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

by Auburn Tempest

  “Is that all?” Myra chuckles as she finishes with the order and writes up the bill. Then she copies the titles into her ledger for regular customers. “Did your father find out anything more about Barghest?”

  “Nothing yet that I know of. Between work, Brendan’s death, and worrying about our safety, he’s spread thin.” I notice a few books tilted and head over to the shelf to straighten them. My promise to the boys to watch how much Da’s drinking resurfaces. I need to pay better attention and pull him back from the brink a bit if it comes to that. “He’s not himself.”

  “I know the pain of losing a son.” Myra closes the ledger. “It’s not something that ever truly eases. Your father may never be the same man you knew before. In my experience, the only thing that fills the gaping loss of a loved one is adding more love.”

  “Well, we’ve got lots of that.”

  The computer bings a little notification, and Myra writes down the name of the book someone ordered. “This is up on the third floor over the reading section. Will you fetch it down for me?”

  I take the slip of paper and read the digits.

  “While you’re up there, maybe look through the books on ley lines and see if there are any you’d like to flip through. That might help with building your power source.”

  “Great idea.” I walk through the entranceway in the sidewall and climb the black, circular metal steps that coil up to the third floor. “Do you know how ley lines form?”

  “No,” Myra calls back. “Good thing this is a bookstore. Maybe you can find out.”

  Har-har.

  After fetching Myra the book she needs to fill her order, I find four books on ley lines that look interesting. I pull them and settle in on one of the leather sofas under her home tree. The whole concept of Mother Earth’s chakras is fascinating. Still, I don’t see them helping me here in Toronto.

  “Fiona, can you come up to the cash, please? I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

  I stack the books and leave them there to come back to. When I get up, I place my hand on the trunk bark of Myra’s home ash tree and thank him for our time together. He’s old, wise, and completely devoted to Myra.

  He’s also worried about her.

  “Coming.”

  Hustling through the store, I hear the deep, husky voice of a visitor and find Myra chatting with a woman in fuchsia leopard-print pants and heels. The newcomer towers over me and, compared to Aiden, who is six-foot-two and the tallest one of us, she beats him by a couple of inches of purple hair.

  When she turns, I recognize her from the billboard posters outside a drag club down on Queen East. The club isn’t far from where we live in Cabbagetown, and I pass by it nearly every day. “I recognize you from Queens on Queen.”

  “Pan Dora.” She flicks a swath of violet curls behind her broad shoulder and extends a manicured hand. “Nice to meet you, baby.”

  “Nice to meet you, too. One of my brothers’ ex-girlfriend went to your Merry Queens and Scots event last year. She said it was outrageous and so much fun.”

  She beams and squeezes my fingers. “Glad to hear it. We aim to please.”

  Myra folds her hands together and leans on the counter. “Dora agreed to discuss taking you and your brothers on as inking clients. She’s the most talented artist I know and has the magical experience to imbue your spells with druid energy. The question is, what do you offer her?”

  The fact that she’s still holding my fingers is a little awkward, but I go with it. “I don’t know. We’re very new to the workings of the fae realm. Do we pay you or do you take payment in trade? If I should know this, I apologize. I’m sorta flying blind here.”

  “I suppose you are,” Dora agrees. “I was quite surprised when Myra said we have a family of start-up druids in the city. Breaking the mold, are you?”

  “Trying to.” I scratch at the tingle on my forehead. “My Granda doesn’t hold out much hope for success, but I don’t agree. I think the city can be as powerful as any rural Eden. I have to figure out what will work for us and tap into it.”

  “Bravo.” Dora steps back and eyes me up and down. First, her gaze is direct as she looks at me. Then, her gaze shifts and she looks through me. When she finishes whatever she’s doing, her bright, fuchsia lips part in a smile. “How good are you with a ladle?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A ladle. You know, a big scoopy spoon?”

  “Right. I know what a ladle is, but how good am I?”

  Myra giggles. “Dora and her co-stars run a drop-in soup kitchen in the building next door to the club. I think she’s wondering about you volunteering there as payment.”

  “Oh, sure! That’s totally doable. And my brothers are strong, hard-working boys. You can put them to work, too.”

  Dora tilts her head, and her attention falls to my right arm. A zebra-striped fingernail drags down the sleeve of my t-shirt and stops on my upper bicep where my armband tattoo hides underneath. “May I see it, baby?”

  I lift my sleeve. “How’d you know?”

  Dora leans closer while eyeing the wyrm dragon encircling my arm. It glitters in the same iridescent blue of the male wyrmlets. When she touches it, I get a surge of energy tingling through my cells.

  “You’ve been favored by a Cyteira.”

  “Who?”

  “The Lady of Wyrms. She can be a snappy bitch at times, but she likes you. What did you do that placed you in such high esteem?”

  “I helped her fertilize her eggs.”

  Dora’s brow arches. “Wyrm dragons have hatched and thrive once more?”

  “Seventeen had hatched when I left her lair. There were twenty-three eggs in total. I assume they’re thriving.”

  Dora turns me to face Myra and presses her hand flat on my back. “And marked as well? I must admit, I’m shocked. And it’s been a great many years since I’ve been shocked.”

  “Is that good?”

  Dora turns me back, and after another thoughtful study of me, she nods. “Very good. I like you. I will help.”

  If someone told me three months ago that I’d be stoked to have my drag queen tattoo artist lined up to ink me with Celtic symbols, I would’ve spat milk through my nose.

  Funny how life changes things.

  She sensed my armband and my Fianna mark without knowing they were there. I don’t know what she is or where her powers stem from, but I don’t need Sloan to tell me she has power. Lots of it.

  It doesn’t feel like the tingle I get from other druids or my nymph boss. It feels more like the energy I sense from Kyle. Considering he’s an ancient totem god, I figure Pan Dora has serious juice and likely an ancient existence.

  I wait inside the door of the emporium until Calum pulls up. “See you tomorrow.” I wave back at Myra.

  “Have a good night.”

  It’s after six, and my stomach growls like rolling thunder as I span the concrete between the storefront and the curb. Calum is standing with the driver’s door open, leaning over the hood of the car. “You up for Chinese food?”

  “I could go for that.”

  “Good, because you’re paying. You owe me, like, twenty-seven grand.”

  I wince at the edge to his voice, but there’s no real heat. He knows the backyard landscaping wasn’t my fault, but it is my responsibility. “Okay, take it off my tab.”

  A half-hour later, with two bags of wok-fried bliss in my lap, we’re back on the road and heading up Parliament toward Wellesley. Calum hits his indicator to take us home, and a patrol car with its lights on gives us a quick bloop of its siren.

  When it pulls up beside us, Aiden waves for us to follow.

  “What’s going on?”

  Calum gets out of the turning lane and speeds up to keep pace. “No idea. But if we’re following a squad car and Aiden’s on duty, I don’t imagine it’s anything good.”

  We follow Aiden past the St. James Cemetery and up to the Rosedale Ravine Lands. After a while, he pulls off the beaten path, and
we end up with the backs of industrial buildings on our left and forested ravine on our right. The road, if you can call it that, is wide enough for one car easy or two if they edge off to the side to pass. Calum parks behind Aiden, who stopped behind two other cruisers.

  Taking in the gathering of cops and the yellow caution tape strung across posts, I agree with Calum’s assessment.

  This can’t be good.

  Calum cuts the engine, and we meet Aiden by the hood of the squad car. He doesn’t look upset, so that goes a long way in taming the nerves going squirrely in my belly about this being personal.

  “Hey.” Aiden lays a heavy arm over my shoulder and kisses the top of my head. “Da is calling in the Lady Cumhaill to tell him what he’s not seeing. We’ve got two bodies in the ravine, but he says he’s getting that same ‘move along’ vibe he got outside your bookshop the other day.”

  I nod to Aiden’s partner Dac standing beyond the tape barrier, and we step out of the stream of traffic. “If Da had his powers, he wouldn’t be running at a disadvantage.”

  Aiden shrugs. “Moot point, right now. You have the most power of all of us and know more about what you’re seeing. If Sloan were here, I’d have him poof you in to look around, but he’s not.”

  Da crests the embankment of the ravine and joins us while rubbing dirt off the palms of his hands. “Did Aiden fill ye in?”

  “Sort of. You think there’s spellwork hiding something in the area and you want to know what.”

  “That’s the gist of it.” He points back the way he came. “The bodies were found by a man and his dogs, down there. I felt the push of magic over there.”

  He points farther down the dirt lane we drove in on. “Not in the ravine lands, but on the flat grounds that way. We’re looking at a number of warehouses and a lot of private property. I can’t justify trespassing that far from the crime scene without cause, and I can’t exactly say my druid instincts are telling me I need to look closer.”

  Calum nods. “So, you want me and Fi to take an unofficial look around?”

  “Just Fi. Yer a cop, Calum. Ye can’t be part of the trespassin’, or we won’t be able to pursue it.”

  I lift my hand to my brow, blocking the glare of the setting sun as I stare down the lane. “But I can snoop and report what I find to the police like a dutiful citizen. Then you have the grounds to take a closer look.”

  Da nods. “That’s what I think.”

  “I don’t like it,” Calum says. “That puts Fi in there alone. Do ye forget there are two dead bodies already?”

  I’m here, Red. Emmet said ye needed me.

  “Not alone,” I interject. “Kyle’s here.” A breeze picks up and swirls around us on an otherwise still day.

  “Stay close to her, Bear,” Calum directs. “And I’ll be close if ye need me. I’ll walk as far as I can on public lands and be listening. If I hear a call for help, I’m well within my rights to assist.”

  “That ye are, son,” Da agrees. “On yer toes, Fiona.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Calum walks with me along the narrow lane, and we leave the police teams to their investigations. “Da’s right about the presence of magic. Do you feel that?” We’re three or four hundred yards from the entry point into the ravine where the police are working, and fae power tingles over my skin.

  “The sensation of bugs crawling over my skin? Yeah, I feel it. What is it?”

  “It’s a spell.” We stop at the edge of the lane, and I study the trees. The growth is thick. I can’t see more than forty feet in from where we stand. “Kyle, can you take a preliminary sweep into the trees to make sure I’m not walking into something horrible?”

  Happy to.

  “And buddy?”

  Yes.

  “No Killer Clawbearer if we can help it, yeah?”

  And just like that, ye suck the fun out of our adventure.

  I chuckle. “Sorry. Once we’re in the trees though, you can take form and scare bad guys stupid if you want.”

  Calum laughs. “There’s a chocolate bar in it for you if you make grown men who think themselves badasses piss their pants. I always love it when perps get hauled in wearing pee pants. It sets a good tone in lockup.”

  Challenge accepted.

  I wink at my brother and start tromping through the scrub, zeroing in on the repelling spell. Working at Myra’s bookshop all week, I’ve stored enough power in my cells to pull off a few magic moves confidently. I call on Feline Finesse and the spell-symbol flares on my back. My steps grow quieter in the underbrush, and my senses heighten.

  “This was way more fun in Ireland when I was hunting down Sloan,” I say to a chipmunk bounding through the groundcover. I giggle to myself while thinking of the hedgehog quilling his ass.

  I enjoy being a pain in his fine ass.

  Is Liam right? Is Sloan into me? I honestly didn’t see it, but the hostility has transformed into angsty banter. And when we had our water hose fight, he loosened up and laughed more freely than I’ve ever seen him.

  He’s kind of fun once you tunnel through his bullshit.

  I push that thought out of my mind. What I told Liam is true. I’ve got a long way to go to become the druid I want to be, and to prove to Granda and the Nine Families that being an urban druid is a viable alternative.

  No guys needed for that—except my brothers.

  We are Clan Cumhaill, and when we lock onto something, we get ’er done.

  I’m a couple of hundred feet from the road when I stop at the outer edge of the warded barrier. With a hand raised in the air in front of me, I test the spell’s density. It’s more of a fog than a barrier. I read about this. It’s called myst.

  On the other side of the myst, my beautiful bear sits on his wide, furry haunches. All clear. I know where we’re headed, and yer not going to believe it.

  “And you’re not going to tell me?”

  Why ruin the surprise? Come on. There’s no one here.

  The travel is slow since I’m lifting my feet over knee-high grasses and climbing over downed trees and uneven ground.

  There’s easier access off a private road to the east, and the land at the back rolls straight down to where yer da’s men found the bodies.

  “Do you think someone killed people up here, then rolled them down the embankment into the ravine?”

  That’s what I thought, but there are no tracks or blood.

  “That could be a simple disguise spell.”

  I follow Kyle through the thick forested brush. After slogging another ten minutes, he leads me to a wall of dense growth. There’s no way this is natural. It feels more like the thick hedge that grows around my grandparent’s property.

  I call on my connection with nature and ask the hedge to allow me entrance. The leaves and branches split, granting me passage. “Thank you.” I rest a hand on the greenery as I step through.

  On the other side, I take in the site and my mind fritzes. “Hubba-wha?”

  Riiiight? I knew ye’d be surprised.

  “Standing stones? I did not see that coming. I was expecting an abandoned shack or warehouse or something.”

  But that’s not at all what we’re looking at.

  Before us, a two-hundred-foot clearing plays host to a ring of standing stones.

  If I’m not mistaken, it’s a perfect replica of Drombeg Circle in West Cork.

  “What’s it doing here?”

  I haven’t the foggiest.

  “Do you think the dead guys were set upon while worshiping and flung down the hill?”

  Kyle’s massive head swings as he slogs along beside me. Based on the blood gathered in the urn at the circle’s center, I think they were offerings slaughtered on the altar.

  “Seriously?” A chill races from the back of my neck down the vertebrae of my spine. “That’s very medieval.”

  This scene is very medieval. I lived when these rituals were performed regularly back home but haven’t seen anything like this in four or five
centuries.

  I notice he remembers being much older than he told me he was but let that slide. Whether he’s coming back into his own or trusting me more, doesn’t matter. He’s telling me now, and that’s good enough.

  It’s hard to grasp.

  Seventeen stones, each reaching about eight feet from the ground, encircle a stone slab with a hole in the center. Beneath the opening sits a wide-rimmed earthenware urn buried in the earth below. “That’s where blood would collect from the sacrifice?”

  It would.

  I stroll around the rugged-cut stones. The closer I get, the more the stanky stench of black magic singes my nostrils. When I complete a full circuit, I pull out my phone to call my father.

  “Fi? Are ye all right?”

  “Fine. Tell me about the bodies. What are they wearing? Are they both men, women, one of each? Do they seem to be down a few pints?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I think I’m standing in the primary murder scene and it looks like a ritual offering of some kind. We found a stone circle a la Stonehenge, and if Kyle’s right, it’s a replica of Drombeg Circle in West Cork. Does that mean anything to you?”

  Da curses on the other end of the line. “It does. Drombeg Circle is also known as the Druid’s Altar. It’s an iconic and mystically powerful site fer us. Get out of there, Fi. Whatever’s going on, it’s dangerous and worth killing over.”

  “Don’t panic. I’m fine. There’s no one here. I want to take some pictures and look around a bit more. Don’t worry. I’ll call Calum to join me. S’all good.”

  “Except fer ye standin’ in the center of a ritual kill site.”

  “Well, yeah. There’s that. What about the bodies?”

  “One man. One woman. Both naked and both bled out from their femoral artery.”

  “That’s high in the leg, right? In the thigh?”

  “It is.”

  I eye the stain on the altar slab and the position of the hole over the urn. “That fits with what I see.”