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While Baptiste’s friends stiffened and warily watched his approach, Daphne didn’t flinch when he put his paw-like hand on her shoulder. In a low rumble, he stated, “These woods are safe now. The Pack recognizes you as friends.”
“I wouldn’t say safe quite yet,” Marissa remarked, nimbly leaping down. “If your Pack is in the mood to hunt something, send them after Circe’s mutants. They’re all over the forest.”
He glanced at Gordy, one of the older pack members. “Find the intruders.”
A mottle-furred Gordy dipped his head before yipping to the others.
Before they all ran off, Daphne interjected, “Don’t send all of them. Some of the wolves should check on those felled by the mighty oak, and we need to protect the children.”
“I’m almost out of magic, but I can still fire a gun, so I’ll go,” Marissa volunteered.
Nelly shoved at Clive. “You’re out of juice too. Take this and go with her.” She handed him a revolver. Some men might have argued, but Clive had always had the greatest respect for Nelly, a fighter who didn’t need a man to protect her.
As the wolves and the magic users moved off, Daphne flipped back her wild mane of hair and with eyes gleaming said, “Time put an end to a witch.”
He couldn’t help a wolfish grin that turned into a howl that filled the sky.
Time to hunt.
Chapter 20
Daphne had never hunted with someone before, and despite the danger, there was a certain playful excitement to it. As she raced through the forest, her fleet feet always finding purchase, he kept pace. A bigger, lumbering shape that nonetheless had a grace to his motions.
Poor Nelly couldn’t keep up, but they didn’t dare slow. Circe couldn’t be allowed to escape.
The trees helped her by rustling to show her the path taken by the witch. A good thing, since Baptiste growled, “She’s masked her scent.”
But Circe couldn’t hide her flight. The forest knew what she’d done in Palusville and understood if allowed to go free, she’d spew her poison again.
Mutants tried to guard Circe’s retreat, their misshapen bodies plummeting suddenly from trees and bursting from the ground. They even popped out from behind wide trunks.
Daphne barely paused. She slashed with her daggers and kept going. Baptiste roared as he swung and handled those who dared get too close. A distant pop let her know Nelly remained on their heels.
The forest thinned as the rocky ground began to rise, the slope of it turning steep and forcing her to crane, looking upward in time to see a floating Circe alight atop the bluff. The witch stood with arms outstretched while a brisk gust of wind whipped around her, whirling through her hair. She shot a few lightning bolts into the sky and Daphne didn’t understand why until she heard something caw in the distance.
“Too late,” Circe cackled, catching sight of Daphne who had begun to ascend. “Here comes my ride.”
While a fast climber, Daphne knew she would never reach the witch in time because the second cry from the animal she’d called sounded much closer. She couldn’t let her get away. Not after all she’d done. Not considering all she’d do.
I have to stop her.
The trees atop the bluff, few and scraggly as they were, swayed in the breeze that tugged at Circe’s hair. They gave Daphne an idea. The Mother might not be present, but Daphne was. A dryad who’d once been a sapling but became something more. A fighter. A survivor. A Paladin in charge of Earth’s defense.
And people in charge were supposed to give orders.
Daphne braced herself on a ledge, opened her arms wide, and shouted, “Brothers and sisters of the seed and root. I command you in the Mother’s name. I beseech you on behalf of those the witch tortured. Help me to stop a grave evil.”
The forest all around went still as the trees listened.
A suddenly nervous Circe sputtered, “There’s nothing you can do.”
“Is that so? Let’s find out shall we.” Daphne smiled as she said, “Mulch her.”
The boughs closest to Circe reached out with spindly tips that tangled in her hair. Circe exclaimed and slapped at them, huffing, “I don’t think so. Burn, you fucking twigs.”
The witch ignited the limbs touching her, their dry bark making them burst into bright flames, but that didn’t stop the trees from fighting. Roots shot up from the ground and wrapped around the witch’s ankles, yanking her down before she could scream. More wiggling tendrils emerged to whip around her body, binding her arms tight, covering her mouth, immobilizing her, and stifling what remained of her magic.
Daphne didn’t startle when a tree at her back slid a branch around her waist and lifted, elongating and bending that it might deposit the dryad atop the bluff to stand by the bound witch. Daphne knelt by Circe, whose wide eyes could do nothing but blink in fear. Good. It had been a long time in coming. At the same time, Daphne knew better than to think the witch would repent. Some evils would never change.
