“Har-har.” I raise my hand and head over to the table of the heirs of the Nine Families. “Hello, Tad. Was that necessary?”
Tad McNiff, a tall, slick, frat boy-type flashes me a cocky smile. “Necessary? No. Amusing as fuck? Yes.”
Sloan gives him the finger and frowns. “From now on, assume that when we frequent a place such as this that we’re on druid business and we’re tryin’ not to be noticed.”
The eight heirs in attendance straighten.
“Druid business?” Eric Flanagan repeats.
“Is it somethin’ we can get in on?” Jarrod Perry asks.
I look at the eight of them, and part of me is sad that Sloan doesn’t feel more connected to them. They are, after all, his peers. In a world where he has no siblings, and his best friends are my grandparents, it would be nice if he could at least count on the heirs as being part of his crew.
Well, if they weren’t so dick-ish.
“Found it.” Calum steps in so we’re shoulder to shoulder and indicates with his thumb behind us. “Over the bar above the top shelf under the signage.
I glance back and groan. “It’s ten feet in the air, and there are three bartenders. How the hell are we gonna get it down and get out of here without being stopped?”
Calum frowns. “We need one of Emmet’s distractions.”
Ciara rolls her eyes. “Don’t remind me. After the battle in the clearing at Ross Castle, I had Cotton Eyed Joe playin’ as an earworm in my head for a week.”
Tad grins, and for once, it’s genuine instead of there for show. “That was classic. I love that guy.”
“So why do ye need the shillelagh off the wall?” Jarrod asks. “And why are ye stealin’ it?”
I sigh. “We’re not stealing it. We’re re-stealing it back. It belongs to my friend Patty.”
“The Man o’ Green who kept ye prisoner in the dragon’s lair?” Tad asks.
I tilt my head back and forth. “I wasn’t so much a prisoner as an unwilling bystander while the dragon eggs gestated. Anyway, yes, that Patty.”
Sloan catches the server’s attention and orders a round.
Once we sit and merge in with the crowd at the table, the curious gazes end, and the other patrons go back to their business. As the pitchers arrive, Sloan fills in the heirs on what we’ve been up to and what we’re dealing with now.
Tad, for once, seems to listen without needing to make some smart-assed remark. Maybe there’s hope for him yet. When Sloan’s done, he takes a long swallow from his pint and nods. “So, ye need the shillelagh to give to the mercenaries, to get back the casks of stolen fae prana.”
“That’s about it.” I steal a wing from one of the Perry twins. I know their older brother’s name is Jarrod, but now that I think about it, I don’t know their names. Everyone calls them the Perry twins.
“Well, then.” Tad smiles. “We’ll create the diversion. The white witch—”
“—her name is Sarah,” Sloan snaps.
Tad raises his palms. “Fine, Sarah can remove whatever spell binds it to the wall—because we all know there will be one—and lover boy here can grab it and portal out with his booty.”
I roll my eyes. “Can you not say lover boy and booty when you’re referring to Sloan? It triggers images in my mind that shouldn’t be there.”
Sloan scowls at me. “No. Let’s not do that.”
Calum chuckles. “Okay, now I’m imagining the two of them. It’s pretty hot.”
Tad holds up his palms. “Please stop. It’s horrifying. Now, does everyone know their part?”
We all go over things one more time and nod.
“Okay, here goes nothing.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
What kind of trouble can eleven young Irish druids, a white witch, and one spirit bear get into at a witch bar? When they put their minds to it—a lot. Honestly, when Tad lays out the nuances of his three-part plan, I know, without a shadow of a doubt, I’ve been cast in the perfect role for me.
I get to punch Ciara Doyle and start a catfight.
Although we’ve managed to be civil the last couple of times we’ve interacted, I owe her one—more than one.
Funny, as much as I despised her at first, now I sort of get her. What I originally took as her being shallow and judgy is her defense mechanism.
Snide is her armor.
Humor is mine.
Look at that, common ground.
Sarah catches my attention from the back hall, and I refocus. She’s on her way back from her fake trip to the bathroom to get into position by the bar.
I finish my Guinness and stand. “Guys, stop getting mesmerized by her boobs. She’s not all that.”
Ciara arches a perfectly plucked brow. “Says the girl that hasn’t progressed from her training bra. Hater’s gotta hate. Maybe one day you’ll grow a pair.”
I laugh, wave my arms in the air, and draw more attention. “Maybe if you spent less time glossing your lips and picked up a book you’d have something to offer men other than a booty call.”
“Yer only sour because ye haven’t got the goods to catch a man’s eye.”
“Please. You ain’t pretty. You just look that way. What have you got going for you other than your glamor?”
Ciara laughs. “And what? Yer a centerfold pinup? Yer Canadian. It’s almost November. Have ye taken out yer thermal underwear and hats with ear flaps?”
No, but I have to. Admitting that wouldn’t win me any points in this argument though.
In my peripheral vision, I watch Tad ease closer to the bouncers as they hear our raised voices and turn.
“And what were you thinking when you put on that shirt?” I point at the designer t-shirt she has tied at her hip. “Have you ever heard of an iron?”
“I was thinking your boyfriend should learn not to strip a girl and toss her shirt into a heap. It got wrinkled.”
“Bitch.”
“Whore.”
Ciara charges me, and I punch her in the gut and toss her onto the next table. I call my armor forward and let Bruin loose. My bear plays his part perfectly and snarls and roars.
Witches scream and scatter.
Tad, Jarrod, and Eric cut off the two bouncers as they turn and move to rein in the chaos. Whatever spell they hit the brawny brutes with knocks them on their asses. Sarah lobs nappy sacks at the bartenders, and they drop too. Bruin roars again and sends a table spinning across the floor. Sloan sips his beer at the end of the bar, taking it all in.
Our server girl legit pees her pants.
Ciara rolls me onto my back and gives me her best right cross. “Feckin’ hell, Cumhaill.”
I laugh as she shakes out her fist. “Armor’s up.”
“No kidding.”
I roll her off me and check to see if anyone is watching us anymore. Nope.
Sarah hops over the downed bartenders and onto the chair Sloan brings to her. The two of them are just getting started when a woman storms out from the back looking like she’s ready to raze the world.
I drop to the floor and plant my palms on the floorboards. Reaching deep into the foundation of the soil below, I conjure up an earthquake. The woman grabs the frame of the doorway and scowls. She totes sees it’s me causing her building to shimmy-shimmy-shake and she doesn’t look happy about it.
She fires off a bolt of energy. Damn, she’s fast.
There’s no way I have time to counter or defend. I lift my hands to shield when Ciara shouts something, and the bolt veers left and hits the power box on the wall.
The pub goes dark, and another round of screaming ensues. My weird freaky fae eyes flare, and now I see everything in evil aura heat signatures.
It kinda makes me feel bad.
Almost everyone here is a good person minding their own. I suppose not all witches be bitches after all.
I glance over at where Sarah is finishing with the binding spell on the shillelagh and marvel at her aura. It’s so pretty and pure it amazes me. Okay, so maybe there
are witches who adhere to the harm none tenet and who are genuinely non-violent and nice peeps.
I stand corrected.
Red, time to go. Sloan’s got Patty’s walkin’ stick. Let’s get gone.
Done deal. I run through the chaos and grab Sarah’s wrist. “It’s Fi. Time to go.”
“Can you see?”
“Yep. Trust me. We’re good.”
A few seconds later, we emerge out the front door, and the brilliance of the streetlights blinds me.
Sloan is waiting and poofs us straight away and onto a rooftop across the city. He deposits us and is gone again. A second later, Tad flashes in with the Perry twins laughing their asses off. Sloan’s back with Ciara and Calum. It goes like that until we’re all accounted for.
When we’re all there, I flop on my butt and take a breath. “So, we got it?”
Sloan holds up the shillelagh and nods. “Yep. Now the question is, what are ye goin’ to do with it?”
I shrug. “Give it to Jimmy and his crew. A deal’s a deal.”
Calum makes a face as if he’s surprised.
“Patty’s linked to his treasure. If he wants it back, I have no doubt he can reclaim it. Given the fact that it’s between an old, gnarly walking stick and raw, fae prana, I vote we secure the casks and worry about the stick later.”
“Fair enough. What does it do?” Calum asks.
“An authentic shillelagh belongin’ to a Man o’ Green is said to offer the owner untold luck,” Tad says. “It’s likely why the witch proprietor of that pub had it mounted above her bar. She was hopin’ to cash in on the magic of the thing.”
“It sucks to be her. My guess is she’s in league with the dark witches somehow and knew it was stolen. Sorry, not sorry.”
Sloan nods. “Agreed. Now to get it back to Jimmy and his men and unhook the casks from pumpin’ into the water in the purification station.”
I groan. “Right. There’s that still.”
“Then the ritual tonight.”
I drop my head forward and want to melt right there onto the roof of the building. “Gawd, when will this day be over?”
“Not anytime soon, I’m afraid.” Sloan helps me up. “There’s still work to be done.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I cover my mouth as I yawn. “Let’s go get those casks.”
“Yer dead on yer feet,” Ciara says. “After ye make yer trade with the mercenaries, Sloan can take ye home for a nap, and we’ll help with the casks. Ye don’t have to do everything yerself, Cumhaill.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Sarah says. “Sloan and I have disarmed the casks enough now that we can do it. Ye’ll need to get some rest before tonight.”
The Perry twins nod. “Yeah, hangin’ out with yer family has been the most action we’ve ever been included in for the Order. We’re pleased to help.”
My head drops back, and I smile up to the heavens. “Thank you, baby Groot. I’m not even gonna pretend to argue. Let’s give Jimmy his stick, then I’m going to bed for a few hours, or I’ll never be able to take on the witches tonight.”
“We’re helpin’ tonight too, right?” Tad asks. “Tell us where and when and we’re there.”
Sloan frowns. “We won’t know where and when until we hand over the shillelagh. Then the men we’re dealin’ with are supposed to give us the final pieces to the puzzle.”
Tad nods. “Well then, I’ll take everyone home to change, eat, and rest up. Text me the details when ye get them, and we’ll meet ye wherever and whenever ye need us.”
I look at the heirs and smile. “Thanks, guys. Seriously. We’re happy to have your help.”
I wake to a gentle pat on my leg and the warm smile of my Gran peering down on me. Well, not only me. Sloan’s asleep behind me, his face nuzzled into the back of my hair, his hand draped over my hip. “It’s time to wake up, luv. Sloan asked me to wake ye at ten-thirty so ye’d have time to eat and stretch before ye head out.
“Okay, thanks, Gran. I’m awake.”
She brushes a gentle hand over my forehead and cups my cheek. “I’m sorry this life demands so much from ye, luv. I truly am. Yer granda and I had no idea things would turn out as they have. Yer destiny has been such a tumultuous storm.”
“It’s okay. Other than the narrow brushes with death, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
I think the sound of our voices stirs Sloan from the depths of his sleep because he shifts behind me and grinds his hips against my ass.
Gran’s eyebrows raise as my cheeks flare scarlet. I pat his wrist, and he startles awake. “Gran’s here to wake us up.”
He relaxes and scrubs a hand over his face. “Good. Thanks, Lara. I appreciate it.”
Gran’s smile is far too knowing, and after her condom intervention, I’m fighting the urge to pull the covers over my head. I figure my best course of action is to slip out from under the quilt and show her I’m fully clothed and decent.
I am, however, careful to drop the covers to keep Sloan covered because he’s sporting wake-up wood and would likely die if Gran commented on that.
“Is there tea, Gran?”
“Have ye ever known me to be out?”
I chuckle. “No. Forgive me. I’m still half-asleep.”
“Forgiven. I’ll go heat ye both up a plate of supper.”
“Sounds great. Thank you.” I sit on the edge of the bed, and when Gran leaves the room, I giggle and flop back onto the mattress. “Hey, I love the sentiment, but if you could tell Mr. Big Idea to keep the pelvic grinding to a minimum in front of my grandmother, that would be great.”
Sloan’s dark eyes grow wide. “I didn’t.”
“Oh, you did. I expect we’ll receive another box of condoms soon. Maybe she’ll go the Ostara route, and it’ll be like an Easter hunt, and we’ll find them everywhere tucked into our things and hidden under our pillows.”
Sloan shakes his head as if trying to clear the cobwebs. “Sorry about that.”
I chuckle and wave that away. “A man can’t be held responsible for his body’s base instinct while sleeping, especially while he’s snuggled up cozy with his girlfriend.”
He looks like he might argue that or apologize, but honestly, s’all good.
“All right, change of subject. How did the cask retrieval go after you poofed me home?
“Blissfully uneventful. As Sarah said, we’ve done it enough times now that it’s rote.”
“And we know the location for their Samhain ritual celebration in a few hours?”
“The Ring of Rath.”
“Oh, that sounds foreboding. What is that?”
Sloan swings his long legs out from under the quilt and pulls out his phone. “Its proper name is the Rathgall Hillfort. It’s an eighteen-acre hill fort near the town of Shillelagh on the Wicklow/Carlow border. It’s considered one of Ireland’s most ancient faery rings and dates back to the Bronze Age. It’s a sacred site for a sacred night.”
“Okay, what does that tell us?”
“Nothin’ good that I can think of. All we know is that they’re usin’ the Sabbat to pierce the veil and call forth a dark fae lord and are offering themselves up for his favor.”
“It’s like a bad joke. What do you get when you put ancient faery rings, dark witches who stole fae prana, and Samhain together? A Hazmat Sabbat.”
“Are ye done?”
“Yep. Sorry. Carry on.”
“It says here that the Ring of Rath consists of three roughly concentric stone ramparts with a fourth masonry wall dating from the Medieval period at its center.”
“So, if I were a dark witch and I wanted to get dark and dirty with an Unseelie fae dude, this might be the kind of place where we’d hook up?”
“I would say so, yes.”
“Okay, so we need to get there and cock-block.”
“Now that ye won’t fall over.”
I nod. “I feel much better. Better enough to go stop an evil orgy and recover the last cask.”
“Call yer brothers and see if they�
�re ready. I’ll text Nikon and tell him the address of where we’ll be so he can Google it. Tonight, we end this.”
According to the intel Jimmy Duncan and his men gleaned from the witches we captured, the grand finale of their dark plan is to host a Samhain celebration and offer themselves up to an Unseelie fae prince.
It seems they want to offer the last cask, the location of the Cistern of The Source, and the mutants to prove their value. Then, to further please the fae dark lord, to have sex with him and prove their devotion.
While Sloan poofs off to get Sarah and Patty, Calum and I sit on the edge of the roof of a building a few hundred feet from the bottom of the hillock.
Sitting shoulder to shoulder with my older brother, we let our feet dangle down the side of the structure while we wait for the arrival of both our Toronto and Ireland support teams.
“You gotta wonder where life went off the rails for these women.” I stare out at the lantern lights being lit in the distance. “I mean, when did they start thinking it’s normal to say, hey, on Samhain this year, instead of celebrating our ancestors, why don’t we mutilate people and have orgy sex with an Unseelie fae and become his pets?”
“What? That’s not blinking at the top of your to-do list?”
“Surprisingly, no. It doesn’t even make my top hundy.”
“Weird.”
“Right?”
“Does Wallace think he can fix the people they transformed already?”
“No. Ciara said they’re toast. The Source energy is too powerful for us to reverse. They’re now fae beasts for life.”
“That sucks.”
“Yep.”
“You’re sure Emmet’s going to be all right?”
“I’m not going to argue with Mother Nature.”
“No. I guess not. Good point.”
I shrug and think about my brother. “I think there’s likely more to come of his plunge into power, but I also think that it’s drinking the stuff that’s the kiss of death. Nikon’s father only touched it, and his entire line of descendants became immortal and juiced with power.”
“Can you imagine Emmet with unlimited power?”
I laugh. “We should plan for the alpaca-lypse now.”
A Witch’s Revenge (Chronicles of an Urban Druid Book 4) Page 24