Angel Fire East

by Terry Brooks

She led him back into the living room and put him to work with the others. She brought Little John off the couch and spent time trying to show him how to hang ornaments. He stared at her blankly, watched Harper for a few minutes, hung one ornament, and went back to the couch. Nest seemed unperturbed. She strung tinsel and lights for a time, then went over to sit with him. Kneeling at his side, she began speaking softly to him. Ross couldn’t quite catch what she was saying, but it was something about the park and the things that lived in it. He heard her mention Pick and the feeders. He heard her speak of tatterdemalions, sylvans, and the magic they managed. She took her time, not rushing things, just carrying on a conversation as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  When the tree was decorated, she brought out cookies and hot chocolate, and they sat around the tree talking about Santa Claus and reindeer. Harper asked questions, and Nest supplied answers. Bennett listened and looked off into space, as if marking time. Outside, it was growing dark, the twilight fading away, the snowstorm disappearing into a blackness punctured only by the diffuse glow of streetlamps and porch lights, flurries chasing each other like moths about a flame. Cars edged down the roadway, slow and cautious metal beasts in search of their lairs. In the fireplace, the crackling of the burning logs was a steady reassurance.

  It was nearing five when the phone rang. Nest walked to the kitchen to answer it, spoke for a few minutes, then summoned John. “It’s Josie,” she said. She arched one eyebrow questioningly and handed him the receiver.

  He looked at her for a moment, then placed the receiver against his ear, staring out the kitchen window into the streetlit blackness.

  “Hello.”

  “I don’t mean to bother you, John,” Josie said quickly, “but I didn’t like the way we left things yesterday. It felt awkward. It’s been a long time, and seeing you like that really threw me. I can’t even remember what I said. Except that I asked you to dinner tonight, and I guess, thinking it over, I was a little pushy.”

  “I didn’t think so,” he said.

  He heard her soft sigh in the receiver. “I don’t know. It didn’t feel that way. You seemed a little put off by it.”

  “No.” He shifted his weight to lean against the counter. “I appreciated the invitation. I just didn’t know what to say. I have some concerns about Little John, that’s all.”

  “You could bring him. He would be welcome.” She paused. “I guess that’s another invitation, isn’t it? I’m standing in my kitchen, making this dinner, and I end up thinking about you. So I call to tell you I’m sorry for being pushy yesterday, then I get pushy all over again. Pathetic, huh?”

  He still remembered her kitchen from fifteen years earlier, when she had dressed the wounds he had suffered during his fight with the steel-mill workers in Sinnissippi Park. He could picture her there now, the way she would look, how she would be standing, what she would be looking at as she spoke to him.

  “I would like to come,” he said quietly.

  “But?”

  “But I don’t think I can. It’s complicated. It isn’t about you.”

  The phone was silent for a moment. “All right. But if you want to talk later, I’ll be here. Give your son a kiss for me.”

  The line went dead. Ross placed the receiver in its cradle and walked back into the living room. Harper and Bennett were sitting by the tree playing with old Christmas tins. Nest got up from the sofa where she was sitting with Little John.

  “I’ve got to take some soup over to the Petersons,” she said, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  She made no mention of the call and was out the door in moments. Ross stood looking after her, thinking of Josie. It was always the same when he did. It made him consider what he had given up to become a Knight of the Word. It made him realize all over again how empty his life was without family or friends or a lover. Except for Stefanie Winslow, there had been no one in twenty-five years besides Josie Jackson. And only Josie mattered.

  Twice, he walked to the phone to call her back and didn’t do so. Each time, the problem was the same—he didn’t know what to say to her. Words seemed inadequate to provide what was required. The emotions she unlocked in him were sweeping and overpowering and filled with a need to act, not talk. He felt trapped by his circumstances, by his life. He had lived by a code that allowed no contact with others beyond the carrying out of his duties as a Knight of the Word. Nothing else could be permitted to intrude. Everything else was a distraction he could not afford.

  When Nest returned, rather more quiet than before, she took Bennett down the hall to the project room to work on a Christmas present for Harper and left Ross to watch the children. With Harper sitting on the sofa next to Little John and pretending to read him a book, Ross moved over to the fireplace and stood looking into the flames. His involvement with the gypsy morph and his journey to find Nest Freemark had been unavoidable, dictated by needs and requiring sacrifices that transcended personal considerations. But his choices here, in Hopewell, were more suspect. The presence of Findo Gask and his allies was not unexpected, but it was disturbing. It foreclosed a number of options. It required pause. Nest was threatened only because Ross was here. If he slipped away, they would lose interest in her. If he took the gypsy morph someplace else, they would follow.

  That was one choice, but not the logical one. Another darker and more dangerous one, the one that made better sense, was to seek them out and destroy them before they could do any further damage.

  That would allow the morph to stay with Nest. That would give her a better chance of discovering its secret.

  For a long moment, he considered the possibility of a preemptive strike. He did not know how many demons there were, but he had faced more than one before, and he was equal to the task. Track them down, turn them to ash, and the threat was ended.

  He watched the logs burning in the hearth, and their fire mirrored his own. It would be worth it, he thought. Even if it ended up costing him his life …

  He recalled his last visit to the Fairy Glen and the truths the Lady had imparted to him. The memory flared in the fire’s embers, her words reaching out, touching, stroking. Brave Knight, your service is almost ended. One more thing you must do for me, and then I will set you free. One last quest for a talisman of incomparable worth. One final sacrifice for all that you have striven to achieve and all you know to have value in the world. This only, and then you will be free …

  His gaze shifted to where the children sat upon the couch. Little John had turned around and was looking at the picture book. He seemed intent on a particular picture, and Harper was holding it up to him so that he could better see.

  Ross took a deep breath. He had to do something. He could not afford to wait for the demons to come after them again. It was certain they would. They would try a different tactic, and this time it might cost the life not of a park employee but of someone in this house. If it did not come tomorrow, it would come the next day, and it would not end there, but would continue until the demons had possessed or destroyed the gypsy morph.

  Ross studied the little boy on the couch. A gypsy morph. What would it become, if it survived? What, that would make it so important? He wished he knew. He wished the Lady had told him. Perhaps it would make choosing his path easier.

  Nest and Bennett came out of the work area a few minutes later with a bundle of packages they placed under the tree. Nest was cheerful and smiling, as if the simple act of wrapping presents had infused her with fresh holiday spirit. She went over to the couch to look at the picture book Harper was reading, giving both Harper and Little John hugs, telling them Santa wouldn’t forget them this Christmas. Bennett, in contrast, remained sullen and withdrawn, locked in a world where no one else was welcome. She would force a smile when it was called for, but she could barely manage to communicate otherwise, and her eyes kept shifting off into space, haunted and lost. Ross studied her surreptitiously. Something had happened since yesterday to change h
er. Given her history as an addict, he could make an educated guess.

  “We have to get over to Robert’s party,” Nest announced a few minutes later, drawing him aside. “There will be lots of other adults and kids. It should be safe.”

  He looked at her skeptically. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “But I keep hoping that if I expose Little John to enough different situations, something will click. Other children might help him to open up. We can keep a close watch on him.”

  He accepted her judgment. It probably didn’t make any difference what house they were occupying if the demons chose to come after them, and he was inclined to agree that they were less likely to attempt anything in a crowd. Even last night, they had worked hard to isolate Nest and the children before striking.

  Nest mobilized the others and began helping the children with their coats and boots. As she did, Ross walked back to the kitchen and looked out the window. It was still snowing hard, with visibility reduced and a thick layer of white collecting on everything. It would be difficult for the demons to do much in this weather. Even though the cold wouldn’t affect them, the snow would limit their mobility. In all likelihood, they would hole up somewhere until morning. It was the perfect time to catch them off guard. He should track them down and destroy them now.

  But where should he look for them?

  He stared out into the blowing white, wondering.

  When they were all dressed, they piled into the car and drove down Woodlawn Road to Spring Drive and back into the woods to Robert’s house. A cluster of cars was already parked along the drive and more were arriving. Nest pulled up by the front door, and Bennett and the children climbed out and rushed inside.

  Ross sat where he was. If I were Findo Gask, where would I be?

  Nest was staring at him. “I have to do something,” he said finally. “It may take me a while. Can I borrow the car?”

  She nodded. “What are you going to do?”

  “A little scouting. Will you be all right alone with the children and Bennett? You may have to catch a ride home afterward.”

  There was a long pause. “I don’t like the sound of this.”

  He gave her a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t take any chances.”

  The lie came easily. He’d had enough practice that he could say almost anything without giving himself away.

  Her fingers rested on his arm. “Do yourself a favor, John. Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing, forget it. Go have dinner with Josie.”

  He stared at her, startled. “I wasn’t—”

  “Listen to me,” she interrupted quickly. “You’ve been running for weeks, looking over your shoulder, sleeping with one eye open. When you sleep at all, that is. You’re so tightly strung you’re about to snap. Maybe you don’t see it, but I do. You have to let go of everything for at least a few hours. You can’t keep this up.”

  “I’m all right,” he insisted.

  “No, you’re not.” She leaned close. “There isn’t anything you can do out there tonight. Whatever it is you think you can do, you can’t. I know you. I know how you are. But you have to step back. You have to rest. If you don’t, you’ll do something foolish.”

  He studied her without speaking. Slowly, he nodded. “I must be made of glass. You can see right through me, can’t you?”

  She smiled. “Come on inside, John. You might have a good time, if you’d just let yourself.”

  He thought about his plan to try tracking the demons, and he saw how futile it was. He had no place to start. He had no plan for finding them. And she was right, he was tired. He was exhausted mentally, emotionally, and physically. If he found the demons, what chance would he have of over-coming them?

  But when he glanced over at the Hepplers’ brightly lit home, he didn’t feel he belonged there, either. Too many people he didn’t know. Too much noise and conversation.

  “Could I still borrow the car?” he asked quietly.

  She climbed out without a word. Leaning back in before closing the door, she said, “She still lives at the same address, John. Watch yourself on the roads going back into town.”

  Then she closed the door and disappeared inside the house.

  It took him a long time to get to where he was going. It was like driving through an exploded feather pillow, white particles flying everywhere, the car’s headlights reflecting back into his eyes, the night a black wall around him. The car skidded on patches of ice and through deep ruts in the snow, threatening to spin off the pavement altogether. He could barely make out the roadway ahead, following the tracks of other cars, steering down the corridor of streetlamps that blazed to either side. Now and again, there would be banks of lights from gas stations and grocery stores, from a Walgreens or a Pizza Hut, but even so, it was difficult to navigate.

  He thought again of going after the demons, of making a run at them while they were all gathered together somewhere, waiting out the storm. It remained a tempting image. But Nest was right. It was a one-in-a-million shot, and it required energy he did not have to spare.

  More debilitating than his exhaustion was his loneliness and despair. He had denied it for a long time, shrugging off the emptiness inside, pretending that for him such things didn’t matter. But they did. He was a Knight of the Word, but he was human, too.

  It was seeing Josie again that triggered the feelings, of course. But it was returning to Hopewell and Nest Freemark as well, to a town that seemed so much like the one he had grown up in and to the last member of a family that seemed so much like his own. Just being here, he found himself trying to recapture a small part of his past. He might tell himself that he wasn’t here for that, but the truth was simple and direct. He wanted to reaffirm his humanity. He wanted to step outside his armor and let himself feel what it was to be human again.

  He drove down Lincoln Highway until it became Fourth Avenue, then turned left toward the river. He found his way without effort, the directions still imprinted on his memory, fresh after all these years. He steered the Taurus down the dead-end street to the old wooden two-story and parked by the curb. He switched off the headlights and engine and sat staring at the house, thinking over what he was about to do.

  It isn’t as if you have to decide now, he told himself. How can you know what will happen after so long?

  But he did. His instincts screamed it at him. The certainty of it burned through his hesitation and doubt.

  He got out of the car, locked it, limped through the blowing snow and drifts, climbed the porch steps, and knocked. He had to knock twice more before she opened the door.

  She stared at him. “John?”

  She spoke his name as if it were unfamiliar to her, as if she had just learned it. Her blue eyes were bright and wondering, and gave full and open consideration to the fact that he was standing there when by all rights he shouldn’t be. She was wearing jeans and a print shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She had been cooking, he guessed. He did not move to enter or even to speak, but simply waited.

  She reached out finally with one hand and pulled him inside, closing the door behind him. She was grinning now, shaking her head. He found himself studying the spray of freckles that lay across the bridge of her nose and over both cheeks. He found himself wanting to touch her tousled blond hair.

  Then he was looking into her eyes and thinking he was right, there had never been anyone like her.

  She brushed snow from his shoulders and began unzipping his coat. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said, watching her fingers as they worked the zipper downward. “You’ve never been predictable, have you? What are you doing here? You said you weren’t coming!”

  His face felt flushed and heated. “I guess I should have called.”

  She laughed. “You didn’t call for fifteen years, John. Why should you call now? Come on, get that coat off.”

  She helped him pull off the parka, gloves, and scarf, and bent to unlace his boots as well. In stocking feet, leaning on his still-damp staff for
support, he followed her from the entry into the kitchen. She motioned him to a chair at the two-person breakfast table, poured him a cup of hot cider, and spent a few moments adjusting various knobs and dials on the stove and range. Savory smells rose from casseroles and cooking pans.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him. He shook his head. “Good. Me, either. We’ll eat in a little while.”

  She went back to work, leaving him alone at the table to sip cider. He watched her silently, enjoying the fluidity of her movements, the suppleness of her body. She seemed so young, as if age had decided to brush against her only momentarily. When she looked at him and smiled—that dazzling, wondrous smile—he could barely believe that fifteen years had passed.

  He knew he loved her and wondered at his failure to recognize it before. He did not know why he loved her, not in a rational sense, because looking at the fact of it too closely would shatter it like glass. He could not parcel it out like pieces of a puzzle, one for each part of the larger picture. It was not so simply explained. But it was real and true, and he felt it so deeply he thought he would cry.

  She sat with him after a while and asked about Nest and Bennett and the children, skipping quickly from one topic to the next, filling the space with words and laughter, avoiding close looks and long pauses. She did not ask where he had been or why he had a child. She did not ask why she had not heard from him in fifteen years. She let him be, perhaps sensing that he was here in part because he could expect that from her, that what had drawn them together in the first place was that it was enough for them to share each other’s company.

  She set the breakfast table for dinner, keeping it casual, serving from the counter and setting the plates on the table. The meal was pot roast with bread and salad, and he ate it hungrily. He could feel his tension and emptiness drain away, and he found himself smiling for the first time in weeks.

  “I’m glad you came,” she told him at one point. “This will sound silly, but even after you said you couldn’t, I thought maybe you would anyway.”