isn’t like anything I’ve ever felt before.”
“Maybe that’s why he picked you, Fi,” Emmet points out. “Da said you’re super-jacked with druid potential or some shit, yeah?”
“That’s what they say.”
“She is,” Sloan agrees. “And it pains me to admit it, but she has a natural skill I’ve rarely seen before to go with it. She’ll be one helluva druid once she goes back to finish her training with yer Granda.”
My brothers hit me with matching dirty looks. “You’re going back?”
“Not for a very long time—years from now. In the meantime, I’ll prove to Granda and the stuffed shirts of the Ancient Order of Druids that their snobby ideas about the world beyond the Emerald Isle holding no power is bullshit.”
“Yeah, you will.” Calum rises to take his bowl to the sink. “You show them, sista. They don’t know what they’re in for.”
Emmet hands off his empty bowl and grabs their mugs. “My only question is when do we get our power sparks? ’Cause dayam, I want a pet tiger.”
I snort. “Emmet, every pet you ever had fell to the fate of a shoebox under the tree or flushed.”
“Hey! Those hamsters were duds. I told you all that. Everyone knows that small rodents are hard to keep alive. And fish? Please. I need something more substantial to call out my latent Doolittle genes.”
Calum laughs and closes the dishwasher. “You’ve been a ‘do little’ guy your whole life. Nothing to call out.”
There’s a quick exchange of fists and slaps, then they laugh and break it up. Both of them kiss my cheek and grab the sack lunches I made them from the leftover catering.
“Safe home, boys.” I knock on the wooden table. “I love you like crazy.”
“All the ladies do.” Emmet waves over his head as he bounds off the back steps and heads toward the gate.
I watch them out the kitchen window until
Emmet starts the car and they pull away. “Safe home, boys.”
Sloan watches me watch them, and I shrug.
“It was hard letting them go every day before. Now that Brenny is gone, I don’t know how I’ll sit here day and night without going squirrely.”
He moves to the counter and grabs another Danish. “Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned since knowing ye, Cumhaill, it’s that whatever comes yer way, ye handle it.”
I chuff. “You getting soft on me, surly?”
“Hardly. Get your training clothes on and meet me in the basement. We’ve got work to do and a short time to do it.”
“Eyes front, Cumhaill,” Sloan snaps. I throw my head back and narrowly evade the end of the fighting staff he swings at my face. We finished with the weights downstairs and moved outside to have room for melee fighting. “Come on. Where’s that fighting spirit? Don’t ye want to clip me one in the head?”
“More than you could imagine,” I grunt.
The muscles in my arms are burning, my back is sore, and there are runnels of sweat seeping into cracks and crevices I didn’t know about.
I adjust my footing on my back lawn, anticipating the forward jab before he throws it. My timing is a little late, but I manage to strike the attempt away with only a grazing blow to my hip as I step to the side.
Sloan growls. “Believe it or not, Cumhaill. I don’t want to hit ye, but if yer Granda’s enemies come fer ye, they won’t have the same concern.”
My hands are sore, and I’ve had enough staff practice for one day. When he arcs a swing to come down at my head, I drop my staff and shift to hand-to-hand. He’s stronger than me, but I capitalize on his forward momentum. I duck his staff, grab his arm, and pull him to the ground.
My back roll doesn’t execute as well in reality as it did in my head, but I get the job done. He’s down, the staff isn’t chafing my hands, and I’m close enough to the hose to grab it and spray him before he has a chance to recover.
“What the hell?” he sputters and holds up his hands as shields. “Shite, that’s cold.”
A Gilded Cage (Chronicles of an Urban Druid Book 1) Page 16