that’s for sure. There’s nothing to track.
She circled the area, frowning faintly. This wasn’t Unseleighe Sidhe work alone. There was something else here as well.
Her hands wove small patterns through the air as she called upon her magic—not the Gift that was the birthright of the Sidhe, but sorcery that she’d learned painstakingly over the years. She worked slowly and carefully, and at last she had banished everything that was wholly of Underhill from her perceptions.
But something remained, the human taint she had noticed at first.
And that left a trail she could follow.

An hour before Ria left her hotel room with Logan, Eric headed into Central Park. He stopped just inside the grounds to dig his flute out of his bag and put it together. He blew a soft note into the mouthpiece to warm the cold silver, and seemed to feel the trees around him shiver in response. More proof, not that he needed it, that someone had been using major magic here—enough magic to wake the trees, let alone the dead.
Carrying his flute in his hand, Eric walked deeper into the park, back to the place Toni had brought him to last night. The scorch marks were still there, and in the daylight he saw something he’d missed the night before—the deep cuts of horses’ hooves in the frozen turf.
And sure, there are bridle paths through the park, but they’re clearly marked and the riders stick to them. And these tracks sure weren’t made by any New York Rent-a-Nag. Where were you going, Mister Dark Lord of the Sidhe? And ,