Page 60 of Dryad’s Treasure

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered leaving. That thought had lasted just about as long as it would take to say the words. It was there and dismissed just as quickly. The very thought of leaving Martin made me physically ill. Will-o’-the-wisps didn’t have a word for those we mated with, and as far as I knew, we didn’t have the equivalent to the bond shifters had. Maybe anchoring was our version of that special bond. So few of us had either needed or chosen to anchor ourselves that I doubted my species knew for certain. At the end of the day, the semantics didn’t much matter. All I knew was what I felt deep in my core. Martin was it for me. He was everything I never knew I wanted or needed wrapped into a deliciously handsome package. Despite what was currently going on around us, I couldn’t help but think I was the luckiest will-o’-the-wisp out there.

Mulling over the question of leaving, it suddenly occurred to me that Henry had also chosen to stay. “You could leave too. I doubt Lazarus would stop you.”

“Not likely.” Henry sniffed, and I couldn’t tell if it was in annoyance or sadness. “This is my home. House dwellers don’t cut and run when things get dicey.”

I thought our current situation was a bit more than dicey but chose not to argue. Turning another corner, a seemingly endless hall stretched out before me, I asked, “Have you traveled every inch of the compound?”

Henry gave what I imagined was a thoughtful pause. “Not sure. I’ve logged a lot of hours roaming around, but I can’t say I’ve stepped foot in every nook and cranny. Maybe I’ve seen it all, and maybe I haven’t. Can’t rightly comment on an area I might not even know exists.”

That sounded fair and I said just as much. “I’d like to see an aerial view of the place or maybe some architectural plans.”

Henry cackled. “Good luck with that one. The only one who knew the entire layout was the asshat that created it, and Huxley’s long gone. May his sleeping soul never rest in peace.” Henry spat the last part of that sentence with a level of vitriol I rarely encountered with him.

Growing quiet, I felt Henry’s subtle weight shift on my shoulder, a slight tug on my hair quickly following suit before he asked, “We just walkin’ to walk?”

Considering I was the one walking and Henry was just hitching a ride, I answered, “My brain’s too busy to rest.”

“Hmm, I know what ya mean. My wanderin’ mind gets my legs movin’ too.”

Another grin lifted my lips. I really would need to turn around soon before I became hopelessly lost. I should have brought my cell phone. Since I didn’t consider my phone part of my personal treasure, it didn’t travel with me in my wisp form; therefore, I didn’t often have it on me. Considering I had no intention of allowing my wisp form free rein, I should have tucked it in my pocket. I had known a will-o’-the-wisp that did consider their smart phone part of their treasure. The phone traveled with them in wisp form, but that was hell on the electronics and the phone became little more than a paperweight.

“What do ya think Huxley meant to do with all them buzzweeds?” Henry asked, pulling me from my cell phone musings. “Pixie magic.” Henry made a sad, little huff. “I can’t even imagine doin’ somethin’ like that.”

“Thankfully, I doubt many could.” Ogres were known to capture pixies. For an ogre, pixie dust was an addictive drug. It gave them a high they wound up chasing all their lives. Pixies faded during captivity and, if not found and recovered in time, died. While tragic, one could at least understand that the addicted ogre didn’t intentionally harm the pixie. It was a disease that led them to perform such a heinous act.

Did that truly make it better? Probably not from the pixie’s point of view. I suppose the difference to me was that it wasn’t maliciously done. What Huxley had done… There was no understanding that.

I focused on Henry’s question. It was something Martin and I’d discussed earlier. “Martin thinks it was a defensive move.”

“How so? I mean, how would it work?”

I started to shake my head but realized that might dislodge Henry. “We’re not really sure. Pixie magic is mostly defensive, so protecting Huxley himself or maybe the Magical Usage Compound seems most likely.”

“Yeah, I get that, but what’s the conduit?”

My heart fluttered, an ache starting in my chest. I knew what Henry was asking. “Could Agent Frost do it?” Frost—or Phlox, as he was also known as—was a half nature pixie, half Pallas’s cat-shifter. “It seems like you’d need a pixie to wield pixie magic.”

“Hmm, don’t know. Doesn’t seem likely as he’s a nature pixie and only half at that. Not sure how specific pixie magic is.”

Martin and I didn’t know either. “Martin seems to think it would need to be a magical being, but not one that has a lot of magic of their own. I think he said something about needing a large receptacle capable of holding the magic without competing with one’s own.” I shrugged, jostling Henry and earning a few scathing curse words. I offered a half-ass “sorry,” before adding, “Neither one of us is sure. Martin said Keir will probably contact Frost when this business with the wyvern is done. If Frost doesn’t know, maybe he knows a pixie he can ask.”

“Ya know, if it weren’t such a clusterfuck, it’d be interestin’ countin’ up all the species Huxley managed to piss off and screw over.”

“That number is expansive.”

“And ever growin’,” Henry lamented.

I couldn’t disagree. “So far, I don’t believe we can add will-o’-the-wisps to that inauspicious group.”

Henry grunted. “Give it time. I’m sure somethin’ will show up. I don’t think Huxley met a species he didn’t see a way to manipulate and suck dry.”

It was an uncharitable yet sadly true sentiment. I was gearing up to agree when the hall vibrated. The ripples were small and barely felt, yet there all the same. I stood stock-still, arms stretched out and feet planted a little wider. “Did you feel that?” I asked Henry.

“Sure as fuck did.”

“Earthquake?” Did Minnesota have earthquakes? I wasn’t certain.

“Not likely.”