The tricky passage between the two claws and up to her cove seemed easy after escaping the whirlpool. Ray waded ashore and tied up to a tree. Kayla dug her pack out of the waterproof bin and slid it onto her shoulders before climbing up on the side of the patrol boat to jump to shore.
Her stomach dropped into her boots. Too far. No way to get around getting wet.
“Hold on.” Ray waded back into the water and reached up for her. “Come on. I’ll carry you. No sense both of us getting wet.”
“My hero,” she said with ridiculous relief. She reached down and braced herself on his shoulders as his arms circled her thighs. He turned and carried her to the bank.
“Thanks,” she said, pulling out of his grasp, trying to ignore the electric sensations his touch evoked, hoping he didn’t notice the hitch in her breath or the way her fingers lingered on his arms as he set her down.
She curled her hands into fists. She couldn’t go there. And not just because he’d laugh in her face. If by some miracle he did respond positively to her, once he actually saw her, game over. Knowing how he felt about supernaturals, she knew he’d be repulsed. So many humans were.
Not that he’d ever be attracted to her. Just imagining it was an exercise in futility.
Focusing on the present reality, Kayla slipped a glow rock from her pocket. Made of amber, it contained a light spell that once activated, turned the rock into a fragment of sunshine.
She led the way to the narrow track she’d created over the years—in human form. She came here regularly to help Nessa and to renew her amulets. She had the one she’d drained at the fountain in her pocket and hoped she’d have a chance to get the drying spell refreshed.
The path wound through the trees and around stone outcroppings. In making her path she’d avoided getting too close to any of the inhabited trees, with the exception of a few that she couldn’t get around. Mostly the dryads didn’t mind her walking through, but she’d never brought a human with her before. She didn’t know how they would feel about him.
Her first warning that something wasn’t right came in the rustling leaves that sounded almost like a swarm of bees. No wind blew to disturb them.
“Stay close,” she said over her shoulder to Ray. If anything went sideways, she’d invoke the water amulet on her wrist, but dryads were generally peaceful unless somebody threatened their trees. Then they turned into a violent force of nature.
“What is it?” Ray’s voice was a hushed rasp.
Kayla didn’t answer. She didn’t have time to answer. Massive tree roots burst up from the ground, weaving together and caging them in an upside-down wooden basket.
“What the hell?”
She was pleased to see that Ray had enough sense to keep his gun holstered despite their unexpected prison.
“Dryads,” she said in a low voice. “They’ve never bothered me before. Something’s going on.” Oh good, Kayla, way to state the obvious.
The light from the amulet streamed through the little breaks in the cage, casting irregular shadows around them. Movement along the trunk of a big oak tree caught her attention. A ghostly form stepped out of the wood and grew solid. It appeared to be a man with long hair, wearing pants made of woven leaves and blackberry vines complete with thorns.
The dryad straightened and shook himself, his bare chest a grayish brown much like the bark of his tree. Two female dryads joined him though Kayla didn’t see where they came from. As they walked forward and Kayla could see them better, she noticed their eyes were a vivid green the color of moss and matched the color of their hair.
They halted outside the cage. Though their expressions appeared serene, Kayla sensed a deep flow of anger and fear.
“Is there something we can help you with?” Kayla asked, putting a hand on Ray’s forearm to keep him quiet. Dryads could be a touchy bunch and were sometimes easily offended. Using manners always paid off with them.
“We have need of you,” said the male dryad.
“Us? For what?”
The dryad on the left shook her head. “Just you,” she said, her gaze skewering Kayla.
Foreboding twisted in her stomach. She couldn’t imagine that they wanted her to salvage something for them. The only reason they could possibly want her was for her other form. She hadn’t been able to hide it from them when she dug the channel, nor when she sometimes swam here and emerged from the water to dry and transform. She’d known she couldn’t conceal it from everyone, and this place seemed safe enough since the dryads didn’t exactly talk to a lot of other people.
“For what?” Ray asked, his tone more than a little bit belligerent.
The female dryad on the right gave him a long look and then shifted back to Kayla. “Someone is killing us,” she said, her announcement all the more chilling because she said it the same way Kayla might have said she wanted bacon for breakfast.
“Chopping your trees?” Kayla frowned. The witchkin on Spider Island protected each other. Anybody caught attacking a tree would be summarily killed. If not by the dryads themselves, then by the witches or any one of the hundred or more resident species living on the island.
“No,” the male dryad said. “Come.”
The roots in front of Kayla raveled apart and pulled her forward away from Ray while other roots reformed behind her encasing him once again. The roots let go of Kayla, and the dryads beckoned her to follow them.
“He comes with us,” she said. If they knew what she was, if they wanted her for what she was, then they would know better than to argue. They didn’t. Swiftly all the roots retracted into the ground leaving behind no evidence that they had ever erupted.
Ray said nothing as he joined Kayla, but grabbed her hand as she walked ahead of him, his skin hot on hers.
They turned east off the track Kayla had made. The bushes and undergrowth pressed aside to give them a path. The leaves in the trees continued to rattle and shake, and an eerie chorus of low moans coiled around them as they walked. The hair on the back of Kayla’s neck rose.
The three dryads led them into a large grove full of trees Kayla didn’t recognize. They were taller and larger around than any trees she’d ever seen except for the sequoias in California. They blotted out the sky. A silvery glow emanated from ruffles of fungi and moss as well as trailing flowers, illuminating the grove with a mystical light. It was magical, like walking into a fairytale. Only this was a very grim fairytale.
Their three escorts stopped at the base of a silver-skinned tree. Its leaves had started to curl and dry, and its trunk zigzagged with cracks, a darkening stain spreading from them over the trunk. But that wasn’t what caught Kayla’s attention.
A male dryad had been pegged to the tree with steel spikes. His upper body showed no wounds, but the same couldn’t be said for the lower half. One of his legs had been chopped off and taken. Greenish-black blood dripped into a puddle on the ground.
Who had done this? Why had they taken the leg? Possibly even more disturbing, how had the killer drawn the dryad out of his tree? Kayla could see no signs of chopping or cutting or fire. Those were the main threats to dryads because it harmed the armor of their trees. But while inside their trees, they were largely impervious.
Magic had to be involved. She couldn’t see any other explanation for the scene.
“Do you have any witnesses?” She squatted down to look at the ground. Nothing disturbed the leaf meal. It didn’t look as if anybody had been through the area in years.
“It was not seen,” one of the female dryads said, her voice shaking.
Kayla frowned up at them and then glanced at the surrounding trees where other dryads surely lived. “How is that possible?”
“We do not know. All we remember is that all was right and then Nedir was like this.” The other female dryad gestured toward the body with hooked fing
ers.
Kayla stood, trying to understand. “You’re saying that everything was fine, including Nedir, and then like that”—Kayla snapped her fingers—“he was suddenly here on his tree, dead?”
“That is exactly so,” said the male.
“And you saw no one come or go?” That was from Ray.
The dryads glanced at him warily. “We did not,” the male said, directing his answer at Kayla.
“Did you sense anything?” The question was remarkably vague, but then Kayla had no idea what a dryad could see or feel when inside their trees. Did they sleep? Did they feel footsteps on the dirt near their trees? Could they smell?
“It was . . . as if we were not awake,” said one of the females. “As if we were all in winter hibernation and all the world grew muffled around us.” She hesitated and then added, “I dreamed of pain and fear, and I heard a voice chanting words of power in a language I did not understand.”
The other two nodded. “For us as well,” said the male dryad.
“For all of us in the grove,” the other female said. “We could not wake. We could not feel our trees.” She shuddered.
Kayla could only imagine what that might have been like, trapped and unable to move or speak. Like being paralyzed or buried alive.
“Then what happened?”
“The feeling left and we woke,” said the male dryad. “We felt ill.”
“What do you mean by ill?” Kayla asked.
“Burning and pain,” spoke the male again. “Here and here.” He touched a hand to his forehead and then his belly. The other two dryads nodded affirmation.
“How long did the pain and burning last?”
“It is still,” said one of the female dryads. She shook her head in consternation and worry. “We do not know what has happened. We do not know if our trees are sick.”
“Kayla, look at this.”
Ray had gone around to the other side of the tree and pointed upward as she joined him. About six feet up, a hole had been bored through the tree. Curls of sawdust clung to the bark where they had fallen. Clear sap leaked out of the wound as if the tree bled. The three dryads made a high-pitched moaning sound, and the angry sound of leaves rattling increased.
She turned to the three dryads. “Why did you want me to see all this?”
They faced her, eyes full of rage and confusion. The male spoke first
“You are the Guardian of the River and the city. You are Justice. You are Vengeance. You are Law.”
Kayla blinked at them. “Come again?”
She was what? She rubbed her temples with her fingertips and licked her dry lips. Clearly they referred to her other form, or at least she assumed so. She felt Ray’s sharp gaze on her, but couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
“You are the Guardian. You will find the killer,” one of the females said, clearly bothered by her response.
“I’m not a cop anymore,” Kayla said, knowing full well that the three didn’t care. She was buying time until her brain could catch up.
“We do not need a human policeman,” said the male reprovingly. “A human is not for witchkin. They do not understand us, nor do they wish to.”
“Human police cannot stand against the one who did this,” added one of the females.
But she could. Or so they thought. She wanted to deny that she was a guardian of anything or that she was any grandiose notion of justice or law or vengeance. The trouble was she couldn’t possibly win that argument. The dryads had made up their minds and would not be talked out of it. She was still debating how to answer when one of the women spoke up again.
“There have been other killings in the city,” she said. “Always witchkin, always brutal. Nobody hunts the killer who hunts us.” The last sentence came with a wealth of accusation.
Other killings? Kayla’s mind flashed to the three bodies pinned on the wall of the Keller Fountain. Had the same killer slaughtered them? Did it even matter?
Back at the fountain she had decided that she had to be the one to find that killer and the families of the victims and bring them the news of what had happened to their loved ones. It didn’t bring much comfort, but it did end the unending cycle of hope, disappointment, and fear. It let families and loved ones move on instead of trapping them in the worst moments of their lives.
Someone had to get the answers. Someone had to get justice.
“What killings? How many?”
“Too many,” said the same female who had last spoken, her eyes turbulent with emotion.
“I need to talk to anybody with information about these murders,” Kayla said.
“Kayla—” The tone of Ray’s voice indicated disapproval.
She looked at him. “Who else is going to do it?” And even though she tried to keep the accusation out of her voice, it ran through the words like a hot wire.
Ray scowled and folded his arms across his chest. “No matter what they say about you being a guardian—whatever the hell that means—you’re not some kind of superhero. Going after this nut job is too dangerous. You don’t have any backup, and you don’t have the resources to investigate. You’ll end up dead.”
She smiled, not taking any offense. Truth was, if she were still human, he’d be right. “I’m all they’ve got,” she said, then turned back to the dryads. “How do you know about the murders in the city?”
“The trees tell us,” said the male. “And many come to this island for answers to their questions and to get help to protect themselves.”
“Who helps?” Kayla asked. “The witches?”
The second female dryad nodded. “They seek protection spells. Speak to the witch known as Raven. She will tell you what is known.”
“She’s in town?”
A nod.
Ray had continued to quietly seethe throughout this conversation, but now he could no longer contain himself. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Kayla?” he said, grabbing her arm and turning her to face him. His eyes glinted, and his jaw flexed with knotted emotions. “First of all, you do remember your grandmother and aunt? They don’t have a lot of time. We need to find the kidnapper.”
Kayla resisted the urge to yank herself away from him. Not because she minded his hold on her, but because she didn’t and because he was right, and because it didn’t change the fact that she had to hunt down this killer before he killed again.
“I haven’t forgotten,” she said. “But this can’t wait either.” She gave a little shrug. “Sleep is overrated anyway, right?”
His hand on her arm tightened. “You can’t—”
Kayla set her hand in the middle of his chest, stopping his words.
“Yes, I can. I have to. If I don’t, nobody else will.”
“You aren’t a cop anymore, Kayla. This isn’t your responsibility. You didn’t want that responsibility. You left.” Bitterness spun through the threads of concern.
“A girl can change her mind,” she said lightly, cringing inwardly and expecting an instant tirade. She got it.
“Just like that?” He grabbed her other arm, his hands tightening as he pulled her closer. “You’ll risk your actual family to take on a case that could get you killed?”
She tugged out of his grasp. “You heard them. A lot of witchkin have been killed. Who else is going to stop it? No one else is going to investigate. Only me. You’ve always said it—the strong have to protect the weak. That’s not just what we do, that’s who we are, whether we wear a uniform or not.”
He thrust her away and raked his hands through his hair. “This guy’s a psychotic killer with magical abilities. It’s David against Goliath, and you don’t have a sling or a stone. You’ll be killed, or worse.”
It was possible to kill her, she knew. In her human form she was as weak physi
cally as any other human. So there was definitely risk, because she couldn’t go running around in her alternate form without causing panic and mayhem. But she had the water amulet to help her turn in mere seconds, and Portland was full of water in the shape of creeks, lakes, ponds, rivers, and bathtubs. If she got into trouble, she’d be able to change quickly.
“I’ll handle it.”
Ray scraped his fingers through his hair, staring at her in disbelief. “Seriously? And just how the fuck are you going to handle this crazy motherfucker?”
“She is the Guardian of the River,” repeated a female dryad, as if that explained everything.
“What the hell does that even mean?” Ray’s eyes bored into Kayla’s.
“I’m not entirely sure.”
“Then why are you buying this bullshit?”
“I told you—nobody else will do it, and I am the most qualified and prepared.”
“To deal with magic? Bullshit.”
He shook his head and made a sound of exasperation, stomping away and then back again. Kayla watched in surprise. Ray was always so cool and so contained and why he should get so freaked out over what could happen to her after all she put him through these past years and the way she left, she didn’t know. She got that he was worried about her—he was a good man, after all, and they’d been friends—but this seemed excessive. Not that she had time to think about it.
Before Ray could protest further, she turned back to the dryads. “I will stop this psycho.”
The three accepted her promise with a solemn nod, and then turned and walked away, disappearing into the trees.
Kayla took a deep breath and let it out, then picked her pack up from where she’d dropped it and slid it on. “Maybe this Raven witch can tell us something about the symbols we found at Grandmother’s house, too. Kill two birds with one stone.”
The Witchkin Murders Page 16