CHAPTER NINE
Puck. I cast a frantic glance at Valerian. Why isn’t he conjuring up some illusions to save us?
I made us invisible to her senses, he says, reading the panic on my face. But her plants are aware of us somehow, and I don’t know how to fool them.
Plants with senses? I guess that makes sense. How else are they able to lean toward light or grow roots downward into the soil instead of in some random direction?
“Is someone here?” The dryad sits up, and the plants move with greater purpose, tendrils and branches reaching out like arms.
Grasping my hand, Valerian begins to tiptoe out of the room.
The dryad leaps naked out of the bed, grabs a knife, and starts slicing at the air.
Valerian drags me out of the bedroom.
Midway through the living room, a strangle vine snakes from t
