Angel Fire East (19 page)

He would have the morph, of course. It didn’t matter what Nest Freemark or John Ross tried to do to stop him. He would have the morph, and their names in his book, before the week was out.

And in the process, he would have their souls as well.

The big Indian was already out of sight, disappeared into the white curtain of blowing snow. But Findo Gask did not need to see the Indian to find him. There were other senses he could call upon besides his sight. There were other ways to find what was hidden.

He glanced left and right, catching just a glimpse of Twitch and the ur’droch to either side. Penny stalked next to him, eyes darting this way and that, pale face intense. She was whispering, “Here, Tonto. Here, big fella. Come to Penny.”

Wind gusted and died away, snow swirled and drifted, and Riverside Cemetery was a surreal jungle of dark trunks and ice-capped markers. They were closing on the bluffs overlooking the bayou, where the cemetery ended at a chain-link fence set just back from the cliffs. There was still no sign of the Indian, but Findo Gask could sense him, not far ahead, still moving, but seemingly in no great hurry. The demon’s mind was working swiftly. He might lose one or two of his allies in this effort, but demons were replaceable.

All but him, of course.

There was no one else like him.

They came out of the blowing snow on a tree-sheltered flat, close back against the edge of the bluffs, and the Indian was waiting.

N
est made her way out of the maze of tombstones to the cemetery road and followed it back toward the park. The wind was gusting heavily and the snow blowing so hard it was impossible to see much more than a dozen yards. Banks of storm clouds rolled across the sky, and the light had dimmed to an iron gray that turned the landscape hazy and colorless.

“O’olish Amaneh,” she whispered to herself.

A dark shadow whizzed by her head, and she flinched from it automatically, dropping to a guarded crouch. The shadow was gone a moment and then it was back again, appearing out of the whirling snow in a rush of darkness. It was an owl, winging low across the tombstones and monuments, flattened out like a big kite. Without a sound, it flew right at her. At the last minute it banked away, and Pick dropped onto her shoulder with a grunt.

“Criminy, I can’t see a thing!” he grumbled, latching on to her collar and pulling himself into the warmth of its folds. “Cold up there, too. I might be made of twigs and leaves, but I’m frozen all the way through!”

“What are you doing?” she asked, coming back to her feet, looking at the white space where the owl had been a moment before.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m patrolling the park!”

“In this weather?” She exhaled sharply. “What is that supposed to accomplish?”

“You mean, besides possibly saving your life?” he snapped irritably. “Oh, right, I forgot. That was yesterday, wasn’t it? Guess I’m just wasting my time out here today.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” She hadn’t seen him since last night’s incident and had forgotten that she hadn’t thanked him. “What can I say? I’m an ingrate. You did save my life. All of our lives, for that matter.”

She could feel him puff up. “You are entirely welcome.”

“I mean it. It’s belated, I know, but thanks.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m just a little distracted.”

He gestured impatiently. “Start walking. It’s freezing out here, and I have to see you safely home before I can take cover myself. Mr. Gask is still out here, and he has a couple of his demon cronies with him. They were watching you talk with the Indian.”

“With Two Bears?” She glanced around quickly.

“Don’t worry, they didn’t follow you. I was watching to make sure. Come on, keep moving, don’t be looking around like you didn’t know the way. I’ll keep watch for the both of us.”

She made her way to the fence and squeezed through the gap to the other side. Ahead, the park was a white blur. The residences to her left and the bayou and railroad tracks to her right had disappeared completely. But even in weather conditions as bad as this, she could find her way, the park as familiar to her as her own bedroom in darkest night. Head lowered against the stinging gusts of frozen snow and bitter wind, she moved down the road past the Indian mounds.

“Tell me what you know about last night,” she suggested, striding steadily forward.

“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. Gask, 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. Cripes! 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.

F
indo 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 been 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

J
ohn 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 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 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.”

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 overcoming 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.

I
t 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.