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

by Auburn Tempest

  “Get Calum, take yer pictures, and get out of there.”

  “Will do.” I end the call with my dad and call Calum. “Yeah, I’ve got a ritual circle, and I’m pretty sure it ties back to Ireland and druid sacrifice. You’re good to join.”

  “I’m on my way in. How far did you go?”

  “In three or four minutes, you’ll come to a foggy wall. It’s called myst and other than giving you the heebs, it’s harmless. Push through that, and I’ll send Kyle back to lead you the rest of the way in.”

  “No. Keep the bear with you. I’ll find my way.”

  I look back the way we came and doubt that very much. “No, you won’t. I’m sending him now.”

  After Kyle flips into his spirit mode and wisps away, I pull my phone’s camera. First, I take shots of the stone slab altar. Its surface is scored in measured rows angling toward the hole in the center. Along the outer edge, in line with the draining hole, there are two round depressions about the size of a dollar coin.

  The round indents give me the impression that something is missing. Like two circular components get snapped into place for some reason. I imagine a woman’s body there and figure it would be where her hands fall.

  Maybe they have something to do with restraint?

  It’s easy to see how the blood flows to the urn instead of off the sides and into the grass. The stone table stands three feet off the ground, and I stand close and raise my phone over it to get some shots down the hole to the urn.

  Next, I take shots of the seventeen stones that make up the circle—particularly the two largest stones with ancient Celtic symbols etched in the outer faces.

  I select my grandfather’s new cell number and Sloan’s and make a What’s App group. Then, I send the pictures to them for translation. Got a ritual kill site in town, a dead, nakey couple, and a whack of stanky black magic. What do these symbols say?

  Lastly, I climb the old oak near the north entrance of the circle to take a few shots from above. If there’s one thing I learned when climbing the trees in Granda’s grove, it’s that things look different when you change the perspective.

  With Feline Finesse still buzzing in my cells, I scale the tree and step out on a wide branch like a leopard in the wild. Freaking awesome. This will never get old.

  From this angle, overlooking the entire circle, and with the sun sinking toward the western horizon, the site holds mysterious magic. Even knowing two people were murdered here, it stirs a level of awe inside me.

  A flash of headlights catches my attention as a car swings into the little clearing near the two etched stones. I squat on the branch and tuck myself in behind some foliage, then text Calum. Hold your position. I’ve got company.

  I’m coming.

  No. I’m good. Stay. Don’t scare him off.

  Sending Kyle.

  As much as I want to be a super druid warrior ready to take on any evil that I come across, knowing that my bear is returning is a relief. Despite what Da thinks, I know I’m not indestructible. My run-in with Baba Yaga and the Queen of Wyrms taught me that.

  I’m an itty-bitty minnow in an ocean of sharks.

  The sun drops below the horizon and dusk continues to take hold. In another twenty minutes, it’ll be dark.

  I gauge my power levels and frown. My spell is draining my magical energy. If I end it and get spotted, I don’t think I’ll have enough juice to manage a defensive shield. If I leave it in place, I’ll be out of power in less than ten minutes.

  I decide to keep it running. If I get spotted and knocked out of the tree, I’ll get seriously hurt. Best not to be seen. If I run out of power once I’m on the ground, I still have the fighting skills and survival instincts bred into me as the daughter of Niall Cumhaill.

  I’m here, Red.

  Awesome. We’ve got two men in the car.

  Why are they sitting there?

  Maybe their favorite song is on the radio. Ghost them and see what they’re saying.

  I’m an ancient bear spirit, not a ghost. A little respect would be nice.

  My bad. Depart, my beloved totem spirit. I beseech you to assess our foes in this moment of danger and adventure.

  Yer brothers are right. Yer an ass.

  A smartass? Wiseass?

  Pain in the ass.

  Bear, go!

  I’m going. I’m going.

  The energy in the air dissipates with his departure, and I focus my gaze on the car. Thank you, Fae Powers, for my bear. He’s awesome.

  My legs ache, coiled in a crouch so long, but I don’t dare move. I’m well-hidden and won’t risk being seen. What’s a few burning muscles next to catching magical murderers?

  Shit—

  The world explodes as everything happens at once.

  The branch beneath my feet dips and I spin to see a man climbing out after me. A rush of wind morphs into a massive flying bear right behind me. And a dagger flies end over end at my head.

  I throw myself backward, arch into the air, and spring clear of the tree. The flash of silver steel narrowly misses my throat as I plummet. I don’t have enough power to cast Slow Descent, but my Feline Finesse holds out, so at least I stick the landing.

  There’s a roar of fury and the scream of a man.

  My knee comes down hard on the ground, but I have no time to worry about the pain. I roll away from the tree and into the stone circle.

  Calum breaks free from the woods as a clamor of falling bodies ends in a thud to our left. “Kyle’s got that one. We’re going to lose the others.”

  The futile rer-rer-rer of an engine not turning over has the two men abandoning the car and hoofing it. I smile as Calum and I close the distance. “Well done, Bear.”

  As we run, I feel as much as hear the thumping gallop of my bear as he catches up…annnd passes us. His powerful frame carries his weight, his stride building like a juggernaut on the attack. One of the guys sees him coming and freezes in place. Kyle roars, and Calum and I go after the other.

  Chocolate bar for me.

  I laugh as I pass. I’d piss my pants too if I were that guy.

  Our guy books it down the private drive and rabbits back into civilization. It’s dark now, but the streetlights are on, and the moon is bright. Calum and I beat feet like we’re freaking track stars and the full-tilt feels good.

  We’re hot on his trail. He ducks down a side street edged with broken skids, dumpsters, and the metal back stoops of a strip plaza. The reek of black magic is strong in the air. Whether that’s from the area or coming off him, I can’t tell.

  “He’s moving too fast to be normal.” Calum pulls away from me. He’s gaining a few inches with each stride. Man, my brother can run.

  I’m twenty or thirty feet behind and losing ground. Neither of them seems to be struggling with the uneven concrete, but I trip once and almost tumble ass over end.

  I save my stride, but it costs me time and momentum.

  The man drops out of sight after veering between a pair of industrial buildings that sit in full darkness. When Calum disappears around the corner, too, panic allows me to pull an extra burst of speed to try to keep up.

  I access my bond with Kyle.

  We need backup. We’ve never tested the distance of our internal communication. I don’t know if he’ll hear me.

  I turn the corner and Calum is closing in on the guy—too quickly. Our rabbit doesn’t look hurt. Is he deliberately slowing his pace? Every alarm bell I possess clamors at the same time. It’s a trap.

  Calum is focused on the chase—too focused.

  “Calum, stop!” I can’t tell if he hears me or not, but he doesn’t slow. His police training has him pushing to take down the bad guy and make the collar.

  Except, I’m pretty sure this bad guy is a vampire.

  I reach into my pants pocket, grab my peridot, and focus every ounce of energy I have left on the concrete beneath my feet. Driving my fist into the ground, I send off a rippling pulse of earth like Gran did during the attack
on the back lawn.

  The asphalt tidal wave rolls toward my brother as our bad guy turns and launches. Knocked off balance as the ground beneath his feet heaves, Calum buckles out of the way before the vampire strikes.

  The gust of air rushing past me sets my world right again. “Decapitate him, Killer Clawbearer.”

  With pleasure.

  A moment later, the bad guy’s head clunks to the ground.

  Yay team.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Da, yes. We’re fine.” I assure my father for the eighth time in the span of a three-minute phone call. “We’re back at the stones now. Calum is questioning the one we have in custody and Dillan is on his way. Honestly, Kyle did the dirty work and took the vampire down faster than you could believe.”

  My bear raises his chin and lets out a throaty grunt before his mouth splits with a smile. My pleasure.

  That’s what scares me.

  The Killer Clawbearer is pretty pleased with himself. No matter how badly I don’t want to view him as a ruthless killing beast, Bear, the native spirit totem is said to stand as a strict enforcer who punishes with brutal force.

  My mind burps up what he told me back in Ireland. I accept who ye are this minute. Ye needn’t put on airs and be what ye aren’t.

  He accepted me for who I was, and I haven’t returned the favor. If I love him—and I do—I must accept the brutal side of him and realize there are different rules in the magical realm.

  Trying to sanitize him to fit my life isn’t fair.

  Dammit. I hate judgy people who hold their ideals over others. He deserves so much better.

  I end the call and cup my hand under his broad chin. “I’m sorry, buddy. I haven’t been fair to you. You earned your gritty, brutal names and I had no right to try to change them to fit the way I thought you should be. How about a compromise? Instead of trying to get out Bruinior the Beast, what about Bruin for every day? It’s a bear word that is a bit more modern, and there’s a hockey team named after it. I could get you a hat.”

  I’ve never had a hat.

  I look at the size of his furry round head and his velvety, oval ears, and frown. “Or maybe a scarf—”

  Can ye call me Killer Clawbearer when I’m allowed to shred bad guys?

  “Yes.”

  And do ye think Bruin is a name that can blend?

  “Yes.”

  And can yer brothers call me Badass Bear if they want to?

  I chuckle and nod. “Yes.”

  A long, pink, ribbon of tongue comes out and swipes up my face. Thanks, Red.

  I nod. “Sure. Thanks for the save, big guy. I’d hug you, but you’re gross, and you reek of black magic.”

  When yer safe home, I’ll go down into the Don River and wash up.

  I chuckle. “Yeah, I bet it’s a bath that you’re interested in down in the Don.”

  “Hey, Fi.” Calum straightens from talking to the guy trapped in one helluva mangled car. Instead of killing the man who froze in place, Bruin forced him inside the vehicle and crumpled the metal around him so he couldn’t escape. “Come listen to what Mr. Pee Pants is saying.”

  I snort at the joy he gets from saying that and remind myself to stop at the convenience store on the way home and buy Bruin an Oh Henry! bar.

  A deal is a deal.

  When I get to the crushed car-ball, I bend over to see into the pocket where our captive is trapped. Aside from looking pissed and pretzeled, he seems fine. “Hello, in there.”

  “Tell her what you told me. What’s your name?”

  “I am Barghest.”

  I bend down again and frown. This guy has an Eastern European complexion and black hair. “If you’re Barghest, who’s the red-headed Irishman that I assume is the druid in your little raiding party of criminals?”

  “He is Barghest.”

  Calum chuckles at my expression and points to the trees. “And who’s the dead guy the bear mangled in the woods?”

  “He was Barghest.”

  “You’re all named Barghest?”

  He nods.

  “Is this like a weird George Foreman kinda thing or did your leader watch too much Walking Dead?”

  “I know, right?”

  “Doesn’t that make it difficult when your head honcho is doling out duties? Barghest, you kidnap people to sacrifice. Barghest, you pick up the grocery order. Barghest, you recruit more Barghests. Seems confusing to me.”

  Calum nods. “I’m with you. Is there a number system maybe? Are you Barghest 6?”

  “I am Barghest.”

  I rake my fingers through my hair and sigh at the pressure building behind my eye. All I wanted to do tonight was share some Chinese food with my brother and scald my skin in a hot shower.

  We step away from the car and head over to the two biggest stones at the entrance to gain some privacy. “If they all go by Barghest, we’ve got nothing.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Well, that sucks.”

  “Yep. And if you like that one, wait for it…” Calum pauses for effect. “What do we do with him? We can’t haul him in. With you depleted, we won’t get him out of the car without the jaws of life. And we can’t let him go.”

  I press my fingers against my eye. “If I have an aneurysm, tell the paramedics it was pressure under my right eye that blew my brain.”

  “Will do. Until then, what’s our plan?”

  I stare off toward where I hid in the tree. “What happened here, anyway? Why’d it go to hell?”

  “We tripped a ward when we crossed the myst,” Bruin says. “After I disabled the workings of the car, I spirited inside. Barghest and Barghest were talking. A third man, Barghest, I assume, spoke through a villainous black spirit box. He said he’d found ye in a tree and was moving in to eliminate the threat. I didn’t want ye dead, Red.”

  “I appreciate that. I’ll try not to die.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Calum chuckles. “We all would. Bear, how’s your night vision? Can you see in the dark?”

  “I can.”

  “Do you think you could find the villainous black box that the tree Barghest used to communicate with the two in the car? They come in pairs, so Fi’s tree attacker had one too. If it’s a two-way radio, maybe we have something after all.”

  “And it’s safe to approach?”

  “I promise.” I cross my heart with my finger. “It’s a device similar to our cellphones.”

  “Very well. I trust you.”

  Bruin waddles off, and I remember the guy still lying dead in the woods. “We need to find a paranormal cleaner to hire to dispose of bodies.”

  Calum arches a brow. “Okay, John Wick, settle yourself down. How many dead bodies are you expecting that you think we need to have a guy on speed dial?”

  I shrug. “All right, what do you suggest?”

  He looks around and frowns. “I say we get out of here. The head honcho will realize his men never came back from the perimeter alarm and he’ll send another team. They can find the guy in the car and the mulched man in the woods. Let them deal with it.”

  My feet ache, and I step closer to lean against one of the etched stones. I point at the car as I take a load off. “We can’t just let him—”

  A jolt of power shoots up my arm like a rocket, and I’m thrown into the air. Distantly, I hear Calum hollering and wonder what’s going on. I am weightless, flying backward like a bug flicked off a giant’s arm.

  I assplant hard in the scrub and come to a violent stop when I hit the trunk of a tree, twenty feet away. My breath exits my lungs in a rush and leaves me gasping.

  I lay on my back, my throat pulling aimlessly for oxygen.

  “Fi. Shit, Fi, look at me.” Calum kneels over me, and I try to give him a sign that I’m only down, not out.

  I have nothing.

  As suddenly as the power surge hit me and knocked me on my ass, another hits and I can breathe again. I blink, but it’s not Calum kneeling over me now,
it’s the ruddy face of a blond, weathered warrior.

  The ends of his braids brush my shoulder as he bows over me and smiles. Then he clasps my wrist and pulls me to my feet with an ease that speaks of his muscled strength. “Fiona Cumhaill, blood of my blood, be not afraid.”

  His Irish is laden with a heavy accent, the consonants and vowels clashing together with an ancient rhythm.

  Blood of my blood? I glance around, and we’re standing among the same seventeen stones erected in a circle where I was a moment ago, but also not.

  Instead of a forested section of the Don Valley River System, we’re surrounded by the sage green and beige hills of the magic-infused Emerald Isle. I breathe deep, and the ambient energy of fae power fills my lungs and feeds my cells. It’s the first real breath I’ve taken in weeks.

  “Why am I here? Am I here or did I crack my head on the tree when I was knocked on my ass?”

  “Yer here, and yer not.”

  “And who are you?”

  He places a scarred hand against the wide leather belt around his middle and bows. His thick cloak drapes forward with the motion, and I recognize the Fianna crest on the two bronze shoulder brooches.

  “I am Fionn mac Cumhaill, yer great-granda of sorts if ye trace it far enough back.”

  Hubba-wha? Okay, that’s trippy.

  “Why am I here?”

  “The two of us are sharing an airneal.”

  “No offense, but I was in the middle of a bit of a sitch. I’m sure my brother’s freaking out right about now. I don’t have time for an evening of storytelling by the fire.”

  He ignores me and gestures to the center of the standing stones. In this version, instead of a sacrificial altar in the center, there’s a fire burning and building strength.

  When I sit on a chopped-off wooden stump, he sits on another opposite me and stokes the coals with a stick. After he’s satisfied with the flames, he slides a flat pan of fish into the fire to cook. “Time works differently in the spirit plane, Fiona. When I send ye back, it’ll be the same moment that brought ye here. Fear not.”

  I swallow. The scent of the fish sizzling on the pan makes my mouth water. “All right, so, an airneal. What story do you have to tell me?”