Angel Fire East (11 page)

“Why don’t you get dressed,” Nest suggested to Bennett, coming back to the table. “Harper can play with Little John. I’ll keep an eye on her. She’ll be fine. When you come out, we’ll have breakfast.”

Bennett considered the matter, then nodded and went down the hallway to her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her. Ross watched her go without comment, wondering why she had been so worried about who he was. It was more than uneasiness she had demonstrated; it was fear. He recognized it now, considering her response to him, to the possibility that their paths had crossed somewhere before. Yet once the mystery of their previous encounter was cleared up, she seemed fine. Perhaps
relieved
was a better word.

Nest reseated herself at the table. “Little John?” she inquired, arching one eyebrow.

He shrugged. “It was all I could come up with on the spur of the moment. He’s only been a boy for four days. I haven’t had any reason to think of a name for him before.”

“Little John will do. Tell me about the demons before Bennett gets back.”

Pushing the empty coffee cup away from him as if to distance himself from his narrative, he did as she asked.

H
e hadn’t even reached the car before the first demon appeared. Carrying the netting that contained the morph in one hand and gripping his walnut staff with the other, he clambered awkwardly up the sandy trail from the beach to the shoulder of Highway 101 and immediately caught sight of the longhaired young man standing several dozen feet away, occupying the space between himself and the car. He was paying Ross no attention whatsoever, his eyes directed out at the ocean. But Ross felt his instincts prickle, the magic that warded him surfacing in a rush, and he knew what was coming.

He walked up the road as if indifferent to the young man’s presence, keeping close to the paving so as to pass behind the other. He saw the young man’s posture shift, then watched him step back and shade his eyes as if to get a better look at something on the beach. When Ross came abreast of him, the young man wheeled to attack, but Ross was already moving, bringing his staff around to catch the other squarely across the forehead. Fire lanced from the rune-scrolled wood, and the young man’s head exploded in a shower of blood. Revealed for what it was and stripped of its disguise, the demon’s ruined shell went backward over the bluff and tumbled from view.

Wiping away the blood with an old rag, Ross climbed hurriedly into the car, backed onto the road, and drove toward Cannon Beach. They would be waiting for him at Mrs. Staples’s by now, converging from all directions to intercept him. But he had anticipated this and had no intention of returning to Cannon Beach. He hadn’t stayed alive this long by being predictable.

He drove past the turnoff without slowing and caught Highway 26 east toward Portland. In the seat beside him, the morph continued to change shape and emanate light, the magic pulsing like a beacon with each re-forming, leading his enemies right to it. Ross knew that if he was to have any chance at all, he needed to lose himself in a large population. If he remained in Cannon Beach or tried to find sanctuary in any other small town, the demons would find him in a heartbeat. But in a city he could disappear. The number and frequency of the morph’s changes would diminish after a time, and while he could not hope to avoid entirely the demons seeking him, he could make it harder for them to determine where he was. When the morph was not changing, it was less identifiable; the Lady had advised him of this. Gradually, Ross would become the focus of their hunt. As one among thousands, he would not be so easy to find.

But he had to get to Portland to have any chance at all, and the demons were already in place. A logging truck ran him off the road just above the turnoff to Banks. He escaped into the woods, found a dirt road farther in, and caught a ride with an old woman and her daughter to a town so small he didn’t even see a sign with a name. He felt bad about Mrs. Staples’s car, but there was nothing he could do. He felt bad about the car he stole in the nameless town, too, but there was nothing he could do about that either. He abandoned it outside Portland and caught a metro bus into the city.

In a cavernous train station on the west side, while waiting to board a train south to San Francisco, he was attacked again. Two men came at him in the men’s room, armed with iron pipes and buttressed by lives of willful destruction. He took them both out in seconds, but the demon who had dispatched them and was waiting outside surprised him as he tried to sneak out the back. The demon was savage and primal, but intelligent as well. It picked a good spot for an ambush, and if it had been a little luckier, it might have succeeded in its effort. But his instincts saved John Ross once more, and the demon died in a fiery conflagration of magic.

Ross called Mrs. Staples from the bus station after the cab dropped him off to tell her of the car and apologize for what he had done. He told her he would send her money. She took it very well, considering. Then he picked up his ticket, boarded the bus, waited until it was ready to leave, and got off again. He walked out of the station and down the street to a used-car agency, took a clunker out for a test drive after leaving the salesman the purchase price in cash as security, and kept going. He drove north to Vancouver, abandoned the car, caught another bus south, and was in California the next day.

He continued on like this for more than a week, twisting and turning, dodging and weaving, a boxer under attack. Over and over again he picked up and moved, sometimes not even bothering to unpack. He slept infrequently and for brief periods, and he was tired and edgy all the time, his energy slowly draining away. It did not help that he was forced to defend himself so often that he was spending all of his time in his dreams of the future without protection, a fugitive there as well, constantly on the run, hunted and at risk. That he stayed alive in both worlds was impressive. That he managed to hold on to the gypsy morph was a genuine miracle.

The morph continued to change rapidly for the first seven days before finally slowing down. It stayed in the netting all this time, never even trying to venture forth, going through its multitude of transformations. It was animal, vegetable, insect, bird, reptile, and a whole slew of other things that Ross was unable or unwilling to identify. At one point it seemed to disappear entirely, but when he peeked inside, he found it was a slug. Another time, it was a bee. A third time it was some sort of mold. Ross quit looking after that and, until it took the shape of something possessing bulk, just assumed it was in the net. It never made a sound and never seemed in need of food or drink. Somehow it had the capacity to sustain itself during this early period, so he didn’t need to be concerned for its well-being beyond keeping it safe and alive.

By the time of the incident in Salt Lake City in mid-December, it was changing on the average of only once a day. For two days during that period, it was a cat. For a day and a half, it was a chimp. Once, for a matter of only a few hours, it was a wolf with a tiger-striped face, an uncanny reminder of Wraith.

Shortly after that, it changed into the little boy it was now and spoke a single word—
Nest.
When it said her name twice more in the space of a single day, Ross decided to take a chance and come back to Hopewell.

B
ecause he said ‘Nest’ and you thought he was talking about me,” she said quietly.

“Because I thought he
might
be talking about you, yes.” She watched his face grow intense and troubled. “Because I had just watched him turn into a miniature Wraith, and it made me wonder. But mostly because I was at my wits’ end—am at my wits’ end still, for that matter—and I had to try something.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I am exhausted and almost out of time, and I haven’t gotten anywhere. I’ve been with him for twenty-two days, and I don’t have a clue how to reach him. I thought I would learn something in that time, thought I would tip to some secret about his magic. But all I’ve managed to do is to keep the two of us alive and running. There’s been no communication, no exchange of information, no discovery of any sort at all. Your name was the first breakthrough. That, and the fact that he’s stayed a little boy for four days now. Maybe it means something.”

She nodded, then rose to pour them both a fresh cup of coffee and reseated herself. Outside, the day was bright and clear and cold, the early morning frost still visible in the shadowed spaces and on the tree trunks in crystalline patches. Ross could hear the oil furnace thrum as it pumped out heat to ward against the freeze.

“He doesn’t seem especially interested in me now that he’s here,” she observed carefully.

He sipped at the coffee. “I know. He hasn’t spoken your name either. Hasn’t said a single word. So maybe I was wrong.”

“How much time is left?”

“Before he disappears altogether?” Ross shook his head. “Several days, I guess. They give a morph on the average of thirty days of life, and that leaves this one down to eight.”

“Interesting,” she said, “that he’s become a little boy.”

“Interesting,” he agreed.

They talked a bit longer about the propensities of gypsy morphs, but since morphs came without blueprints and tended to be wholly inconsistent in their development, there was really little to conclude about the intentions of this one. Nest would have liked to understand more about the strange creatures, but the fact remained that she understood little enough even about Pick, whom she had known for most of her life. Creatures of the forest and magic tended to be as foreign to humans as plankton, even to those as attuned to them as she was.

Bennett reappeared wearing jeans and an old sweatshirt she’d pulled from Nest’s closet and a pair of her walking shoes, so they set about making breakfast. It was served and consumed at the larger dining room table, with everyone eating except the morph, who picked at his food and said nothing.

“Lo, boy,” Harper said to him midway through the meal.

The gypsy morph studied her solemnly.

“Is he always this quiet?” Bennett asked Ross, frowning.

He nodded. “He understands everything, but he doesn’t speak.” He hesitated. “The fact is, we’re on our way to Chicago after the holidays to see a specialist on the matter.”

“Better have his appetite checked at the same time,” she advised pointedly. “He hasn’t eaten a thing.”

“He ate some cereal earlier,” Nest said.

“Mommy?” Harper asked, looking up, big eyes curious. “Boy talk?”

“Maybe later, sweetie,” Bennett said, and went back to her breakfast.

Afterward, she bundled up Harper and told Nest they were going for a walk in the park. She asked Ross if Little John wanted to come with them, but Ross said he hadn’t seemed well and should probably stay in. Her intentions were good, but he couldn’t take a chance on letting the gypsy morph out of his sight.

Bennett and Harper went out the back door, across the lawn, and into the frozen expanse of the park. It was still not even noon. From his position on the couch, the gypsy morph watched them go, staring out the window anew. Ross stood beside him for a time, speaking in low tones, eliciting no response at all.

Finally he walked back into the kitchen and picked up a towel to help dry the dishes Nest was washing.

“You have a dishwasher,” he pointed out, indicating the machine in front of her.

“I like doing it by hand. I like how it makes me feel.”

They worked in silence for a while, falling into a comfortable rhythm. Then Ross said, “They’ll come looking for me, you know.”

She nodded. “They already have. One of them, at least. Findo Gask, minister of the faith.”

“There will be more. It will be dangerous if I stay.”

She looked at him. “No duh, as Robert would say.”

He didn’t know who Robert was, but he got the message. “So maybe I should go after tonight.”

“Maybe you should. But maybe coming here was the right thing to do. Let’s give it some time and see.” She handed him a juice glass. “Let’s get one thing straight, John. I’m not asking you to leave. We crossed that bridge last night.”

He finished drying all the glasses, stacking them on a towel spread out atop the counter. “It means a lot. I don’t know when I’ve been this tired.”

She smiled. “It’s funny, but I thought I was going to end up spending Christmas all alone this year. Now I have a house full of people. It changes everything.”

“Life has a way of doing that.” He smiled ruefully. “It keeps us from becoming too complacent.”

They had just finished putting away the dishes when a knock sounded at the front door. Nest exchanged a quick glance with Ross, then walked down the hall to answer it. He stayed in the kitchen for a few minutes listening to the slow drift of conversation that ensued, then walked to the kitchen window and looked out.

A county sheriff’s car was parked in the drive.

CHAPTER 10

B
ennett Scott walked out of Nest Freemark’s backyard and into Sinnissippi Park, head lowered, wincing against the brightness of the sun. A crystalline coating of frost lingered in shadowed patches of brittle grass and crunched beneath her boots when she walked on it. She watched Harper skip ahead of her, singing softly to herself, lost in that private child’s world where adults aren’t allowed. She recalled it from her own childhood, a not-so-distant past tucked carefully away in her memory. It was a world she had gone into all the time when growing up, often when she was seeking escape from Big Momma and the unpleasantness of her real life. She supposed Harper did the same, and it made her want to weep.

“Mommy, birdies!” the little girl called out, pointing at a pair of dark shadows winging through the trees.

“Robins,” Bennett guessed, smiling at her daughter.

“Obbins,” Harper parroted, and skipped ahead once more, watching the fluid movement of her shadow as it stretched out beside her.

Bennett tossed back her dark hair and lifted her face bravely against the sunlight. It would be better here, she thought. Better than it had been on the streets, when she was using all the time. Better than in the shelters, where she always kept her switchblade in one hand and Harper’s wrist in the other. Better, even, than in the rehab units where she always felt used up and hopeless, where she went through the litany of recovery and still craved a fix all the time. She had tried to shield Harper, but the truth was, everything originated with her. There was no protection without separation, and she couldn’t bear that.

But it had happened a few times, just because it was necessary if she was to survive. That was behind her now, so she could bear to think of it again, if only just. But she had left Harper in places rats called home and with people she wouldn’t trust a dog with if she were thinking straight, and it was something of a miracle that nothing bad had happened to her baby. Coming back to Hopewell and to Nest was an attempt to set all that straight, to prevent any more incidents, to stop exposing Harper to the risks her mother had chosen to embrace. The men, the sex, the sickness, the drugs, the life—all rolled up into one big ball of evil that would drag her down and bury her if she gave it enough space in her life.

No more,
she thought.
Not ever.

They crossed the ball diamonds to the roadway fronting the bluffs and walked to the crest of the slope to look down over the bayou and the river beyond. Harper had found a stick and was dragging it through patches of frost, making designs. Bennett took out a cigarette, lit it, inhaled deeply, and sighed. She was a mess. She wasn’t using, but her health was shot and her head was all fuzzy inside where reason warred with need and emotions fragmented every few days in a fireworks display that was truly awesome. She thought of her mother and hoped she was burning in hell, then immediately regretted the thought. Tears filled her eyes. She had loved her mother, loved her desperately, the way she hoped Harper loved her. But her mother had abandoned her, disappointed her, and rejected her time and again. What was left for her when it happened so often but to flee, to try to save herself? Her flight had saved her life, perhaps, but had cost her in measurable increments her childhood innocence and sense of self-worth and any chance of escaping her mother’s addict life.

But it would be different for Harper. She had made that vow on the morning she had learned at the free clinic she was pregnant and had decided whatever higher power had given her this one last chance at something good, she wasn’t going to mess it up.

So here she was, come back to where she had started, back to where a few things still seemed possible. She was dressed in another woman’s clothing, and the clothes her child wore had been stolen from or discarded by others, but even so she felt new and hopeful. Nest Freemark had been so good to her in the past. If anyone could help her find a way back from the dark road she had traveled, it was Nest.

A train whistle sounded, distant and forlorn in the midday silence, echoing across the gray, flat surface of the Rock.

“Choo choo,” Harper said, and she made some train noises. She shuffled around in a circle, dragging her stick, chuffing out clouds of breath into the sunshine.

I can make this work,
Bennett thought, staring off into the distance, out where the whistle was still echoing through the winter silence.

“Hi, there, cutie,” a voice behind her said. “You are about the sweetest little muffin I’ve ever seen.”

Bennett turned quickly, shifting in a smooth, practiced motion to place herself between the newcomer and Harper. The young woman facing her smiled and shrugged, as if apologizing for her abrupt appearance while at the same time saying, so what? She was close to Bennett’s age, tall and lanky, with wild red hair that stuck out. Her bright, green eyes fastened on Harper with an eagerness that was disconcerting. “Hey, you.”

Then she glanced at Bennett, and the look cooled and hardened. “You are one lucky mom, to have someone like her. How are you doing? My name is Penny.”

She stuck out her hand. Bennett hesitated before accepting it. “I’m Bennett. This is Harper.”

Penny shifted her stance without moving her feet, loose and anticipatory. “So, are you from around here or just passing through, like me?” Penny grinned. “I’m visiting my granny for the holidays, but you can believe me when I tell you this place is in a time warp. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to see. I can’t wait to get out. You?”

“I’m from here, back for a visit with a . . . friend, an old friend.” Bennett held her ground, watchful, the hand in her pocket fastened on the switchblade. “We’re staying on awhile.”

Penny sniffed. “Whatever. I’m outta here December twenty-sixth and good riddance.”

She looked off into the distance as the freight train swung into view out on the levee, wheeling down the tracks with a slow-building rumble of iron wheels and pistons. They stood motionless, the three of them, staring out at the train as it bisected the horizon in a seemingly endless line of cars, a zipper motion against the still backdrop of water and winter woods. When it disappeared, the sound faded gradually, still audible when the train was several miles up the track.

“So, you having fun here in the park, Harper?” Penny asked suddenly, shifting her gaze once more.

Harper nodded wordlessly and edged closer to Bennett. She sensed the same thing about this woman her mother did, that something wasn’t quite right. Bennett felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable, standing at the edge of the wooded slope, away from everyone and everything in the hard edge of the winter chill. Clouds had crept out of the northwest, obscuring the sun, and the gray sky was melting down into the backdrop of the skeletal trees.

“We’ve got to be going,” Bennett advised, reaching down for Harper’s hand, keeping her eyes on Penny.

“Oh, sure,” Penny replied, smiling cheerfully, the light in her green eyes dancing, shrugging her shoulders and shifting away. “You go, girl, you need to. But, hey, you look a little uptight. Know what I mean?”

“No.” Bennett shook her head quickly, not wanting to hear any more, already sensing what was coming. “I’m fine.”

She started away, but Penny moved with her. “Well, you can say you’re fine if you want, but you are most definitely not, you know? I can tell. And I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t be fine if I didn’t have a little something to help me get by, let me tell you.”

Bennett wheeled on her. “Look, I don’t know who you are—”

“Hey, I’m just another victim of life, just another sister fighting to make it through another day.” Penny held up her hands placatingly. “You don’t need to worry about me. You think I’m the law? I’m not, girlfriend. Not hardly.” She winked. “Hope you’re not the law either, because I got something for you, you want it, something to make you feel a little better.”

Bennett heard the blood pounding inside her head. She felt the familiar pumping of adrenaline, her body’s automatic response to the possibility of a fix. Everything seemed to kick in at once, all the familiar expectancies, all the insatiable needs. She was surprised at how strong they were, even in the face of her resolve to put them aside.

Penny eased closer to her, eyes bright. “What I got, is a little white dust that doesn’t take but a single whiff to sweep you away to la-la land, smooth and easy and cream-puff sweet. You can live on this stuff for days, girl. Keeps you sharp and strong and focused, but takes the edge off, too. I got it before I came to Dullsville, knowing what it would be like. I used it day before last, and I’m still flying high.”

“No, thanks,” Bennett told her abruptly, shaking her head, starting off again. It took everything she had to say it, to make her feet move, to keep her mind focused, but she managed. “We’ve got to go.”

“Hey, wait up, Bennett!” Penny came after her quickly, keeping pace as she walked. “Don’t be mad. I wasn’t trying to jerk you around or anything. I was just trying to be nice, trying to make conversation. Hey, I’m lonely here, I admit it. You seem like me, that’s all. I was just looking for some company.” She paused. “I wasn’t going to ask you for money, you know. I was going to share, to give it to you for free.”

Bennett kept walking, trying to shut the words out, trying to make Penny go away.
Even here,
she was thinking.
Even here, someone’s got the stuff and wants me to use.
She was walking faster, practically dragging Harper, needing to escape and not wanting to, both at once.

“We could meet later and do some together,” Penny was suggesting, keeping pace effortlessly. “My place, maybe. You know, just the two of us. Granny doesn’t know what’s going on anyway, so she won’t be a bother.”

“Owee, Mommy,” Harper was complaining, trying to pull free from her mother’s grip.

Bennett shifted her hand on the little girl’s arm and looked over at Penny angrily. “I can’t—”

“What do you say?” Penny cut her short. “You want a little now? Just a taste to see if it’s worth doing some more later?”

Bennett stopped and stood with her head lowered and her eyes closed. She wanted nothing more. She wanted it so bad she could hardly wait for it to happen. She felt empty and sick inside, and she found herself thinking,
What the hell difference does it make after all the other drugs I’ve done?

Penny’s hand was on her shoulder, and her frizzy red head was bent close. “You won’t be sorry, babe, I promise. Just a taste to get you by until, oh, maybe tonight, okay? Come on. I know the signs. You’re all strung out and uptight and you want a little space for yourself. Why shouldn’t you have it?”

Bennett felt her defenses shutting down and her addictive needs sweeping through her with relentless purpose. The itch was working its way up her spine and down her throat, and she thought—knew—that if she didn’t take what was being offered, she would self-destruct in spectacular fashion. Besides, a taste was not so much, and Nest could help her later, give her the strength she lacked now so she could start over again.

“Come on, I’ll do a little with you,” Penny persisted, whispering now, so close that Bennett could hear her breathing.

Her eyes were still closed, but now, on the verge of capitulating, on the edge of a hunger so intense she could not find words to define it, she opened them.

It was then she saw the Indian.

N
est Freemark opened her front door and found Deputy Sheriff Larry Spence waiting, his big hands clasped around his leather gloves. He was dressed in his uniform, brown over tan, and he wore a leather jacket with the collar and cuffs trimmed in dark fur. Bits and pieces of metal stays and accents glinted dully in the graying light, giving him that armored look that lawmen and the military favor.

“How you doing, girl,” he greeted pleasantly.

She glanced past him to the empty sheriff’s car. He had come alone. “Can I help you, Larry?”

He shoved his gloves into his coat pocket, eyes shifting away. “I’d like to speak with you for just a minute, if it’s okay.”

She studied him pointedly, waiting. He flushed. “It’s business, you know, not personal.”

She smiled, but held her ground. “Sure. Go right ahead.”

He cleared his throat, looking past her for just a moment. “I wonder if we might speak inside?”

The last thing she wanted was Larry Spence in her house. On the other hand, it was rude to make him stand out in the cold and she couldn’t come up with a good reason for not inviting him in long enough to tell her what he wanted.

She stood aside. “Sure.”

He moved into the entry, and she shut the door behind them. He glanced around, nodding appreciatively. “You have a very nice home. Very warm. Sort of reminds me of my folks’ old two-story.”

“Would you like some hot tea?” she asked. “We can sit in the kitchen.”

She led him down the hall and through the kitchen doorway. John Ross stood with his back to the sink, leaning on his staff, a mix of curiosity and wariness mirrored in his green eyes. But it was the look on Larry Spence’s face that surprised her, changing from friendly to antagonistic and back again so fast she almost missed it. Something was very wrong, but she had no idea what it was.

“John, this is Larry Spence,” she said. “Larry, my friend John Ross. He’s visiting for the holidays with his son.”

The men shook hands, a firm, measured sort of greeting that lacked warmth and advised caution. Nest put Larry Spence at the old wooden table and gave both men fresh cups of tea. Leaving Ross at the sink, she sat down across from Spence. “So, tell me what you need, Larry.”

He cleared his throat and straightened. “There’s been some rumors of drug dealing in the park, Nest. I’m making a few inquiries, just in case anyone’s seen anything unusual this past week or so. You haven’t noticed any strangers around, have you?”

This was the first Nest had heard about the matter. If there was any drug dealing going on in Sinnissippi Park, Pick would have noticed and said something. She frowned. “Pretty hard for anyone to hide out there in the park at this time of the year, Larry.”