Raising Innocence: A Rylee Adamson Novel(57)

“Not much longer. As soon as it’s light out we can get moving. Can you hang on till then?”
She nodded and hunkered down deeper inside my jacket. My t-shirt was soaked through and my skin was bumpy with gooseflesh. But I’d survive. I was loathe to give up, but without being able to Track the Druid, I had no idea how I’d find her.
I closed my eyes and tried to think happy thoughts. There weren’t many of them.
Jack Feen’s words drifted slowly back to me . . .
You can Track groups of people, groups of supernaturals. It’s why the vampires want you.
My eyes snapped open. And if I could use that now? Maybe I could find the Druid on my own.
I wasn’t sure how to start other than the way I would with a child. Druids were assholes, notoriously difficult to deal with, went out of their way to be hermit-like, secretive. I let the traits I knew them to have coalesce inside my mind, creating a ‘picture’ of what a Druid should be.
My Tracking ability seemed to hover over the created picture and then with a crack of what felt like lightning through my mind, I could feel the Druid as clearly as if I’d had a picture.
“Bingo.” I stood, my body stiff from sitting crouched under the trees for several hours. “Come on, Pamela, I think I’ve found us a way out of here.”
She didn’t argue, just got groggily to her feet, slipping her fingers into my belt loop. “I don’t think I can make a light,” she said.
“Don’t need one.” I answered, striding off in the direction of the Druid. Different than Tracking someone I had a picture and a name of; in some ways, this was clearer, cleaner. The sense of ‘what’ the Druid was hummed inside my head, yet I had no definite emotions or feelings. I couldn’t tell if the Druid was happy or sad, alive or dead. In its own way, this kind of Tracking was far easier. Or, at least, less emotional. The downside was I suspected it could be any Druid, not necessarily the one we were looking for.
We made our way through a thin patch of trees, over an easily jumpable creek, up the embankment, and then we were looking down on a bare field. I guess there was a part of me that figured we were going to stumble on Stonehenge. Of course, if it were that easy to find a real Druid, the humans would have done it long ago.
The creek we’d hopped coursed out through the bare field, dividing it in half completely and as we watched, the sun rose, highlighting the other niceties of the place. Like the dozen Druids kneeling around an altar.
“I don’t want to go down there,” Pamela said, her voice full of fear. No doubt the altar brought back memories of the priests.
“Good, cause I want you to stay here.” I looked around. “Actually, I want you to climb that tree and wait for me or Will. Got it?”
Her blue eyes, so old for her years lifted to mine. “And if neither of you come?”
Bugger, that was a good question.
“Wait till they” —I pointed at the group below us— “are all gone. Then do your best to track your way back to the road.”
She nodded, and I boosted her into the lower branches of the tree. At a distance, no one would even see her wearing my leather jacket and dark jeans. Only her hair would stand out, but there was nothing to do for that now.
I only held one sword, the other still strapped to my back, the leather ties squeaking in protest with the wet.
Keeping my gait easy, I sauntered down the slope and walked toward the still kneeling group of Druids.
Doing a quick count, I saw that there were thirteen, not an even dozen as my first glance over had shown me. They were wearing light grey robes with hoods that came up and over their heads, draping down past their eyes almost to their mouths. No point in trying to surprise them, at least one of them knew we were coming. Or at least, I assumed one of them did.
I stopped about fifteen feet away from the kneeling group, put the tip of my sword into the ground and leaned on it. “Hey, which one of you knows Will?”
There was a nice overall stiffening, as the group shifted to stare at me, one at a time from under their hoods. I stared right back. Druids, for all their assholeness, were not generally prone to violence or death magic.
I truly hoped my foggy recollections of them were correct.
One Druid stood and even with the loose hanging robe I could see she was a woman. A ridiculously well endowed, large woman.
She flipped her hood back and my jaw dropped. The lady in red, the woman who’d been trying to take Pamela from me and put her in foster care, was a gods be damned Druid.
“Dr. Daniels, I presume?” I gave her a salute.
“Truly, you have a knack for causing grief, Tracker,” she snapped. “If you’d allow me to take the child, she’d already be in training.”