A Witch’s Revenge (Chronicles of an Urban Druid Book 4)

by Auburn Tempest

  “Put your right hand in!”

  He shoves his right hand at me and glares.

  “Put your right hand out.”

  He does.

  “Put your right hand in, and shake it all about.”

  I smile as he follows my lead. “Thanks, dude. That was a good bonding exercise. I appreciate your time.”

  He roars as he stomps off, and I stop to wait for Sloan to catch up. “Are my eyes deceivin’ me or did ye just compel a marauder giant to do the Hokey-Pokey?”

  I giggle. “I thought it was a quick and effective way to test whether or not he has free will over my suggestions. I’m quite sure if he could’ve said no, he would have.”

  “Agreed.”

  “The question now is, how can we use that to our advantage if things go south on us?”

  “Which they inevitably will,” Sloan mumbles.

  “Such a pessimist…but a pessimist with a damned fine ass.” I smack the ass in question and jog to catch up with Wallace and Janet.

  He’s right of course. It’s only a matter of time before the next bomb blows up in our faces.

  But I’m not going to admit that to him.

  The five of us stop on the bank of the River Boyne, and our giant escort plunks down, pulls off his tall fur boots, and wriggles his feet in the mid-morning breeze.

  Ew, gawd. The stench of his feet is worse than his breath.

  It’s a small mercy when he lies back and lets his feet dangle into the water’s current. It’s been warm for the last week in October, but I can’t imagine the current swirling around his feet is anything but freezing.

  Then again, if Manx is right about his skin being as tough as armor, maybe he doesn’t feel the cold.

  “So, what are we waiting for?” I ask.

  “The goddess, I expect,” Wallace says. “If he fetched us on her behalf, I assume she’ll want to speak to us before we’re set on our task.”

  Janet huffs. “Or it’s an ambush, and he’s waitin’ fer his assassin brothers to come along and cook us fer lunch.”

  I blink at Janet and now understand where Sloan’s bright and sunshiny disposition comes from. Deciding to change the subject, I look at the Mackenzie men. “So what goddess do you think we’re dealing with here? Brighid? Anu? Eostre?”

  Sloan waves those suggestions away. “According to Irish mythology, Boann is the Irish goddess of the River Boyne—thus the name although it’s been modernized over time. Boann is also a member of yer ancestry in some fashion as she was the daughter of Delbaeth and a member of the Tuatha De Danann.”

  “A cousin. Noice. What’s her story? How’d she get to be the goddess of the River Boyne?”

  Sloan frowns. “According to legend, the sacred well of Sidhe Nechtan contained the source of knowledge. All were forbidden to approach the well, except for the god Nechtan, who was Boann’s husband, and his servants.”

  “Rude. Let me guess. She wanted to get a closer look.”

  He nods. “Boann is said to have ignored the warnings and strode straight up to the sacred well.”

  “Thus violating the sanctity of her hubby’s secret spot.”

  “Exactly. It’s said that when she did, the waters of the defiled well swelled and transformed into a raging river that pursued her across the Irish countryside as she raced away and fled for her life.”

  “But she managed to outrun the currents?”

  “Some legends say she did. Others say she drowned. In either case, the watercourse became the River Boyne, and Boann became the presiding deity.”

  I gaze out on the blue waters of the river and think about that. “So, the goddess of a river is upset because people are being poisoned?”

  Sloan stiffens beside me. “When you say it like that…do you think it’s connected to the witches polluting the River Shannon with prana energy?”

  “My instincts say yes. I bet that somewhere around here, there are a couple of casks of stolen source power being pumped into the river. The question now is, where?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Sloan and I look around but find nothing. Next, we consider speaking to the giant. I’m not sure if he’s asleep or simply ignoring us, but that gets us nowhere. “Hey, hotness. There’s a druid spell to detect magic, right? What’s it called?”

  Sloan smirks. “Detect Magic.”

  “Oh, good name. Do you have any proficiency at it?”

  “Some, but I think since this river is seventy miles long, we’d have more luck finding the point of power pollution with a divining spell instead.”

  “Not it!” I hold up my hands and take a step back. “I don’t need poison ivy on my girl parts, thank you very much.”

  “Why would you get poison ivy on…” Wallace stops speaking mid-sentence, his brow drawn tight. “What are you two plotting?”

  Sloan fills his parents in on our past few days working on behalf of Mother Nature and what we suspect. I interject his commentary with color and points of interest when needed.

  It’s sad. When he speaks to his parental unit, Sloan gets all stiff and formal. I can’t imagine feeling like I can’t be myself around Da. My father has always been my safe refuge from the storms of life. I know it’s the same for my brothers as well. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?

  When Sloan finishes his recap, Wallace and Janet give the winding ribbon of sparkling blue water an assessing glance.

  “Why is this the first we’re hearing of this?” Janet snaps.

  “When we got in this morning, it was close to four. We slept, finished our breakfast, then the alarms sounded. I didn’t keep it a secret. We simply hadn’t seen ye yet. We mentioned it to Da yesterday before we headed out.”

  Wallace sighs and shields his gaze against the glare. “Yer right, son. Yer odds of finding the source of pollution using a divining spell are much better than by using Detect Magic.”

  “At least until ye get within range,” Janet adds. “And yer makin’ assumptions that one problem relates to the other problem based on what a marauder giant says. Ye know they are, at best, chaotic neutral. He’s more likely isolated us so he and his friends can come to eat our faces.”

  Wow. Okay, Janet is a barrel of rainbows and sunshine.

  “No one is eating our faces, Mam,” Sloan says.

  “I’m glad yer certain.”

  “I’ll portal us out before that ever happens.”

  “Unless they have a dampener and yer unable to portal.”

  “My shield isn’t activating,” I say, hoping to quell Janet’s additions to the conversation. “I sense when danger is closing in, and right now I’ve got nothing.”

  Janet rakes me over with a disparaging look and apparently finds me wanting. “And ye think yer qualified to have an opinion in this discussion, why? Ye’ve been a druid how long now? What formal trainin’ have ye completed?”

  “Mam, don’t,” Sloan snaps, his gaze growing hard. “Not here. Not now. I mean it.”

  Her brow arches. “Och, and since when do ye take a tone with me? Yer not the adult here. I get to have my say.”

  Sloan’s hands ball into fists at his sides, and he straightens to his full six-foot-two. “I am an adult, and ye’ve had yer say. I simply disagreed and chose to make my own decision.”

  My gaze ping-pongs from Sloan to his mother and back again. “Sorry. I’m new to this convo. I take it you have a problem with Sloan and me. Or is it just me in general?”

  “A problem?” Janet props her hands on her hips and scowls. “Ye might say we have a problem. Our boy is an elite, full-blooded druid male with prestige and education and he’s set his sights on an urban half-blood who couldn’t sense the difference between a charm and a compulsion.”

  “Don’t be rude,” Sloan snaps. “Yer intentionally being snide, and Fiona doesn’t deserve it.”

  “And we do? We deserve the way ye’ve treated us the past months?”

  “Now yer bein’ dramatic. I’ve not treated ye with any disrespect, and ye bloody
well know it. I’ve sat through yer rants and listened to ye go on about things, and I’ve never once been disrespectful.”

  “She has ye hopping halfway around the world like a love-sick puppy at the drop of a hat. She puts ye in danger at every turn. And she’s twisted ye up in her seductions so ye can’t even see yer ruinin’ yer life.”

  My mouth falls open. “And here I thought we were getting along well. Obvi, we’re not on the same page.”

  “We’re not even in the same library, ye reckless, wee—”

  “Enough!” Sloan steps in front of his mother, his finger pointed in the air. “Don’t ye dare finish that sentence.”

  Janet’s eyes grow wide, then she glares at me. “Do ye see? He would never have spoken to me like this before ye got yer hooks into him.”

  “Don’t blame Fiona for me finally growing a pair of knackers. No, wait, go ahead and give her the credit. That, at least, is her doin’.”

  Noice. Throw the girlfriend under the bus.

  “Spendin’ time with Lugh and Lara all these years gave me a glimpse of life beyond the propriety of druid life. But nothin’ taught me what family meant like stayin’ with the Cumhaills in Toronto. Yes, they’re a rough and rowdy bunch, but they love each other to a depth of commitment I admire. They cod one another and fight and celebrate their triumphs and their failures. When have you ever celebrated who I am or anything I’ve ever done?”

  Janet scowls and turns to Wallace. “There now, ye see. I told ye she’s fillin’ his head with poison against us.”

  “I would never.” I blink against the sting of evil eyes and pray I can hold back the freak show. “You are his parents. He loves you, and you love him. This isn’t about me versus you two. We all want Sloan to excel and be happy, don’t we?”

  “We do.” Wallace’s tone is much like his son’s when he’s calming the waters. “But as much as we’ve tried to rear our son to a certain level of standard, we’ve never seen him as animated and self-involved as he’s been these past months.”

  Animated? “Thinking for himself isn’t self-involved. It’s independent. Don’t you want him to thrive on his own?”

  “Ye see, this is what Janet is talkin’ about. Ye fill his head with ideas we don’t support. It’s wrong to lay that as blame, but perhaps ye’ll agree inadvertently, yer still the cause.”

  “Both of ye need to stop,” Sloan says, his cheeks flushed. “Yer makin’ a scene and insultin’ Fiona for no reason. I’m twenty-seven years old and a man in my own right. We don’t agree on all things but why can’t that be all right?”

  “Because yer throwin’ yer plans to the wind,” Janet says.

  “No. I’m not. My plans have never been discussed. I simply went along with yer plans because I didn’t have my path figured out.”

  “And now ye do, do ye?”

  He shakes his head and sighs. “Can’t we do this another time in a more appropriate place? Fiona and I were up all night trackin’ and fightin’ dark witches. Can we please focus on why we’re here?”

  “Good idea, hotness.” I grip his wrist and smile at the glowing female rising out of the river. “Now would be a really good time to get back to the whole poisoned children part of our morning.”

  Sloan stops glaring at his parents to study me. “Why did ye say it like that?”

  I tilt my head toward the water. “We have company.”

  “My Goddess.” The giant pulls his hairy toes out of the water and jumps to his feet. He points at Sloan’s father. “Druid healer.”

  “Blessed be, Knuruk.” She offers the giant a warm smile. “Merry meet, druids. I am Boann, goddess of the River Boyne. I appreciate ye takin’ the time from yer day to heed my call.”

  I stifle the urge to mention we had little choice since her behemoth messenger crashed through the wall of the castle and kidnapped Wallace.

  “It’s our pleasure to be of service.” Wallace recomposes himself after the public discord. That’s one thing about Sloan and his family. At the drop of a hat, they can cut off their emotions and put on a professional air. “Yer messenger mentioned poisoned children? How can I be of assistance?”

  The goddess waves toward the water and a wooden boat appears. It’s like one of those Viking ships that have those swoopy front and back ends that swirl up into the air with what looks like fiddleheads. “Come. I shall show ye.”

  Sloan looks at me, and I know what he’s asking without him saying a word. “S’all good.”

  He smiles at the goddess Boann. “It would be our pleasure, milady. After you.”

  I’ve always loved boats.

  The boat the goddess of the River Boyne manifests isn’t huge, like the ones that would have thirty oars coming out each side, but a smaller version of the same model.

  A compact edition raiding ship, if you will.

  Thankfully, Knuruk’s task is complete, and the goddess dismisses her messenger. I know boats are buoyant, but I feel better not having a marauder giant on board as we whisk along the river.

  And we are whisking.

  With no sails up to carry us forward, the ship is still skimming through the waters at quite a clip. I wonder how far into the seventy miles the trouble will be?

  “When we were kids, my parents used to take us on the ferry across Toronto Harbour to Centre Island on the weekends in the summer. Since I was the smallest, Mam held me up so I could see over the rail.”

  I lean over the side rail as the wind picks up my hair and stare at the surface of the passing water. “I remember telling her to hold me tight so I wouldn’t fall in. Sometimes, in my dreams, I still feel her arms wrapped around me and feel so safe. I loved the boat ride as much as the day we spent at the kid’s amusement park there.”

  Sloan leans in beside me, hooking under my arm so that he can link our fingers. “That’s a beautiful memory, a ghra. Which is better, I wonder, to be cherished deeply for a short time and lose it, or to be raised with moderate affection for a lifetime and endure it?”

  I consider our two situations. “I pick cherished.”

  “Yeah, I think I do too.” Sloan voice is tight. “I’m sorry about what they said about you.”

  I pull a loose chunk of hair out of my mouth and lean on my elbows. “You don’t have to apologize. They’re your parents. They want better for you. I get it.”

  Sloan rolls his eyes. “Their idea of better has nothing to do with any measure of worth I value. I don’t care what yer bloodline is or yer bank account or whether or not ye went to a fancy university. Anyone who spends ten minutes with ye can sense yer value. Yer one of the smartest, kindest, bravest, most authentic people I’ve ever met and yer heart holds a capacity for love and acceptance I’ve never seen rivaled.”

  I shrug. “Still, you’re their only child. They’ve invested their hopes of legacy on grooming an uber-druid wonder son.”

  “And that’s my destiny? What about what I want?”

  “I asked my father the same question the morning after you manhandled me and made my Fianna mark appear. What about what I want?”

  He chuckles. “I didn’t make yer mark appear, and ye know it, but what is it ye want? Or what did ye want?”

  “It seems like a million years ago. It was the morning after Emmet’s graduation, and I was mad that everyone had their thing they loved except me. They all chose the police academy. I chose to work part-time at the pub and help run the household. Yes, I could’ve gone to college or university, but my family always stood out as my priority.”

  “There’s nothin’ wrong with that.”

  “I know. Da always says you should never regret what happened in the past because it’s what propels you forward. I like where I am and who I am, even if it doesn’t hold up under your parents’ scrutiny.”

  “Och, please, don’t let them make ye feel bad about yerself. So many things have changed on ye since yer mark appeared. It’s a testament to yer personality that ye’ve handled it as well as ye have. I love who ye’ve become and am
proud to stand at yer side.”

  My eyes sting, but it’s not the evil freak show trying to break free this time. It’s worse. I swipe my cheek and draw a deep breath, refusing to cry in front of strangers.

  “Damn. I’m not usually a waterworks girl.”

  “Aw, Fi.” He shifts to drape his arm across my shoulders as we stare out at the water. “Take it from the one who knows best in this situation. Don’t shed a tear for them. It’s not worth it. Honestly, they’ll never see what’s right in front of them, and they’ll never understand the damage they do by being who they are.”

  I swallow against a thick throat and fight to tamp down my emotions. “I guess it caught me off-guard. I thought they liked me—your dad anyway. It kinda came out of left field, you know?”

  “We like ye, Red.” Manx stretches up on his hind legs and rubs his furry cheek against my arm. “In fact, we love ye. It doesn’t matter what they think because their ideals are skewed with old-world nonsense. Yer a treasure. Them not seein’ it is their shortcoming, not yers.”

  I hug Manx tight to my side and bend over to rub my face against his velvety fur. “Thanks, puss.”

  He lets out a rumbling purr, and I close my eyes. “Don’t let them drive ye off. We need ye around to keep us on our toes. Life only started gettin’ fun once ye invaded ours.”

  I chuckle and press a hand on the flutter in my chest. Bruin is sending me his strength, and it fills my heart. “Thanks, guys. I don’t need reassurance often, but it’s nice to know it’s here when I do.”

  Sloan presses a kiss to my temple. “No woman is an island…even the fiery, Fiona Kacee mac Cumhaill.”

  “Mac Cumhaill?” the goddess says behind us. “Are ye Fionn’s kin then?”

  We straighten from leaning over the rail, and I expect to find Boann standing right behind us. When she spoke, her voice was clear and close. When we turn, we search the lower deck and find her up on the steering platform forty feet away.

  “Yes. Fionn mac Cumhaill is my ancestor and my mentor and friend.”

  Boann smiles. “That makes us kin. It also explains the magical power signature I sense coming from ye.”