A Family Oath

by Auburn Tempest

  “Smart man. Do you know how it went?”

  “From what he said, Wallace thinks the outcome is a solid success. Yer friend is resting comfortably—or at least as comfortably as he can having been shot.”

  I let out a long breath, and the room spins. “Good. I’m so thankful.”

  I stretch, give Manx another scrub, and roll to sit on the edge of the bed, which, if I’m not mistaken is an antique King Henry bed. The four posts rise to a wooden frame and a paneled ceiling. Heavy burgundy drapes are tied back but could be drawn for complete privacy, and I guess total blackout darkness when hanging freely.

  It’s like something out of The Tudors.

  I don’t know many men who could pull it off and have it seem in line with their personality, but the carved shields and grapes and forest creatures adorning the headboard and footboard walls make me think it’s pretty much a perfect bed for Sloan Mackenzie.

  I wonder how many women before me have thought the same thing? While pushing that thought out of my head, I roll off the edge and drop to the area rug on the floor.

  “Do you think he’d mind if I take a quick shower to wake up and bring myself back to life?”

  “At yer leisure, lass. I think he wants ye to take all the time ye need. He left ye some toiletries and such.”

  “Really?” I take that as my cue and shut myself into Sloan’s private bath. He has left me some things. There’s a change of clothes—ladies, my size, the brand tags still on them—and a little woven basket by the sink with a few homemade soaps, a new toothbrush, and some Colgate. I smile. He even got the maxi-fresh blue kind I like with breath strips.

  He’s a Crest man. There’s no accounting for taste.

  And yep, a small selection of female toiletries, which is odd and slightly awkward but very thoughtful.

  I lift a couple of Wallace’s homemade soaps to my nose, select one that smells like molasses cookies, and shuck off Sloan’s shirt. The hot spray feels glorious on my skin, and I groan when it’s time to get out. Soon enough though, I’m dried and dressed and hanging up my towels.

  After taking a look at myself in the mirror, I shake my head. I’ve never worn this color of cornflower blue before, but it looks lovely with my hair, and I don’t think for a moment that’s a coincidence. Sloan has more style and class than anyone I’ve ever known. More money too.

  Not that I care a lick about that. I don’t.

  I take a last look around the bathroom before I leave and make sure I’m a good houseguest.

  Manx is sitting in the middle of the bedroom floor when I exit. “Shall I escort ye through the passageways, Fiona?”

  “I would love that, thank you.”

  The two of us walk side-by-side through the castle’s stone corridors, and I try to imagine growing up the only child in this home. Both Janet and Wallace Mackenzie are even-tempered, well-respected, driven people—they’re simply not very nurturing.

  I told Sloan once that I thought it was perfect that he found my grandparents at a young age and adopted them as his. Or maybe they adopted him, I’m not sure, but I’m glad the three of them had each other.

  “May I ask something?” Manx says as we turn a corner.

  “Sure, what is it?”

  “How is it yer always on the receiving end of every chaotic situation? Are ye a reckless person by nature?”

  I chuckle. “No. Da always says I’ve never been a lucky girl, but I’ve always been fortunate. Things have always happened to me or close to me, but most things work out in the end. And since Sloan triggered the Fianna mark on my back, it’s been even more chaotic—”

  “Are ye still goin’ on about that, woman?” Sloan meets us at the next corner. “I’ve told ye a hundred times that I had nothin’ to do with the druid shield appearin’ on yer back. That was all Fionn. Fer whatever reason, he picked ye to be his heir apparent. He’s the one who magnetized ye fer all things dark and dangerous.”

  I giggle at his pique and walk straight up to him and hug him. “Hey, tall, dark, and surly. Thank you for everything. You never let me down.”

  He wraps his arms around me, and I admit, it feels good in his embrace. After a squeeze, he rests his cheek on the top of my head and draws a deep breath. “Hey, Cumhaill. Yer welcome for everything. I’ll try never to let you down.”

  I pull back and smile. “Manx says Liam’s okay?”

  Sloan nods. “He is. Come, he was askin’ for ye. I told him I’d fetch ye back to him.”

  “Lead the way.”

  * * *

  Liam is sitting up in a twin bed when I push through the door, and I rush to his bedside. He’s pale and his hair sticks up on one side of his head, but he’s alive and well, and my tears flow unbidden. “Hey, now.” He pulls me in for a hug. “I’m all right.”

  “I’m sorry. Gawd…you have to know I never wanted to drag you into any of my druid drama.”

  He presses his cheek to the top of my head. “You don’t need to say that to me. I know you, Fi. This was a crazy thing that happened to you, not because of you.”

  “So I’ll still get an invite to your birthday party next year?”

  He pulls back and arches a brow. “I didn’t say that.”

  We both chuckle, and I sit up and swipe away my tears. “Are you in pain? Are you fully healed? How’s things?”

  He lifts his shirt and shows me his chest. It’s muscled and smooth and beautifully unmarred.

  “Oh, dayam, I know Wallace is good, but there’s not even a mark.”

  “I know, right?” Liam leans over to his bedside table and sits up with his hand closed. “Check these babies out.” He flips his palm up and uncurls his fingers to show me two copper slugs.

  “Are those the ones Wallace took out of you?”

  He nods. “This one’s kinda mangled, but I’m thinking of making this one into a pendant. Like a good luck charm.”

  “Or a horrific reminder that I almost got you killed.”

  He waves that away. “No. It’s a reminder that life is short and when shit gets real, I can always count on you.”

  I press my fingers over his forehead. “Are you delusional? I got you shot, then flashed you halfway around the world so Sloan’s father could save you. I’m not the hero in this story—he is.”

  “Hells yes you are. Fi, whether we’re kids and you make me a piece of sugar toast when I’m sad or adults and you dragon portal me to Ireland to have a druid healer save my life, you’ll always be my hero.”

  “Whatever these drugs are, I’ll talk to Wallace to get you a to-go pack. Loopy Liam is fun.”

  Liam chuckles and looks over my shoulder at Sloan. “Hey. Thanks for letting us crash into your life. I appreciate all your family did for me.”

  Sloan nods. “I spoke to Niall earlier. Yer mam needs a call when yer up to it. She’s in a bit of a state.”

  “I have no doubt. It’s the only child thing. She tends to put all her hopes and dreams on me. You probably get the same thing with your parents, right?”

  Sloan smiles and nods.

  I see the truth, and it hurts my heart.

  “I told Niall I’ll take ye both to Lugh’s and Lara’s when yer up and about. They’re anxious to see Fi and want to talk to her about the poisoned tree she was askin’ about.”

  “When do you think he’ll be up and about?” I ask.

  “By tomorrow, I expect. Magic healing can bring him back from the brink, but he still suffered a shock to the system. His body needs time to heal and recalibrate.”

  I nod. “Okay, perfect. I need to go to the dragon’s lair and check in. I kinda breezed through there but didn’t explain. I don’t want to seem ungrateful or disrespectful, so I’ll pop in for a quick visit.”

  Sloan frowns. “I’m not a fan of ye goin’ there. What seems a few minutes in yer estimation is hours and days in ours. It’s hard on those worryin’ over ye.”

  “Or months,” Liam says and shares the same look of concern as Sloan.

  “
Or months,” Sloan agrees.

  It hurts me that it hurt them so much when I was missing that first time. I hate to put them through it again, but at least now they know where I am. “It’s important. I promise I’ll try to be quick. When I get back, I have to talk to you and Granda about something important too.”

  Sloan lifts his chin in question. “And what is that?”

  “I need to learn everything I can about the Eochair Prana. Think about that, and I’ll be back.” I raise my hand to grip the infinity dragon tattoo above my left elbow and focus on traveling to the Wyrm Queen’s lair. “Laters.”

  Chapter Ten

  I materialize in the main chamber of the dragon’s lair and wave at Patty. “Hey, there. Sorry I rushed through before.”

  My leprechaun friend is in his usual spot, lounging in his La-Z-Boy recliner with Elvis Presley playing on the old-fashioned gramophone and his video game controller in his hand. When I step farther into the cavern, he pauses his game, hops out of his chair, and rushes over to the wet bar. “After the bloody scene earlier, I take it you could use a drink.”

  “Yes, please. Make mine a double.” I plunk down on the barstool and unload all the gritty details of the murder and mayhem of my night.

  I tip back my drink and finish it with a burning gulp.

  Patty and the Queen understand my haste rushing through here earlier and don’t seem put out in the slightest. Good. I’m relieved.

  “I don’t think the Toronto empowered ones know what to think of me, so they either hate me on principle, pretend I don’t exist, or assign me a personality that suits them.”

  “Some humans are best chomped hard and swallowed quickly, regardless of the heartburn,” the queen says.

  “Uh…thanks. I’ll remember that, Your Graciousness.”

  The slither and scrape of scales on stone precedes the influx of dragon wyrmlets. The horde of baby slugs has changed since I saw them less than a month ago. “Wow, they’re losing their baby chub and really slimming out.”

  “Och, they’re growing up too fast.” Patty strokes a red girl’s head. “They’ll be strikin’ off to start their own lives in no time.”

  I glance across the writhing floor, the scaly bodies of blue, scarlet, gold, and green wriggling and wiggling to see who’s dropped in. They were likely hoping to eat me and are disappointed to find that I’m a friend, not food.

  “Hi guys.” I stroke and pat as many as I can reach. “I missed you all too. Look how big you’ve grown.”

  Crazy as it is, I used to have to pretend to be interested in the serpentine monsters. Now they’ve grown on me, and I genuinely care.

  The whole time I’m chatting up the brood, I search for my blue boy. I know you’re supposed to love all your children the same, but that firstborn boy stole a piece of my heart.

  Love is funny like that. “Where’s my blue dude?”

  Patty looks around and frowns. “He should be here. Dartamont, where are ye, sham?”

  “Dartamont? Is that his name now?”

  Patty nods. “Wyrm dragons get named on their first birthday based on their personalities. In the language of the wyrm dragons, it means brave-hearted blue.”

  “Oh, I love that. It’s perfect.” I search the cavern again. “Dartamont, where are you, sweet boy?”

  When he doesn’t come to me, I wade past the others and head for the nursery. It’s easier to navigate around them now that they’re slimmer and more coordinated. Things were awkward and clumsy when they were in their chubby slug stage.

  Some of them stay out with their dragon mother in the main chamber while others follow me deeper into the cavern. I’m glad for the company. I may only be their mam in a token status, but I wish I could spend more time with the little guys.

  I find Dartamont alone in the nursery and looking sad. “Hey, dude. What are you doing here all alone? Are you sick? I thought you’d—oh wow! Look at you.”

  I sit on the floor next to him and marvel at how much he’s changed. “You have legs…and wings!”

  “He does. Dartamont is a Western.”

  I pull his head into my lap. While leaning forward to see him face-to-face, I rub the three horns on his nose. “You grew into a different dragon since I saw you. How exciting.”

  “The early days of a dragon’s development are filled with milestones,” Patty says. “As the oldest, he’s the first to grow into his true form. I think he feels a little out of sorts with all the changes.”

  I shake my head. “I thought he was a wyrm dragon like his mam?”

  “No. Basilisk seed holds the base gene for all dragons. While the dragon queen is a wyrm dragon herself, that doesn’t mean all her young will be. Many offspring will grow to be other forms of dragons: a wyvern, a drake, a lung, a sea serpent, a Western dragon, or the like. The father’s part in this brood is only beginning to take hold. Dartamont is the first to have his species traits make themselves known.”

  I look at my little Western dragon, and my mind is officially blown. “I didn’t realize he’d hit puberty and take his form. Wow, buddy. Congrats. You’re rockin’ the new look.”

  Dart lets out a soft sigh and blinks up at me.

  “Why are you so sad? I was surprised you didn’t come out with the others to see me.”

  “Och, there’s nothing to worry about.” Patty waves away my concern. “Dart’s been in a bit of a funk since his transition. It seems he has yer zest fer life beyond the world we live in and sees himself out and about on grand adventures now that he’s taken his adolescent form.”

  “Is that it, dude? Are you suffering from wanderlust?”

  I stare into those glossy opal eyes, and my heart goes out to him. “Is he old enough to leave the cavern now?”

  Patty nods. “That’s when the trouble began. The Queen takes them on hunting trips three and four at a time. As the oldest, Dart’s enjoyed those expeditions from the very beginning. He enjoys them even more now that he can run and stretch his wings.”

  “Can he fly?”

  “Och, not yet. He’ll be a baby still for years to come. The problem is, he’s not content to be in the cavern with us much anymore.”

  Poor dude. I look at Patty and wonder… “I’m staying at my Gran’s and Granda’s for the day, maybe until tomorrow. Do you think he’d be allowed to have a sleepover at the Cumhaill household? It won’t be much of an adventure, but it’ll be something different to occupy him.”

  “Och, I think that’s a grand idea. Let me pass it by Her Most Benevolent. One moment.”

  Patty shuffles off, and I worry about what I’ve done. I have no idea how to entertain a baby dragon, but I can’t take it back. Dart’s looking up at me with what I think is excitement in his eyes. It’s hard to tell. I’m not the best at reading dragon body cues.

  A moment later, Patty comes back grinning from ear to ear. “It’s all set. Dartamont can spend some time with ye up top. When yer ready to leave, send me a wish and I’ll fetch him to bring him home.”

  Okay. I have to admit that I’m excited about this. “Perfect. What do I do? Where does he sleep? What do I feed him?”

  “He’s a carnivore, so feed him meat. He’s not fussy about much else. He’ll sleep indoors or out. He’ll let you know what he wants and when he wants it. He’s a strong-willed little fella. With dragons, it pretty much all revolves around a full tummy. Everything else is immaterial.”

  “Perfect. Fed and happy, got it. I’ll let you know when I’m set to go home, and we’ll get him back here.”

  “Oh, it’ll be a grand adventure, Dart. Behave and mind yer mother of dragons.”

  Dart climbs into my lap and lays his head over my shoulder. Dragon hug. How cute. “Okay, buddy.” I wrap my arms around him. “Are we ready to roll?”

  He dips his chin, and I take that as a yes.

  “All right, here we go.”

  * * *

  I focus on seeing myself on the back lawn of Gran’s and Granda’s house, and a moment later there we
are. I let go of Dart, and he takes in his surroundings. After a quick look around, he starts running wild zig-zags and rolls in the grass.

  While he’s playing, I pull out my phone and text Sloan. Back from the lair and at Gran’s.

  Be there in a jiffy.

  I laugh. A jiffy. What are you? Fifty?

  Whoopsie-daisy, did I say jiffy?

  I laugh harder and put my phone away.

  “Fiona, luv. Yer here!” Gran comes out of the grove with her woven basket hung over her elbow and her sixties-style dress flowing in the breeze. “Och, and ye brought a friend.”

  I smile at my happy little blue dragon and wave him over. “Dart, come meet Gran.”

  Dart trots on all fours like a prize pony, his head and chest lifted, his wings up behind him. The difference in his mood from a moment ago until now is a complete one-eighty-degree turn.

  When he gets to us, he arches up, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he’s smiling.

  “Dartamont, this is my Gran. We love her. Don’t bite her or try to eat her, okay?”

  Dart makes a cooing sound, which I hope is him understanding my point.

  “Och, isn’t he the most beautiful boy? May I have the honor of touchin’ ye with my gift?”

  Dart looks at me.

  “It’s okay. Gran’s special. You can trust her.”

  Gran sets her wee basket onto the ground and reaches up to stroke Dart’s cheeks. After he relaxes into her touch, I feel Gran’s magic build in the air around us. “Such a smart boy.”

  I grin, puffed up like the proud mam I am. “Right? Has been since the moment he hatched.”

  Dart’s mouth drops open, and his forked tongue extends and tickles my cheek.

  “Mmm, dragon spit, thanks, dude.” I fight the urge to wipe his kiss away and wait until his attention is focused on Gran again. They seem to be having a private conversation on a mental wavelength I don’t share yet.

  “If you can, you might want to explain to him what he can and can’t eat, Gran. I wouldn’t want him to munch down any of your animal friends, even Dax. The old grouch would probably give him a bellyache.”