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

by Auburn Tempest

  I feel his power tingle over my skin and straighten. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” His eyes are wide with innocence. “But, I think if you check the clocks, you’ll see it’s past noon, and I should be allowed to have some ale.”

  I look at the wall clock, then the timer on the stove and microwave, and my Fitbit. All of them say five minutes after twelve. “You think I’m falling for that?”

  The doorbell rings and I close the fridge door and head out to the hall. “Put them back. We have a lot of schedules to keep in this house. You can’t mess with the clocks to get your way.”

  I’m still laughing about that when I open the door to…nobody. Huh. Thinking we might have an Amazon delivery, I step out on the porch to see if a package has been left behind.

  With my gaze down, I miss the man who portals onto the porch until he grabs me around the shoulders. “Hey! Get off me—”

  My house disappears.

  In the flash of a moment, I’m standing within the seventeen stones of the Druid’s Altar, surrounded by men in hooded cloaks. They each stand with their arms raised to prevent my escape and an assortment of sharp and pointy weapons gripped in their fingers.

  Shit. “Boys, you should’ve told me there’s a dress code. You stay here, and I’ll pop home and grab a robe. Nothing worse than being underdressed at a party, amirite?”

  The man who grabbed me pulls back the hood of his cloak, and I’m staring into the eyes of my old friend, Skull Trim. “Barghest, I presume.”

  He lifts his palms, and I bend at my knees, readying for the attack.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Be at ease, Fiona Cumhaill. We are honored ye chose to join us and do yer part to fulfill the prophecy of the Druid Altar. There need not be more bloodshed here than necessary.”

  I assess the group. There have to be almost thirty men, most of them armed, all of them dangerous. “Chose? I think you’re using that word with a great deal of poetic license.”

  “But it is yer choice.”

  I know there’s a trick to this somehow, but I play along. “Okaaay, then I choose to leave.”

  “That’s yer option, of course, but I think ye should wait until I’ve shown ye what yer choosin’ between. Gentlemen, show her what I mean.”

  He turns sideways and the sea of men in black cloaks parts. At the east end of the circle, four men step out from behind the stone pillars. When they step into view and emerge fully, I see that they’re pulling—

  “Let them go!”

  Skull Trim flicks his hand and my father, Aiden, Calum, and Dillan are all forced to their knees. Da’s head flops to the side as he’s shoved down to kneel. The boys look drugged too, their eyes glassy and unfocused.

  If it’s another run of vampire sedation, I’ll never be able to save them all. “What have you done to them?”

  “Remember that wee something that makes my guests a little friendlier? I told you about it before.”

  “And I told you friends don’t roofie friends.”

  He chuckles. “Ye proved ye have no interest in bein’ my friend when ye killed my men and burned down my building.”

  “We set fire to your vampire’s corpse. If the fire spread, that’s on you for having poor safety measures in your evil lair workplace.”

  “How did you end them, anyway? I came back from answering to my master and couldn’t believe the havoc ye wreaked. Ye cost me quite a bit of money and a fair bit of respect in the eyes of my higher-ups. Ensorcelled vampires aren’t easy to come by. I had two. Now I have none.”

  “My da always says, ‘Ye never bet what ye aren’t willing to lose.’”

  He frowns. “It’s not only them you killed. There were two others in the bookshop and two others here.”

  “There’s a fix for that. Stop sending men to kill me, and I’ll stop ending them.”

  “But how did you end them when you don’t have the power? My master and I both find that interesting.”

  “Maybe you and your master underestimate me. Maybe I got lucky. Or maybe there’s something inside me that longs to get out and slaughter douchebags like you. Ask your master to join us, and I’ll tell him. No offense, but I’d rather deal with the head honcho than his minions.”

  He chuckles. “I assure you I’m a very well-established minion. My master trusts my judgment.”

  “But, should you trust his? I mean, naming you all Barghest? Lame. And what kinda cult is this guy running if a little girl who just became a druid is piling up a body count?”

  His eyes narrow and he nods to the man holding Aiden. The blade of his dagger glints in the sunlight and buries into my brother’s stomach.

  Aiden doubles over and thuds to the ground.

  I launch forward, caught by the bruising grip of two men. They yank me back and root me in place. “You fucking psycho! Leave them alone.”

  Skull Trim smiles. “I too can pile up a body count, Fiona. You need to understand who’s in charge here. I watched ye long enough to know that yer family is yer weakness.”

  “Says the man who surrounds himself with Friar Tuck wannabes.” I pull at the holds on my arms, and when Skull Trim nods, they let me go and step back.

  Red, I’m here.

  Hearing Bruin’s voice in my head sparks hope that maybe not all is lost. Stay hidden. We can’t get through all of them in time to save everyone. We have to play it out.

  Fingers snap in front of my face, and Skull Trim eyes me more closely. “Where did you go?”

  I smile and feign more confidence than I possess. “Remember when I mentioned that beast inside me that longs to get out and slaughter you all? Well, he’s anxious to get the bloodshed started. I told him to hold on and maybe not everyone here has to die.”

  The pinched brows and skirting gazes among the minions is exactly the response I’m hoping for. Some of these men don’t want to die for the cause. That works in my favor.

  “You’re lying.”

  I shrug. “Like you said. How does a little thing like me kill not one but two of your vampire servants?”

  His jaw flexes as he glances at the four men holding my family hostage. “If anything happens, kill them.”

  I was ready for the threat, but even so, it hits me like a physical kick to my insides. “What exactly are we doing here? What does your boss want?”

  “Nothing he hasn’t earned. Being a druid in his domain was a mistake on your part. You people have Ireland. You overstepped when you thought you could start up here.”

  Rustling in the old oak has me reaching out with my senses. A red-tailed hawk senses our connection and is curious about what’s going on.

  I send him reassurances and try to explain. Thanks to my fireside chat with Fionn last night, my druid stores are replenished, and I’m not nearly as helpless as they think I am.

  I’m worried about Aiden. He hasn’t moved since he collapsed to the ground. I need to speed this dog-and-pony show up. I point at my father and three brothers propped on their knees with daggers poised to strike. “I assume that if I let you kill me on the altar, you agree to let my family go. Then you plan to stab me and bleed me out for the prophesized ‘release of power.’ Have I got the gist?”

  “You have.”

  “And when I’m dead, you kill my family anyway so no druids can rise in Toronto. Am I close?”

  He frowns at me.

  “You didn’t think I’d figure that out? Have you ever watched TV? That’s the climactic scene of every action movie or show evah. Your originality underwhelms me.”

  “You need to stop talking.”

  “You’re not the first person to tell me that. Honestly, I doubt you’ll be the last.” I glance over at the blood-stained stone altar and amend that. “Or maybe you will.”

  Skull Trim growls and points to the altar. “Strip her and put her in place.”

  They start to grab my clothes, and I pull back. “Nowhere in the prophecy does it say I’m naked. If you want my cooperation, my clothes
stay on. If you want to be mulched by my beloved Killer, keep it up.”

  Skull Trim rubs a rough hand over his face and throws up his hands. “I don’t care what the fuck you do. Just get her up on that slab so I can end this.”

  I take a certain level of pride in the fact that my tormentor isn’t enjoying his moment of torment.

  Serves the bastard right.

  Rough hands grope my hips and brush my boobs as they hoist me onto the slab. The stone is cool and coarse where it touches exposed skin. I was hanging at home in shorts and a tank, so there’s plenty of that.

  Skull Trim grabs something from the ground behind the slab and rises at my feet holding an ancient spear. It sings to me somehow, and I stare at the pointed tip.

  The high king, however, wanted the destruction ended. He awarded me an enchanted spear named Birga.

  Fionn’s words sing in my head, and I wonder if he’s here somehow, giving me a sign. Then, I hear Sloan’s voice from Myra’s shop when we copied his spellbook.

  “Like all things in nature, they have a life and magic of their own. They have awareness and desires.”

  “Hello, Birga.” I focus on the spear. “I am Fiona Cumhaill of the Clan Cumhaill. How did you end up so far from home?”

  The men look at me like I’ve grown another head.

  “What? Talking to an incredible weapon isn’t crazy. An ancestor of mine said recently, ‘They are more than our things—they are our brothers, and we owe them a debt of loyalty.’”

  I wonder if that debt goes both ways.

  Before I can figure that out, the men holding me press my hands to the slab at my sides. I pull back with a hiss.

  There are now metal plates with brass spikes along the outer edge, where I noticed those two round depressions.

  “Nail her down,” Skull Trim orders.

  “Gross. How many hands have you impaled on these?”

  “They are cleaned between each sacrifice to ensure there is no energy transfer between conduits.”

  Conduits? He talks about the people found at the bottom of the hill like they weren’t people, like they were merely a means to an end in his hunt for more power.

  His guys fight with my wrists and try to pry open my fingers. “Screw you,” I growl while fighting back as hard.

  “It’s in your best interest that they’re there, Fiona. The potion they’re soaked in will sedate you for the bloodletting.”

  Awesomesauce. “What exactly do you get out of killing me? What does ‘magic released’ mean? And if it’s released, what makes you think it’ll be of any benefit to you?”

  “Not me,” he disagrees. “Barghest acts for the benefit of all magicals within the city.”

  I stare down the side of my body and take another look at those spikes. They are longer and sharper than I first thought. Well, at least they seem to be now that we’re talking about spearing my palms on them.

  “What if I promise not to move?”

  He raises his hand and two more cloaked men on each side of me grab my fists to force my fingers open.

  Now? Your heart rate is higher than I’ve ever felt it.

  No. Not yet.

  In another two minutes, it might be too late.

  I think I have a plan. Don’t do anything until I say so.

  I cry out in rage as my palms thrust down over the points of the spikes. Wait. It doesn’t hurt. I’m not sure if my brain fritzed out or my pain receptors are on the blink but giant brass tacks stabbing me isn’t anything I can’t handle.

  At first.

  After a moment, everything changes.

  Hot tendrils of magic worm their way into the open flesh of my hands and my bloodstream. They wriggle up my arms and fill my veins with a fiery burn.

  It’s the sedative potion.

  I close my eyes and find myself drifty. It’s an otherworldly sensation, and I get sucked into a swirly fog. After all the tension and drama, it’s a relief not to feel the angst and worry that’s driven me for months.

  My eyes roll back into my head, and I let out a heavy sigh. “Now we’re talking.”

  “Give it a minute to take her over,” he directs.

  Take me over? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I should care more about what’s happening to me—but for the life of me, I can’t remember why.

  Red, ye gotta fight the effects of the sedation. They’re plannin’ to gut ye.

  Right, that’s it. They’re going to sacrifice me.

  Hells no. Shaking my brain loose from the fog, I try to move. My head weighs a million pounds, and I can’t lift my limbs. Ow…my tattoo is on fire. Does that mean my shield is burning away the sedation? Man, I wish I knew more about my life.

  With nothing to do about my body, I focus on what Sloan taught me about Astral Projecting. It’s one of the two disciplines I came up short on during the junior trials, but with the floaty fog in full effect, I’m sure I can get the hang of it.

  Skull Trim’s voice gives me a focal point, and I send my spirit self beyond the confines of my body.

  I’m not sure how it works, but it does.

  He’s holding out a parchment and reading off his spell for the ritual. It’s not a long scroll, so I have to think fast. Rising from the altar, I go straight to Aiden at the furthest stone.

  He’s curled up in the grass with his fingers clutched against his side. Thankfully, it’s not his belly.

  Movement outside the ring of stones catches my eye.

  Emmet’s here with Sloan and Liam. Yesss!

  Bruin. Quietly. While everyone’s watching the ritual, help the rescue team get Da and the boys to safety.

  I get nothing back.

  Do I have to be in my body to talk to my bear? Assuming that’s the issue, I hightail it back and repeat my instructions.

  What about you?

  When I know they’re safe, I’m free to fight, and you’ve got carte blanche, Killer Clawbearer.

  You say the sweetest things.

  Before I open my eyes, I activate Feline Finesse and call on the red-tail hawk. On my mark, buddy.

  The drum of magic pulsing in my body steps up its tempo. My shield is doing its thing, and I feel like I’m going to puke. At least I recognize this feeling. I open my eyes and listen as Skull Trim finishes his oration.

  He hands the scroll to someone, shifts to stand next to me, and grips Birga mid-staff. With her point poised over my middle, he looks into my eyes and thrusts.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  My palms scream as I rip them off the brass spikes and grip Birga with slick hands. Surprise is my biggest advantage, and I utilize it. Me moving catches Skull Trim off guard. The hawk diving straight at his face, talons bared compounds the effect. It’s enough of a distraction to swing my legs and kick him in the gut.

  He buckles at the waist, and I take full possession of the spear. The moment I grip her properly, I feel the connection.

  Hells yeah, she recognizes me.

  And through our connection, I feel exactly how excited she is to be in the hands of family once more.

  My opposition to lethal force is gone. I understand now that things are different in the fae world. Druids are the police enforcing laws to keep everyone safe from evil madmen hellbent on supreme power. I’m a druid. It’s my job.

  Nope. Granda would say—it’s my duty.

  Skull Trim rallies on the ground below me and tangles my feet. I stumble as he rises to his knees. Rolling to brace for impact, I tilt Birga’s spearhead into the air between us.

  The shock on his face as he launches forward and impales himself speaks to my point earlier. “You underestimated me, asshole. If you make it a kill or be killed sitch, I’ll choose kill. Every. Damn. Time.”

  The circle explodes into a ring of shouts, the clang of weapons, and bolts of magic shooting through the air like colorful lightning. I watch as Bruin rears up on his hind legs and plows through the Barghest Merry Men.

  My distraction costs me. Skull Trim grips the spear
’s staff with both hands and rocks backward, pulling me off balance. I stumble forward, and he lands a solid kick to my stomach. The power of his attack throws me back against the stone slab of the altar.

  The sudden collision of my back against stone forces the air from my lungs in a gust. I gasp and drop to my knees. Heaving for breath, I try to draw oxygen into lead lungs. I cough as pain and panic uncoil.

  Movement in my periphery has me diving to the side and log-rolling to avoid being impaled. Birga spears the ground inches behind me once…twice…on Skull Trim’s third stabby lunge, he falters, grabs the hole in his belly, and drops.

  I roll onto my feet and throw dirt in his face.

  Sandstorm.

  My spell blinds him long enough for me to stagger to the side and catch my breath. Doubled over with my hands on my knees, I haul in some air.

  A hit comes hard and fast from the side, and I go down again. My shoulder protests the slam into the ground, and I grunt as the side of my face scrapes the grass. My vision fritzes in and out, but I don’t have time to think about it.

  I flip to my back and meet his assault.

  It’s instinct more than intellect that has me grappling with the cloaked goon’s wrists. We’re rolling and fighting, and I’m focused on securing my blood-slick hold.

  The blade of his dagger glints in the midday sun and I curse. He’s super committed to sticking it into me, and my arms are burning with fatigue.

  Gawd, I wish I could time out and wipe my hands.

  My fingers are so wet I can’t get a grip. I lose my hold entirely and turn my head as the dagger arcs down at me. It catches the meat of my shoulder, and I screech.

  My temper flares and I lunge, teeth bared.

  No, this isn’t a vampire fight, but the blood-sucker routing backs my goon off quick. He recoils and clasps his hands over his bleeding neck. “You should really get that looked at.”

  I grip the dagger sticking out of my shoulder and yank. Nothing. Fine. Stay there.

  A solid grab and twist to his crotch give me enough distance to roll to my feet and find Birga in Skull Trim’s limp grasp. I check his eyes before I get too close, and they’re vacant and dim.