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Ye screw with this lass, ye get put on yer ass.

My outlook on life isn't complicated—any day that passes when nobody tries to kill me or someone I love gets put into the "good day" column. Simple, right? Lately, good days have been hard to come by.

Since I totally ignored Da's warning three months ago and flew to Ireland to embrace our super-secret heritage, I've seen the world in a different light—a mythical and magical light.

I am a Druid.

And even though Da and my brothers are all cops, I seemed destined to put out fires. Seriously, the scramble to survive never ends. From quests heaped on me from ancient ancestors, to trampy witches, to misogynistic hobgoblins, I'm pretty much screwed from the get-go. Oh, and don't forget Barghest. Yeah, those druid Black Dog wannabes are still around and more determined than ever to see us eliminated. Someone should tell them the best way to make sure I do something is to tell me I can't.

Yeah-no, like Han Solo said . . . "Never tell me the odds."

Look out, druid world Fiona is back and she's fired up.