The groundskeeper—Perdeep, it says on the embroidered patch on his shirt—points back the way we came to a cream mausoleum. “The Ridout family has a large plot. There’s a crypt, and a few memorial trees and plaques. I expect that’s where you’ll find him.”
“Thanks for your help.”
I hustle to collect Sloan, and we make our way to the square, stone building. We split up and start searching the gravestones and markers.
“It’ll be one of the oldest ones.” Sloan rubs leaves off the surface of some old markers.
“This is a beautiful building.” I track the names and dates on the plaques and make my way around the back. The square structure has the family’s dead listed on all four sides, and I track them one by one. “You know, I might be developing a soft spot for historic buildings. I admit, knowing that these structures have stood the test of hundreds of years is fascinating and admirable.”
“I think so too.” He moves from gravestones to tree plaques while I round another side. “Although, I’d never want to be placed in a crypt. Burn me and give me back to nature. Even being buried would be better. Being stuck in a stone casket in a building for hundreds of years is horrifying to me.”
“My mam was cremated. I’ve honestly never given it much thought.”
“Here.”
When I round the corner, he’s kneeling on the grass and blowing debris off the stone. He must have cast a spell to help because I doubt he has that much wind power.
“John Ridout, 1817.” I kneel beside Sloan and look around to see if anyone’s watching us. “Now what?”
Sloan takes my hand and presses it firmly against the ground. “Cast a spell and bring the amulet to the surface.”
“Me? You’re better at casting than I am.”
“And this is a perfect chance for ye to practice. No one’s watching, we don’t have to rush, there’s nothing distractin’ ye from yer task.”
I chuckle. “Except for death threats and the promise of total annihilation of everyone and everything I love.”
He nods. “Except for that.”
“Well, if that’s all, then what am I complaining about, right?” I take out my phone, open my notes, and come up with a few lines of rhyme that I think might work. I realize it’s not very impressive that I need to work it out on a notepad, but hey, whatevs. With my spell fresh in my mind, I close my eyes and plant my palms heavy onto the grass.
Ancient treasure of power and past,
Yer owner claims you back at last.
Beneath the soil, so dark and tight,
Work yer way up to the light.
I wait, projecting positive thoughts and my intentions.
“Come on, magic amulet. Your owner wants the two of you reunited.”
I send magic down into the ground below, inviting the amulet to rise and join us. The tattoo on the inside of my right arm burns, and I look at Birga inked on my skin. I’m not calling my spear, but she’s reacting to something.
“Sloan? Birga’s enchantment is partly based in necromancy, right?”
“Right.”
“Do you think she can sense or call the dead?”
He pops one eye open and frowns. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason. It’s probably nothing.” I push away thoughts of zombie resurrection and focus on the ground beneath my palms again.
Pan Dora’s amulet has been dormant for a long time.
Maybe it needs help to wake up and make it to the surface. Or, perhaps instead of calling the amulet, I should connect with the soil and ask it to give up its guest.
Ancient treasure in your clutch,
Sits below where none can touch.
Wriggle, push, and lift to light,
Work it up to see the light.
I send my energy into the soil and envision the earth doing my bidding. Before long, I feel a gentle pop of magic released and open my eyes. On the grass, sitting equidistant between Sloan and me is a starburst amulet with a rearing dragon breathing fire depicted on it.
“Hello there.” I collect the treasure, touching it only with the gentle touch of my fingertips. I fight the urge to brush it clean. I’ve seen Aladdin. I know things can happen when you least expect them and considering the owner of this trinket, I’m not willing to take any chances. “Okay, wrap this baby up, and I’ll text her that we’ve got it.”
I give the amulet to Sloan and brush the soil off my hands and knees. “Damn. It’s only three o’clock, but it feels like bedtime. I need a nap in my forest swing.”
The two of us are making our way back home when my shield lights off, and I tense.
“What is it?”
“If I were to guess, I’d say hobgoblins.” I glance back at the cemetery, but we’re out of sight and lost in the trees close to my house. It galls me to think that my stalkers are loitering around my home. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time.
When my shield burns, I call my armor and Birga. The tree tattoos cover my arms at the same time my flesh hardens. Birga practically vibrates in my grip as I search my surroundings.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
Sloan opens his palm, and a thick branch lifts from the scrub and heeds his call. Swinging his makeshift club, he closes the distance between us. “Yer jumpin’ the gun, assholes. The Guild Governor, Droghun, gave her twenty-four hours from the time she was notified of the complaint. I would bet if you attack before that, you lose ground. Actually, why don’t ye take a swing at us? I’m sure yer Emperor fella won’t care if ye foul up his plans.”
Now that he says it out loud, I kinda hope they do attack. Wouldn’t it be nice if the whole hobgoblin complaint got thrown out of court? Hells to the yeah.
Before I figure out how to incite them to overstep, the tingle on my back subsides, and Birga falls still.
“They’re gone.”
“Are ye sure?” Sloan is still searching the woods surrounding us and the leafy canopy above. “They’re tricky assholes.”
“Maybe, but they’re gone. I’m sure.”
I release the Tough as Bark and put Birga away until the next time. Which, who are we kidding, will be within the next day or so.
“Okay, I’ve had enough bullying and intimidation for one day. Let's go home and figure out how to put these bastards in their place. I’m sick of being reactive. It’s time for proactive. If the hobgoblins want a piece of me, let them come to claim it.”
“Don’t tempt them. You’re tired and cranky.”
“Damn straight I’m tired and cranky. All I want to do is spend an hour or two napping in my grove, then watch a great movie with you and my family. Those stupid hobgoblins are ruining everything.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Hey,” Dillan greets when Sloan and I get home. “How was your—okay, wow—what’s that face?”
Seeing Dillan and Emmet coming out of the family room brings it all crashing in on me. I kick off my shoes by the door and push my sneakers to the side. “It’s been a day, D.”
“And I’d ask what kind of day, but I’m afraid.”
“Good instincts,” Sloan says.
“Give us the highlight reel.” Emmet gives me a wide berth as he passes me to get to the kitchen. “Is anyone dead?”
“No, but Sloan shook the shit out of a homeless woman on Queen Street this afternoon.”
“That was you?” Dillan busts up. “I responded to that. Frustrating as hell. No homeless woman. Everyone had a different story to tell. And I was choking on dirt for the next two hours. What the hell, Mackenzie?”
“It was a hobgoblin with an illusion,” Sloan snaps. “I’ll take responsibility for the confusion, but the dirt storm was yer sister, not me.”
I hang the strap of my purse on my hook and chuckle at Sloan’s righteous indignation. “Okay, that was pretty funny.”
“So, if that wasn’t the worst of your day, what was?”
“Oh, that we’re being stalked by hobgoblins. I found out this afte
rnoon that they filed a complaint against us for siphoning magic. The Guild served me with this. It’s a Vow of Vengeance. We have to look into it more, but I’m pretty sure it gives them the right to attack us and exact their pound of flesh.”
“And the Guild sanctioned that?” Dillan takes the warrant and opens it up.
“Yeah, the druid rep served the notice himself. He happens to be the Black Dog prick that Creeping Vined me and tried to drag me into the woods at the fae slaughter site.”
Emmet brings an armful of Guinness into the hall and starts handing them out. “How did the Black Dog get involved in serving a warrant?”
Sloan accepts two beers and gestures for us to move out of the back hall and into the family room. “Because the Black Dog holds the druid seat for the Lakeshore Guild and has for decades. Apparently, they’re very well respected.”
“Fuck that.” Dillan twists the cap off his long-neck. “That can’t bode well for us.”
I beeline it across the family room and sit in my blue lady chair in the corner. “Nope. The douche druid let me know that he’s launching a full investigation into the family of violent upstart druids who slaughtered his predecessor. We have that to look forward to as well.”
“Double-fuck.”
“Pretty much… But wait, there’s more. I also had my first Tarot reading today.”
Dillan takes a long swallow and lets out a deep breath. “I’m cluing into a pattern here, but I’m a sucker for punishment. Hey, Fi, how’d that go?”
“Better, once I learned that the Death card doesn’t mean I’m going to die.”
Emmet holds up his bottle. “Sunshine and strawberries. Things are looking up. What else did you learn?”
I hold up my fingers to count off. “One, our quest with water is not complete. Two, beware the stranger with ill intent. And three, there are trials on the horizon.”
Dillan scowls. “I thought Tarot readings were supposed to be fun. Like, you’re about to come into money or meet your soulmate or something.”
“For other people, maybe. I got Death and lots of blindfolded ladies with swords pointing at them and a powerful magician who poses a threat.”
“That’s considerably less fun.”
“Right?”
Dillan finishes with the warrant and hands it off to Emmet to look at.
I take a swig of my beer and point at the Vow of Vengeance. “There’s a website on the bottom of the page. We have twenty-four hours to contest the charges before they come at us.”
My reminder to get dinner started goes off on my phone. I leave them to study the Vow of Vengeance warrant and abandon my chair. In the kitchen, I open the fridge and pull out the chicken and veggies Calum left for the pot pie. Then I take out potatoes from the pantry, and the plaid recipe box that belonged to our mom.
When I turn around, they’ve all joined me.
“Em, we need a best guess on how precisely the wording ties them down. They named the six of us, but not Sloan and not our fae. I want to know that they’re in the clear. I’ll have Sloan portal them all back to Ireland if there’s a chance they could be held responsible and hurt.”
“Agreed,” he and Dillan both say.
“And see if you can figure out the wiggle room to disprove them and revoke their right to annihilate us if the magic is returned to their satisfaction.”
“On it.” Emmet takes the paperwork and heads into the dining room.
Dillan plunks heavily into his chair at the table. “Da’s going to blow a gasket when he catches wind of this.”
“That’s why we have to have as much intel gathered as possible before he gets home. Oh, I did learn another interesting factoid. Pan Dora doesn’t like the hobgoblins or the Black Dog any better than us.”
“Respect. I knew that female has amazingly good taste.”
I snort. “Did she flirt with you?”
He chuckles. “Maybe.”
I grab my peeler and start on the carrots. “Anyway, she agreed to help us sort through some of this chaos. Sloan and I did her a quick favor this afternoon, and in return, she’s meeting with the Guild Governors to speak on our behalf.”
Dillan’s eyes go wide, the bright green of his irises dancing in the light. “No kidding? I did not see that coming. I didn’t know she had that kind of sway.”
“Right? So, everyone is going to be extra nice to Dora.”
Dillan nods. “What else can I do?”
Sloan takes the potatoes I pulled out and heads to the sink to rinse them. “During the Tarot reading, the important message that came through several times—and with several cards—is that the quest with water is not complete.”
I nod and accept the washed spuds. “I’m pulling dinner together, then Sloan and I are headed to the lakeshore to both figuratively and metaphorically test the waters.”
“I’ll go change and join you. If there will be blindfolded ladies and evil magicians, I don’t want you going into Guild territory alone.”
Sloan frowns. “Ye realize there aren’t any real blindfolded ladies, don’t ye?”
I pull the pastry shells out of the freezer to thaw and start peeling the potatoes. “He does. He’s just coddin’ ye, Mackenzie. Ye can’t keep fallin’ for every bit of blarney ye hear.”
Dillan chuckles. “Especially in this house. Okay, I’ll go change and grab my hood.”
I laugh. “Oh, you’re going to wear your hooded cloak of awesomeness. I would never have guessed.”
Dillan points at me and grins. “Envy green looks good on you, sister. Goes well with your orange hair.”
“Oh!” I throw an oven mitt at him, and he runs, laughing all the way up the stairs. “You’ll pay for that, Dillan James. You’ll rue the day.”
Sloan retrieves my quilted mitt from the hall and hands it back to me. “What was that about?”
“Orange. Seriously? Whenever my brothers wanted to tease me and make me cry when I was little, they’d say I have orange hair. It’s one of my buttons. I always wanted raven black hair like our mom.”
Sloan shakes his head. “Yer hair is lovely the way it is. It’s russet and mahogany and has copper highlights running through it, but no orange.”
“Oh, I know.” I pull a knife from the block and point it at the stairs. “I also know all of Dillan’s buttons, so it’s game on. You’re my witness. He started it.”
Sloan scratches his head. “Why do I feel like this will end badly?”
I snort. “It likely will, but that’s nothing new.”
Once the pot pie is assembled and in the oven, I call Da and let him know what time dinner will be ready and that we’re headed to Sugar Beach to check on the arrival of magic.
Then I check with Emmet to keep an eye on dinner.
When everything is taken care of, we take our leave.
“Ye know,” Sloan gestures toward the scenery passing Dillan’s truck, “as much as I love Ireland, I think I’m developin’ a soft spot for yer city.”
I lean forward and grab the two seats ahead of me. “How can you not? Toronto is charm, wrapped in history, decorated with everything you’d ever want, and topped with great people.”
“Not that she’s biased.” Dillan hits his indicator and takes us straight down Sherbourne Street.
“Oh, I never claimed to be objective.”
“Why do they call it Sugar Beach?” Sloan asks.
“Because it’s right next to the Redpath Sugar Refinery. It’s been part of our waterfront since the 1950s.”
“And people swim in an industrial area right next to a refinery?”
“Swim, no, but it’s a beautiful beach with a splash pad and umbrellas and places to sun and have fun.”
Dillan turns right onto Queen’s Quay, then a quick left into the parking lot at Sugar Beach. “It’s also really damn close and won’t be busy at this time of year.”
The three of us bail out of his truck and jog down to the water. The closer I get to the shoreline, the more my nerves take hold
. I can feel the warm tingle of fae power, but it’s not ambient and flowing through the air like before.
It’s concentrated in the lake.
“Well, crap.” After toeing off my shoes, I pull my socks off and roll my pants up to my knees, then wade into the freezing water and sigh. “The power is here.” I point at the surface.
“But it’s not here.” Dillan waves his arms through the air. “So how do we get it airborne? Sloan, do you have any aerosol spells up the sleeve of your designer shirt?”
Sloan frowns. “Not off the top of my head, no.”
“Would a Naiad know how?” I think about Iridan and his nasty little otters. I’d rather not have to speak with that twerp again, but I can deal if it saves our lives.
“Likely, but we’re druids.” Sloan stares across the water toward the lights of the Toronto Islands. “Nature is our wheelhouse. I’m sure we can figure it out.”
Sadly, instead of getting our groove on after dinner and watching Burlesque as I wanted, it’s family druid meeting time. We’re all back in the dining room trying to figure out how to make the magic now building up in Lake Ontario more readily available.
“Who says it has to be airborne?” Emmet asks. “Can’t people go to the waterfront and dip their toes to get powered up? If they drink the water, won’t they get it that way? Toronto water is good.”
Da twists the top of a fresh beer and frowns. “Do ye think that the oldest and strongest of the empowered folks will thank us for the disconnect between them and their skills? I doubt it. We already have a complaint lodged against us. Our best chance at fighting it is to put things back the way they were so no one can complain.”
Calum sighs. “And in what kind of system does lodging a complaint include lodging a blade between our ribs?”
“That’s how the game is played here, it seems.”
“Granda?” I focus on the video screen and try not to imagine the mass slaughter of my family. “Anything?”
“One second, mo chroi.” He and Gran are talking about something off to the side. When he comes back on screen, he smiles. “We have an idea. It’s a simple solution, but with a bit of smoke and mirrors, we think it might not only satisfy yer ambient magic problem but also make magic-powered folks think twice about coming at ye from all sides.
A Sacred Grove (Chronicles of an Urban Druid Book 2) Page 25