Page 8 of Dryad’s Treasure

“I’m glad you find me amusing.” I wasn’t too put out. It was difficult to be truly irritated given the obvious joy lighting Henry’s face.

“Me too.” Henry sobered. “This place has felt like a tomb since…well, since Huxley went off the rails.” Henry shook his head, displacing a floppy tuft of cottony white hair that was stained dirty gray with dust and dirt. “Damn shame. This place used to be a hell of a lot more fun. Now it’s…quiet. Too damn quiet. Especially without Hikaru.”

“Hikaru?”

Henry waved me off and answered, “Ornery kitsune. Heard he went off and got himself attached to a warlock or some such nonsense.”

“Ah yes, I think I heard about that.” It rang a distant bell. “Nikodemus Holland.”

Henry snapped his fingers. “That’s the one.”

Nikodemus Holland was now the head of the Warlock Council, not that it seemed he truly wanted the job. At least, that was the rumor.

Standing, Henry slapped his pants, sending dust motes into the air. Crossing the distance, He grabbed a section of my pant leg and climbed up, perching on my bent knee. “I also hear you’re here to find all of Huxley’s twisted secrets.”

I considered the words and mostly agreed. “If Huxley considered them treasure, then I should be able to do so.”

“Ugh, I don’t envy you that.” He shook his head again. “Ain’t nothin’ good gonna be found within these walls or beyond ’em, at least not if Huxley was involved.”

I leaned forward, less than a few inches away from my new friend. “And what would you know about that?”

Henry frowned. “More than I want to, and that’s all I’m gonna say, so don’t try pryin’ for more.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Henry huffed while crossing his arms and lifting his chin. “Word of warning or maybe advice: be careful. Some things are better off not found, if you get my drift.”

I did. “Are you going to interfere with my search?” I wasn’t certain what a house dweller could do, but I’d learned long ago never to allow size to influence my perception where danger was concerned.

“Naw, nothin’ like that.” Henry slid down my pant leg, landing on the floor with a flourish. “Just a friendly warnin’. I like you, little will-o’-the-wisp.” The irony of him calling me little wasn’t lost on me. “Even if it’s because they’re worried, you’ve at least livened the place up a little. Mind you, it’s gonna take a lot more than one will-o’-the-wisp to bring this place back to what it once was, what it’s meant to be, but you’re a start. Good luck.”

Racing across the floor on all fours, Henry disappeared into a crack I hadn’t noticed before.

Alone once more, my mind was left to wander. To be certain, simply looking for Huxley’s concealed treasure wasn’t the only threat. The treasure itself might be just as dangerous as the search.

Flopping onto my back, I winced as the hard concrete did nothing to soften my fall. Maybe it wasn’t just the house dweller that was crossed with a cat. I was curious enough to fit the bill. I just hoped my innate curiosity didn’t lead down the same troubled path.

Four

Martin

The sun and breeze felt good against my branches and leaves. The soil caressing and feeding my roots eased my stress, lulling me into a gentle sway. Dryads had to come back to the ground they’d been planted in. We could set down roots elsewhere, but it wasn’t the same and didn’t provide enough nourishment. Dryad parents went out of their way to pick the plot they planted their seedlings, knowing it would be their lifelong home. We could harvest that soil and take it with us in buckets for short times away, but inevitably, we always needed to return.

Tenzen Huxley had planted me himself. While I believed that part was true, I doubted the reason behind it was truthful. Just as Huxley had told Hikaru that his creator spirit, Inari, had abandoned him, Huxley had told me I’d also been a foundling. He hadn’t gone so far as to say my parents abandoned me. He’d simply said he didn’t know what happened to them.

I’d always believed him. Looking back, that now seemed foolish. At the time, I’d had no reason to doubt his words. Like everyone else, I’d trusted our founder and director. We’d all been fools, but we’d been collective ones. At least our regrets had company. I wasn’t certain that made things better, but there was comfort to be found there.

My plot of land was toward the west end of the compound. While still below ground level, the area was open, allowing me to stretch above the ground and to the sky. To anyone wandering by, it would look like an oak tree canopy sprawled across the ground, my trunk hidden.

I didn’t mind. Given how cold Minnesota winters were, it was nice to have a bit more shelter. Today wasn’t cold at all. It was sunny and warm. The breeze sliding across the landscape gently ruffled my leaves. A couple of squirrels had found their fun in my branches. In the fall, I obliged the little critters and produced acorns just for them. These acorns wouldn’t produce another dryad. That would take a special acorn indeed. One I’d yet to produce.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Elvira said. The ghost spent more time with me while I was in my tree form than when I was bipedal. Since I couldn’t communicate in this form, our conversations were typically one-sided, just the way Elvira evidently liked. I’d been offended when I was younger. Older and hopefully a bit wiser and more tolerant, I understood that speaking with me like this placed Elvira at ease, and that was something to cherish, not lament.

I curved a single branch, running some of my leaves through Elvira’s ghostly form. I wasn’t sure why, but she’d told me once the action was soothing. My leaves didn’t register her coldness as acutely as my humanoid flesh.

Elvira sighed while passing her hand through my leaves. “Thank you, Martin.” She settled in, leaning against my trunk. I had no idea if she truly enjoyed sitting or if it was a leftover remnant of when she was alive—something she remembered to do and couldn’t quite quit the habit. “I was going to speak with Keir first, but he was on the phone, debriefing Ella. She successfully located the pixie who was reported missing. Unfortunately, she found others. All of them were caged, some more faded than others. Ella didn’t find any deceased pixies on the property. She’s in the process of interrogating the ogres involved.”

Disappointed pain pulsated through my sap. It was an age-old story, one the Magical Usage Council had been fighting for centuries. Pixie dust was instantaneously addicting to ogres. Pixies were captured and held in captivity. Only, pixies didn’t do well in such an environment. Their colors faded and if they weren’t found in time, they died.