“Thank you,” I whispered. “Question: You said some of the shadow path tribes are local?”
“Oh yes,” Marion said, her voice falling to a whisper. “They live up here, and they’re dangerous and magical and enticing. They use illusion to get what they want, and poisons of all sorts. If they wanted your friend, she’s dead and painfully so, unless they have a reason to keep her alive.”
Camille slid to the front of her chair, and the room seemed to take on a darker feel, as if the spell Marion had invoked was wearing off. “Do you know where they live?”
Marion looked up, meeting our eyes. She shuddered. “They walk the city streets. No wild places for them. They live in the urban areas; they haunt the suburbs. I don’t have an address, but I know they live in the city—I’ve heard rumors of a house in Belles-Faire, but I don’t know exactly where. I’ll see if I can find out anything. But you can be sure they’ve a hand in creating the Wolf Briar.”
Feeling like the enemy was all too close for comfort, I thanked her, and we left.
“Let’s head over to Mary Mae’s.” Camille pulled out of the parking lot. “It’s close enough to the time she gave you.”
“Sure.” As we sped along the streets, I finally looked over at her and said, “So Amber has one of the spirit seals. The one Nukpana wore. And now the Koyanni are after her. They must be able to sense it. Nukpana wore it for so long that it must still have some of his energy imprinted on it.”
“And they followed her up here—or contacted friends up here—and took her out with Wolf Briar. But why didn’t they just steal it off her when she was out in the hotel? Why kidnap her?” Camille shook her head. “There’s another piece of the puzzle we aren’t getting.”
“Yeah, and I don’t like it. There—that must be the house.” I pointed to a small house set back on a narrow, tidily mowed lawn. Camille parallel parked with an ease I’d never mastered, and we hopped out of the car.
I glanced at the house. Well-kept but ragged. Mary Mae and Paulo might be lower income, but they didn’t let that stop them from making the place as homey as possible. As I opened the chain-link gate, I could hear a dog bark—probably the backyard. We headed up the walk, but the place looked silent and too quiet.
Once we were standing on what passed for a porch, I noticed that the door was ajar. I gestured to it with a nod of the head, and Camille caught my gaze. She backed up, and I could tell she was summoning the Moon Mother’s energy just in case we needed it. I didn’t usually carry my dagger along with me, but I had a tidy little stiletto affixed to my wrist. Chase would have chewed me out if he knew I wore it—the blade was entirely illegal. But that never stopped us before.
I motioned for Camille to step back, and she plastered herself against the side of the house. Raising one booted foot, I slammed the door open and darted in, Camille right behind me. A glance around showed the living room was empty, but Camille tugged on my arm and nodded to the kitchen.
“I hear something,” she mouthed.
We raced toward the open archway. I ducked through, and my first impression was one of blood. Everywhere. The walls were stained red, the floor covered in a pool of the thick, viscous fluid. And in the center of the pool—a woman, very pregnant. Very dead. Mary Mae. It had to be.
The scent made me reel, and I felt Panther waver, wanting to come forth.
Camille darted around the blood toward the back door, which was standing open, and disappeared into the backyard. I followed just in time to see her shooting an energy bolt at a thin, gaunt man who was racing for the back fence. It hit him, and he turned, snarling.
I raced past her, flipping the wrist blade open. “Stop right there!”
He pulled something out of his pocket and threw it toward me. The thing exploded on the ground. Wolf Briar. Fuck!
My senses reeling, I screamed for Camille to stay back, but those were the only words I managed to get out before Panther took over and I found myself shifting, transforming. The minute I was on all fours, I bounded after the man, who was clambering over the fence. In one leap, I cleared the chain-link and was on his heels. I chased him down the alley and got in a good swipe. The second swipe took him down, and he rolled over on his back, his eyes wide with fear.
I landed on his chest, growling, knowing I needed to keep him alive, but the scent of the woman’s blood was thick on his jacket, and a terrible anger welled up inside—fury that he’d taken her life, her child’s life, that he had put my sister in danger. Without thinking, I caught his throat in my teeth.
“No, no—” He tried to break free, his arms wrapping around my neck, but I clenched harder, and he let go. A crazed look filled his eyes, and I saw my own bloodlust reflected back at me—he was a killer, all right, I could feel it in his soul. And I could feel something else, too—he was Were. A coyote shifter.
Without realizing what I was doing or how I was doing it, I began to read his thoughts, sensing him lash out at Mary Mae, seeing him thrill as he slashed her life away, feeling his relief that she wouldn’t be able to say a word about Paulo. He’d killed her to keep her quiet, and he’d enjoyed every second of it. The man was mad like a devil, and it was his time to go.
Startled, I felt Greta next to me, and she gently rubbed my fur as I held him. She knelt beside me and whispered, “No—it’s not time for you to learn this. Delilah, back away.”
But I ignored her plea and with one garbled growl, I shook the life out of the coyote shifter. As he dropped to the ground, a limp dishrag, I nuzzled him, rolling him over. I felt so alive it terrified me.
CHAPTER 14
By the time I’d licked her blood off of his chest, along with some of his own, Camille found me. She cautiously approached, her hand out.
“Delilah? Delilah, back away. We have to identify him. We have to call Chase because of Mary Mae. It’s time to come back, Delilah.” Her voice was soothing and yet commanding, and I found myself paying attention to her.
I let out a long huff, wanting to maul the freak some more, but then backed off and—this time slowly—changed back into myself. I still had blood on my face and the taste of it in my mouth, but by now it was part of who I was. Though I still got queasy when I thought of Menolly and how she drank blood, I was losing my squeamishness.
Staring down at the body, I cleared my throat. “He killed her. I know it. I felt it—in my Death Maiden aspect.” And even though I said it to soothe myself, in my heart I knew it was true. “The stench of death was on his breath. He killed her, and he enjoyed it.”
Camille stared at me for a moment, then nodded. “Stand guard. I’ve called Chase. I’ll go back and wait with Mary Mae’s body.” She turned to go.
“How did you avoid the Wolf Briar?”
“Thanks to you, I managed to duck out of the way before the vapor caught me. You saved me. That big of a dose could have knocked me out for a good long time. I think I’m going to have to be very careful when we finally go up against this group.” She shrugged. “Either that or be prepared to take the consequences. Maybe Wilbur knows of a vaccine or something.”
As she headed back to the house, I could hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance.
Chase knelt by the dead shifter. “What do I need to know?” The question was pointed. He did not ask me what happened.
“He attacked Mary Mae. We know that much. Her blood’s on his hands, and I’m pretty sure the murder weapon will have his prints on it. He must have dropped it in the house. And then he attacked us with Wolf Briar when we went after him. He’s a coyote shifter, Chase. He’s not human.”
“Any way to prove it?” Chase glanced up at me.
Ask Sharah to do a DNA screen. She’ll prove it. I chased him, and he turned to put up a fight. I shifted into panther form and . . .” I paused, realizing I could be in real trouble here if we couldn’t link him to the murder. I’d basically mowed him down.
Just then, Yugi joined us in the alley, holding up a paper bag. “I’ve got the murder weapon. F
ound it just outside the back door. Bloody prints on it. Looks like the guy was doing something with her blood when Camille and Delilah interrupted him.”
“Probably harvesting it for something.” I let out a long sigh. “These coyote shifters . . . Chase, they aren’t like other Weres. They aren’t like Marion and her group. They’re dangerous and they’re deadly and they have no remorse. They don’t give a flying fuck about anybody else, and they’re power hungry.”
“Why did he kill her, do you think? What was his motive?”
“We were coming over to talk to her about Paulo’s disappearance. He must have found out and decided to kill her before she could talk to us. We think we know why they kidnapped Amber, and what they want.”
I motioned for him to edge away from Yugi. Chase told the FH-CSI team to clean up the scene, and we headed back to the house. Along the way I told him about the Koyanni, shortening it, but keeping the gist.
“So why are they after Amber?”
“Because . . . when Camille did some scrying and Amber’s image came up, both of us recognized what she’s carrying around her neck. One of the spirit seals—and it must be the one that the Trickster first gave, then took away, from Nukpana’s people. Somehow, Amber came across it, and they want it back.”
“Crap. You mean a bunch of crazed coyote shifters possess one of the spirit seals? That’s as bad as the demons getting hold of it.” He leaned against the fence, sighing. “What the hell are we going to do?”
“We check out the magic shop. Meanwhile, you verify that this guy killed Mary Mae for me. I know he did . . . but I want your kind of proof.”
“All right. But tell me this: why is Amber still alive if they got what they wanted?”
I shook my head. “That’s as much your guess as mine. We have no idea. But we can’t press our luck. We have to find her before they decide they don’t need her anymore and kill her. And if the seal’s truly still around her neck, that means they can’t use it right now. I hope.”
As I trudged inside, avoiding the lingering traces of Wolf Briar in the air, Chase headed back to Yugi and his team.
Camille was in the living room, sorting through papers on Mary’s desk. She looked up as I entered the room and pointed to a large leather-bound book in her hand. “Paulo’s Day-Timer. The dude had quite a busy schedule. Appears he was a handyman and kept all of his appointments in here. And he was organized; he checked them off one by one as he finished.” She grinned and waited.
I frowned. “How does that help us?”
“He checked them off when he finished them—both work and recreation appointments.” She waited again, then said, “Cripes . . . Delilah, we can trace back to the last appointment he completed and find out where he was headed next!”
Duh me! I thunked my forehead. “Sorry, still a little blood-crazed from taking down the shifter. Yes, that will be a tremendous help. We can talk to his last contacts and follow the trail from there. Where was the last place he went?”
“Hmm . . . he finished up a job over on Elm Street . . . then . . .” She looked up. “He has an appointment to go jogging in Rodgers Park after that. It’s not checked off. Hmm . . .” She picked up the phone and dialed a number. I started to ask who she was calling but after a moment, she said, “Katrina, this is Camille. Do you know who Paulo used to go jogging with?” A pause. “Really? Thanks.”
Hanging up, she waited a second, then picked up the receiver and dialed again. “Hello, is this Mrs. Davis? Hi, I’m with Franco Repair, and I’m just following up to make sure that Paulo Franco made the appointment at your house . . . let’s see . . . it would have been ten days ago . . . He did? Good, and was everything satisfactory? . . . Oh good. Now, I have one last question, and it may seem strange, but I assure you, I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t necessary. Did Paulo seem odd in any way? . . . Well, the reason I want to know is because he’s missing, and we’re trying to trace his steps after he left your house. We know he returned home, but we were hoping he might have said something . . . You weren’t? You didn’t? Okay, well, thank you for your time.”
“Let me guess: he showed up, did the job, nothing unusual, and she really wanted off the phone.” I grinned. “Trust me, this is why you ambush people in person. They give a lot more clues to what might have happened if you can see their faces. But I think in this case, she was telling the truth. He wouldn’t have checked off her appointment if something had interfered with him on the way home from there.”
“I guess . . . we check Rodgers Park? I might be able to cast a trace spell from there.” She gathered her things, and we headed out to the car, where I flipped open my netbook and pulled up Google Earth.
“Here it is—not far. Let’s head out, and then we’ll drop in at the magic shop.” I let out a long sigh. “I just keep thinking what those maniacs might want with a spirit seal. And the fact that they’re willing to kill in order to cover up their steps isn’t a good sign. Not at all.”
By the time we hit the park, I was getting sick of chasing down leads only to find they were washouts. We stood on the edge of the green, staring at the forested land. How did we ever expect to find anything here? I shook my head, ready to turn and pack it in when Camille held up her hand.
“Wait. I smell something. It’s lingering in the air . . . almost like . . .” She took off at a run, and I followed her. As we headed around a bend in the road toward an opening in the tree line, I started to smell something myself, but for the life of me, couldn’t figure out what it was. Like honey, or flowers, or something appealing. Definitely not Wolf Briar.
We slowed as we entered the copse, surrounded by cedar and maple, fir, and here and there an oak tree. The smell of flowers still lingered, drawing us in, and while it wasn’t a compulsion as in being charmed, the draw was there.
At another bend, a dirt path forked off to the left, away from the sidewalk, and I took over the lead, motioning to my wrist blade. Camille nodded and slipped behind me.
The path wove through a small glen and then, ahead, we saw an opening—though it didn’t look big enough to be a ball field or any such man-made glade. As we came to the edge of the wood and peeked out, there, in the center of a small opening, sat a huge boulder. And atop the boulder rested a creature who looked ethereal, and yet, an edge of danger clung to her.
Her hair was gold, shining in a shaft of cold sunlight that broke through the tree canopy, and she was willowy, tall, and fragile-looking. Yet, when she raised her head and gazed at us with weeping eyes, I could see a cold light behind her stare, an icy, ruthless passion. But she merely motioned for us to enter the glade and pointed to a tree trunk.
We sat, waiting.
After a moment, she spoke. “You are not fully human. You are from the Tribe Who Left?”
Camille and I glanced at one another. That was one way to describe it. “Yes, we’re from Otherworld,” I said. “Our mother was human. Our father is of the Sidhe. And you are . . . ?”
“Dryad. Earthborn. Bound to this wood. Or what there is left of it.” She heaved a great sigh and dried her eyes. “Every day I come here and mourn the loss of the land. And every day I guard what’s left of this patch—this park, as they call it. I observe.”
“We smelled your perfume,” I said gently. “We didn’t mean to intrude on your mourning.”
“You smelled my fragrance? Then we have a connection. Only those who connect with me in some way can smell my violets and freshly mown grass. What is it you seek?” She delicately wrapped one leg beneath her, folding her knee and pulling it to her chest as she balanced on the granite rock.
I knew better than to ask her name. Dryads, like floraeds, were dangerous and unpredictable. They could also be immensely helpful if they chose to be. “We’re seeking information on a man who may have come through this park a fortnight ago. He was a werewolf. He never returned home, and this was the last place he was expected to be. He never checked his appointment off the calendar, so we’re wondering if he made it here
.”
“He would have been jogging, possibly with a friend,” Camille added. “We think a coyote shifter might have abducted him.”
“Coyote shifter?” The dryad’s eyes grew narrow. “You mingle with those scum? Then get the hell out of my garden, or I’ll hurt you.” As she jumped to her feet, standing atop the rock, a great thorny vine came lunging out of the foliage behind her, aiming right toward us. It looked nasty and dangerous, and the thorns were a good four inches long.
“Wait! Please!” We scrambled off the trunk, and I pushed Camille behind me. “We just want information. We aren’t friends of the dark shifters!”
The vine stopped, hesitating. The dryad tapped her foot on the stone. “You say he was a werewolf?”
“Yes,” I said, edging back yet another step. The hovering vine made me nervous, and I didn’t trust the dryad not to send it whaling away on us. “He was a beta wolf . . . he would have been easy prey for those wielding Wolf Briar.”
The vine began to retreat, but only to the edge of the wood. We could still see it. The dryad squatted on the rock, wrapping her arms around her knees. I wondered, briefly, how her flimsy gossamer dress—so sheer it was see-through—could keep her warm in this weather, but she didn’t seem bothered by the chill, and I didn’t want to chance insulting her with another question.
“Wolf Briar.” Her voice was low. “Someone is using Wolf Briar. I smelled it—close to the time you are talking about. It stank up my trees, and I remember trying to hunt down whoever left the trail, but they were quick and not easy to trace. I stopped when I came to the edge of the wood.”
Harvest Hunting Page 19
