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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, stil a little blood-crazed from taking down the shifter. Yes, that wil be a tremendous help. We can talk to his last contacts and fol ow 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 cal ing but after a moment, she said, "Katrina, this is Camil e. Do you know who Paulo used to go jogging with?" A pause. "Real y? Thanks."
Hanging up, she waited a second, then picked up the receiver and dialed again. "Hel o, is this Mrs. Davis? Hi, I'm with Franco Repair, and I'm just fol owing 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? . . . Wel , 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, wel , thank you for your time."
"Let me guess: he showed up, did the job, nothing unusual, and she real y 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 tel ing 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 spel from there." She gathered her things, and we headed out to the car, where I flipped open my netbook and pul ed up Google Earth.
"Here it is--not far. Let's head out, and then we'l 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 wil ing to kil in order to cover up their steps isn't a good sign. Not at al ."
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 Camil e held up her hand.
"Wait. I smel something. It's lingering in the air . . . almost like . . ." She took off at a run, and I fol owed her. As we headed around a bend in the road toward an opening in the tree line, I started to smel 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 smel of flowers stil 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. Camil e nodded and slipped behind me.
The path wove through a smal glen and then, ahead, we saw an opening--though it didn't look big enough to be a bal 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 smal 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 wil owy, tal , 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 ful y human. You are from the Tribe Who Left?"
Camil e 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 cal it. I observe."
"We smel ed your perfume," I said gently. "We didn't mean to intrude on your mourning."
"You smel ed my fragrance? Then we have a connection. Only those who connect with me in some way can smel my violets and freshly mown grass.
What is it you seek?" She delicately wrapped one leg beneath her, folding her knee and pul ing 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," Camil e 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 hel out of my garden, or I'l 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 Camil e 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."
