Blood Politics

Page 11

Slick, Mack. Real slick.
She flicked back her hair languorously and peered at me. “It’s not wise to take skullcap in large quantities.”
“Yeah, it doesn’t taste very good either,” I commented wryly. “Anyway, enough about me. I take it you are Atlanteia?”
The dryad lifted an imaginary skirt and curtsied. “And you are Mackenzie Smith.”
“Please, call me Mack. And tell me what I’m doing here in the middle of the night.”
I hadn’t meant to sound quite so sharp, but I was pissed off with myself for not realising that the TemperSoothe that I gulped down earlier would have caused me to feel this unwell. Atlanteia, fortunately, appeared unfazed.
“It has reached our notice that you have been a friend to the dryads of late.”
Ah hah, so I was right then. “You mean with the mages.”
She inclined her head. “They are desisting from their torture of our more vulnerable citizens.”
“They weren’t really trying to torture you,” I stated, feeling the need to at least give the mages some fair representation. “They didn’t realise, I think, that what they were doing was harmful. I’m glad they’ve stopped though.”
“Regardless, it was your intervention that created this outcome. We are most appreciative.”
I felt uncomfortable. I hadn’t really done all that much. “Um, thanks. It wasn’t that big a deal to be honest.”
“It was to us,” the dryad said softly. “That is why I am contacting you now. We need help and we think that we can trust you to provide it.”
I did my best not to let my surprise show and thought briefly of Alex, my old mage buddy. Trying to help him out a few months ago hadn’t worked out all that well. I might not be the dryads’ best choice, despite Atlanteia’s belief to the contrary. My thoughts must have been more transparent than I realised, however.
“You are concerned,” the dryad stated.
“If you’re in trouble, then there are probably other people who can help you better than I can,” I said honestly, “as flattered as I am that you would think of me.”
“We don’t trust those people. Gold might encourage their intentions otherwise but we have no need of money and therefore have none to give.”
I thought of Corrigan. As much as it galled me to consider it, he would probably agree to help them out without any monetary compensation in return. It would suit his ego to be seen to be friendly with other members of the Otherworld and at least he’d have the might of the Pack behind him to help.
“I can put in a good word for you with the Brethren. If they give you their word, then they won’t break it.”
“We don’t want the shifters. Not the kind of shifters you mean, anyway.” Atlanteia’s gaze turned hard.
Fucking hell. “You know what I am,” I said, irritated that yet another group of people were aware of my so-called secret.
She shrugged elegantly. “We see many things. The trees whisper secrets to us. They like to gossip.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” I had a sudden vision of a circle of oaks tattling to each other about the foibles of the world, swaying in some bizarre version of Chinese whispers.
“The evergreens are the worst,” Atlanteia said, as if reading my thoughts. “Something to do with never resting thoroughly no matter what the season is.”
Bloody hell. I’d never feel comfortable in a forest again.
“I still don’t think I am the best person to help you out,” I said firmly.
“We do,” the dryad placed a pale hand on the aspen next to her. “The trees do.”
“Well far be it for me to argue with a piece of wood,” I said sarcastically.
Atlanteia’s gaze turned disapproving. “We will help you in return.”
“It’s not that I need something in return, it’s that I might not be the best person to help you in the first place. Things don’t always work out that well when I’m around.”
“We have faith in your abilities. Besides,” she flicked her hand casually across the night air, “you don’t know what it is we are asking yet.”
I folded my arms and exhaled heavily. “Okay, what is it?”
“Will you aid us?”
“If I can. “ I said, relenting. “But you have to tell me what it is you need help with first.”
Shadows crossed her face. “Very well. We have a small community near Shrewsbury at a place called Haughmond Hill. Dryads have lived there peacefully for hundreds of years.”
“But?” I prodded.
“But,” Atlanteia sighed, “in recent years the woods lost their protected status as the planting of some non-indigenous trees drove out the wildlife. And despite the area’s heritage and history, even for the humans, there is a developer who is aiming to convert the land into a holiday home park.”
“And cut down a lot of trees in the process?” I guessed.
She nodded solemnly. “We don’t understand how he is getting around the local council. On previous occasions such as these we have managed to discourage such developments through what little power we have. And despite the humans’ rampaging need to destroy the world that they live in, they have for the most part left our small enclaves alone. This time nothing we do is working.” She pushed back the green hair that fell in an elegant wave against her face. “We’re not like other species, Mackenzie. Mystical forces bind each of us together, like invisible roots. Our sisters are in pain and, confined here in London as I am, makes it impossible for me to help them on my own.”
“Invisible roots?” This was getting weirder and weirder.
“It’s complicated.”
I stared at her. Apparently too complicated for her to bother explaining it to me in any more detail. Whatever. I guessed it wasn’t really important. “What makes you think I’ll be able to stop this?”
“There are many human activists who we have used in the past to aid our cause. This time, for reasons unknown, we are unable to rouse them into action. However, someone with your potential power, and knowledge of the human world, could do so. Encourage those groups to fight for us. “ She smiled humourlessly. “Not literally fight, of course. We are not keen on violence.”
“And that’s it?” It all seemed just a little bit too easy.
“That’s it.” Something flickered in the dryad’s eyes. I had the sneaking suspicion that there was more to this than she was telling me. However, it seemed to be a difficult proposition to refuse. Get some long-haired hippy types to protest against the building of a holiday camp? Not only did it sound do-able, it also didn’t require any fire-breathing or fire-fighting on my part. The potential of anyone actually getting hurt – or worse – in the process was miniscule.
I pursed my lips and nodded thoughtfully. “Okay then. I’ll help you out.”
“Time is a factor. The development is due to start clearing the land on Monday.”
“Monday? For fuck’s sake! You could have given me a little more time to work with. That’s four sodding days away!”
“We had been hoping that things would not progress this far so quickly.”
“I’ll bet,” I said sarcastically, tiny flames of anticipation zipping along my veins at the very short time scale I had to work with. “Fine. If that’s the time I have, then that’s what it’ll have to be. I’ll travel to Shrewsbury first thing in the morning.” I still had Balud’s little problem to sort out too, but I thought I had a way around that.
A slow smile spread across Atlanteia’s face. “We won’t forget this, Mackenzie.”
“It’s Mack,” I repeated. Before the words had left my mouth however, the dryad had melted away back into the safety of whichever nearby tree she had sprung from. Alrighty then.
“See you,” I called out softly, and rather pointedly.
Nothing answered back other than the quiet rustle of leaves as a light breeze ran through them. I shrugged to myself and turned away, heading back towards the village. I wasn’t quite sure what I’d been expecting of her, but it certainly hadn’t been a plea for help. I had to admit rather selfishly that it felt good to be needed. The trees were casting elongated shadows across the path, making me wonder exactly how many dryads there were inhabiting this park and whether Atlanteia was their de facto leader. The politics of tree nymphs were not something I’d ever previously considered. Or indeed the politics of trees either. I chewed my bottom lip and cast a wary eye up at the branches overhead.
“So,” I said aloud, my voice sounding strange in the relative silence of my surroundings, “if you lot gossip so much and see so much, do you know who really killed JFK?”
The trees didn’t answer. Maybe they couldn’t communicate across continents and didn’t know.
“Is Lord Lucan still alive?”
There was an unremarkable lack of response. My head was starting to feel woozy again so I looked back down to the path, trying to make sure that I didn’t trip on any low lying plants or roots as I walked.
“First sign of madness, Mack,” I told myself. Although that probably wasn’t accurate. The first sign of madness was no doubt overdosing on a fucking herbal remedy.
I was still musing over my innate stupidity when, without warning, an arm grabbed me from behind, latching itself around my neck. Instant heat sparked up within the pit of my intestines and I kicked out backwards with as much force as I could muster. My reactions must have been dulled, however, and my movements slow, as my attacker easily dodged it, and began to squeeze harder until I was fighting for breath. Fuck. I forced myself to stay calm and not panic.
Whoever was behind me was tight up against my back, making it difficult to effectively manoeuvre. Thinking quickly, I used my left hand to clutch at the suffocating hold around my neck, then lashed out with my right to where I assumed my attacker’s head was, slamming my palm upwards in a bid to connect with their nose. As expected, my hand was blocked with ease, but as soon as I felt the answering smack, I wrenched my left hand upwards and behind, getting purchase on the hilt of one of Balud’s daggers that was strapped back to my back and managing to slide it out, twisting the blade as I did so in order to slash whoever was brave enough to think they could take me on. There was a hiss of pain as my plan worked, and the chokehold loosened, allowing me to pull myself quickly out from under it and spin to meet them head on.