"Not much to tell." Pick was so light she could barely tell he was there. "I was patrolling the park on Jonathan, just like I always do when there's trouble about. After what you'd told me about Mr. Cask, I knew he'd be back. Sure enough, I found him down by the ice, hiding in the trees. He didn't seem to be doing anything, so I took Jonathan high up and out of sight. You went down the toboggan slide once or twice, and Mr. Gask watched. Then someone flashed a light up top by the loading platform, and our demon friend went down to the ice and touched it with his hand. When I saw the cracks start out toward the center, I could see where things were heading. You were already coming down, so I flew out to warn you."
"Good thing," she told him.
He grunted. "There's the understatement of the month. That was a pretty wicked magic he concocted. Lethal stuff. It missed you, but it got that park guy."
"Ray Childress. I know. It makes me sick."
Pick was silent for a time. "You better watch out, Nest," he said finally. "There are bad demons and there are worse-than-bad demons. I think Findo Gask is in a class by himself. He won't give up. He'll keep coming after you until he has what he wants." He paused. "Maybe you ought to just give it to him."
Nest shook her head. "I won't do that. I already told him so."
Pick sighed. "Well, no surprises there. Is John Ross with you on this?"
"Right to the bitter end."
"Good choice of words. That's likely how it will turn out." Pick squirmed on her shoulder to get more comfortable. "Wish this was happening in the summer, when it was warmer. It would make my job a lot easier."
She glanced down at him. "You be careful yourself, Pick."
He snorted. "Hah! You don't have to worry about me. I've got eyes in the back of my head, and Jonathan's got them in his wing tips. We'll be safe enough. You just keep your own instincts sharp."
She swallowed against the cold, moistening her lips. Some Chap Stick was definitely in order. "How come you call him Jonathan? And before that, it was Benjamin and Daniel. What kind of names are those for owls? Can't you come up with something… I don't know, not so common?"
He straightened, twiggy hands tightening in her collar. "Those names are only common to you, not to me. I'm a sylvan, remember? We don't use names like Daniel and Benjamin and Jonathan in the normal course of things. Gripes! Try to remember, we're not like you!"
"Okay, already."
"Sometimes, you appall me."
"All right!"
"Well, criminy!"
She trudged on into the snowy gloom, following the dark ribbon of the road as the snow slowly began to hide it away.
* * *
Findo Gask was surprised. The Indian was just standing there, watching them. He must have known they were following him, and yet he hadn't tried to escape or hide. Why was that?
"Looky, looky, Gramps," Penny teased. "Someone wants to play."
Gask ignored her, slowing his approach to study his adversary. The Indian was bigger than he had looked earlier, his copper skin dark, his black hair damp and shiny, his eyes hard-edged and penetrating. He had dropped the bedroll and rucksack in the snow, as if anticipating the need to keep his hands free.
"Are you looking for me?" he rumbled softly.
Findo Gask stopped six yards away, close enough that he could see the other's eyes, not so close that he was within reach of those big hands. The Indian did not look at Penny. He did not look to either side, where Twitch and the ur'droch had melted into the trees.
"Hey, Tonto," Penny called out to him. "Remember me?"
Gask let his eyes shift momentarily. She was standing closer to the Indian than he was. She had knives in both hands, their metal blades glinting as she moved them in small circular motions.
The Indian glanced at her, then dismissed her with a shrug. "What is there worth remembering? You are a demon. I have seen many like you before."
"Not like me," she hissed at him.
The Indian looked back at Findo Gask. "Why do you waste my time? What do you want with me?"
Gask brought the leather book in front of him, gripping it with both hands. "What is your name?" he asked.
The Indian was as still as carved stone. "O'olish Amaneh, in the language of my people, the Sinnissippi. Two Bears, in the language of the English. But should you choose to speak my name, it will sear your tongue and scorch your throat all the way down to where your heart has turned to coal."
Findo Gask gave him a considering look. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Twitch sliding along the fenceline behind the Indian, his movements smooth and silent in the snowfall, his big form barely visible. He could not see the ur'droch, concealed somewhere back in that spruce grove, but he knew it was there. Penny was giggling with anticipation. She was unpredictable, apt to do almost anything in a given situation, this one especially, and it made her useful.
Two Bears seemed oblivious of them. "You are a demon who prides himself on his understanding of humans," he said, studying Gask. "But what you understand is limited by what you feel. Demons feel so little. They lack empathy. They lack the kinder emotions. In the end, this will be your undoing."
Findo Gask smiled without warmth. "I don't think my undoing is the issue at hand, do you?"
"Isn't it?" The Indian's weathered face stayed expressionless. "You would do well not to misjudge your enemies, demon. I think maybe in this case, you have done so."
Gask held the other's dark gaze. "I make it a point never to misjudge my enemies. I think it is you who have misjudged in this instance. You've made a big mistake taking sides in this dispute with Miss Freemark. It is a mistake I intend to correct."
Twitch was behind the Indian now, less than ten paces away. Gask knew the ur'droch would be on his other side. Two Bears was hemmed in, with no place to go. Snow blew in a steady slant out of the northwest. The storm clouds seemed to have dropped all the way down to the treetops, and the light had gone cloudy and gray.
Two Bears shifted his weight slightly, his big shoulders swinging toward Gask. "How would you make this correction, Mr. Demon?"
Findo Gask cocked his head. "I would remove you from this place. I would make you go away so that you could never come back."
Now it was the Indian who smiled. "What makes you think I was ever really here?"
Twitch rushed across the space that separated them and launched himself at the Indian. A flurry of shadowy movement marked the ur'droch's attack from the other side. Penny screamed in glee, dropping into a crouch, right arm cocked for throwing, her knives catching the light.
But in the same instant, snow funneled all about Two Bears, blown straight up out of the earth on which he stood, a cloud of white particles that filled the air. The wind whipped and tore about him, and for a split second everything disappeared.
When the snow settled and the winter air cleared, Two Bears was gone. His rucksack and bedroll lay on the ground, but the Indian had vanished. Big head swiveling left and right, Twitch crouched in the space the Indian had just occupied. The ur'droch was a dark stain sliding back and forth across the rutted snow, searching futilely for its quarry.
Penny hissed in rage as the knives disappeared back into her clothing. "Is this some sort of trick? Where is he?"
Findo Gask stood without moving for a moment, testing the air, casting all about for some indication. "I don't know," he admitted finally.
"Did we kill him or not?" Penny shrieked.
Gask searched some more, but nothing revealed itself, not a trace, not a whisper. The Indian had simply vaporized. His last words whispered in the demon's mind. What makes you think I was ever really here? But, no, he had been here in some sense. He had been more than just an image.
Ignoring Penny's rantings, Findo Gask opened the leather-bound book and read the last entry burned onto its weathered pages.
There was nothing after the name of Ray Childress.
He closed the book slowly. A pang of disappointment tweaked his pride. The Indian would have be
en a nice addition.
"Gone is gone," he said. "A neat trick, but you don't come back for a while after executing it. He's removed himself from the picture, wherever he is." He shrugged dismissively, and his weathered face creased in a slow smile. "Let's go to work on the others."
Chapter 18
John Ross was standing at the living-room window, keeping watch for her, when Nest emerged from the whirling snowfall. She appeared as a dark smudge out of the curtain of white, pushing through the skeletal branches of the hedgerow and trudging across the backyard toward the house. He could tell by the set of her shoulders and length of her stride she was infused with determination and her encounter with Findo Gask had not dampened her resolve. Whether she'd changed her mind regarding her insistence on protecting the gypsy morph remained to be seen. He was inclined to think not.
He limped toward the back door as she came through. Bennett and Harper were already decorating the tree, which had been placed in its stand in the corner across the room from the fireplace. Ross had helped with that and with carrying in the boxes of ornaments, then stood back. Little John had resumed his place on the couch, staring out into the park.
"Whew, it's bad out there now," Nest declared as he came up to her. She stamped her boots on the entry rug and brushed the snow from her coat. "You can hardly see in front of your nose. How's everyone here?"
"Fine." He shifted to let her walk past and followed her down the hall. "They're decorating the tree."
She glanced over her shoulder in surprise. "Little John, too?"
"Well, no." He gave a little shrug. "Me either, actually."
"What's your excuse?"
"I guess I don't have one."
She gave him a look. "That's what I thought. Try to remember, John, it's Christmas. Come on."
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 que
st 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 her. 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."
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