Angel Fire East (7 page)

A demon could persuade violent men of anything, and Findo Gask had no trouble with these. Kill John Ross, he emphasized, but under no circumstances harm the ferret. Leave the ferret to him.

Standing at the far end of the hall in the shadows, Findo Gask watched it all. The room key went into the lock smoothly, the door cracked open, the big man kicked out the chain, and the three primary assailants burst through the opening, their weapons firing—
phfft, phfft, phfft.
One heartbeat later, there was a brilliant flash of light, as if a thousand cameras had all gone off at once. The wall separating the room from the hallway shattered as the broken bodies of two of the assailants hurtled through it. The third assailant, he discovered later, was thrown through the window to the street.

Then John Ross came through the door in a crouch, his staff ablaze with magic, his knapsack slung over his shoulder, his duffel abandoned. For just an instant he looked in Findo Gask’s direction, but the demon remained in the shadows, holding himself perfectly still.

The man by the elevator began firing his weapon. Ross knocked him twenty feet through the air with a single surge of power from the staff, and when his head struck the metal-bound edge of the wall where it angled around the main heating vent, Gasko heard the vertebrae crack. By now, the last man was firing as well, but Ross knocked him down with a sweep of his staff and was past him so quickly he might as well have been armed with a flyswatter.

In less than two minutes, the Knight of the Word had disposed of all five assailants and disappeared through the fire door. Four of the five were dead, and Findo Gask finished off the last on his way out, pausing as he passed through the lobby to silence the night clerk as well.

It was a messy business, and it netted him nothing. What he learned, however, was that if he was to have any chance at all with John Ross, he would need help of a special sort.

Help of a kind only other demons could supply.

B
ut three days earlier, while he was continuing his search for Ross, something unexpected happened.

That the morph continued to change shape on a regular basis not only provided a way to trace it, but showed that it hadn’t settled on a form or been revealed. John Ross had not found the key to unlock its magic. His time was running out. A morph, on average, survived for only thirty days before it began to break up. If Ross was to solve its riddle, he must do so quickly. The odds against his succeeding were enormous. Only on a handful of occasions in the course of history had the servants of either the Word or the Void found a way to unlock the magic.

But then, sometime in the middle of the night three days ago, the gypsy morph had found the shape it wanted. It had not changed since, not once, not even for the briefest moment. Findo Gask had searched the power lines that embraced the earth carefully for any disturbance, and there had been none.

Even more unexpected than the morph’s settling into a permanent shape was that it had spoken. A morph lacked a voice. It was energy, pure and simple. But somehow it had communicated, one word only, spoken three times. Undoubtedly, the word had been meant for the ears of John Ross alone, yet it was delivered with such intensity of purpose and need that it snagged on the lines of power that conveyed all the magics of the world and filtered through the ether in a whisper that Findo Gask overheard.

The word was
Nest.

Findo Gask walked down the hallway of the old Victorian toward the stairs, musing over his good fortune. No other demon had heard, he was certain; no other had his talent and instincts. The find was his alone, and he would be the one to make use of it. John Ross would come to Hopewell because he would draw the same conclusion as Findo Gask. He would come in the hope that Nest Freemark could provide the clue that would unlock the secret of the gypsy morph’s magic. He would come to seek help from someone he trusted and respected. He would come because he had nowhere else to go.

When he did, Findo Gask would be waiting.

CHAPTER 6

I
’ve come home.

The words didn’t register for a moment, Nest struggling with the idea that it was really Bennett Scott standing in front of her, no longer a little girl, but someone so far removed from the child she remembered she could barely bring herself to accept that such a transition was possible.

“Home?” she echoed in confusion.

Bennett looked embarrassed. “Yeah, well, I know it’s been a long time since I lived here. I should have written or called or something. But you know me. I was never much good at keeping in touch.”

Nest stared at her, still trying to make sense of the fact that she was here at all. “It’s been almost ten years,” she said finally.

Bennett’s smile faltered slightly. “I know. I’m sorry.” She brushed at her lank hair. “I was hoping it would be all right if I just showed up.”

Her words had taken on a defensive tone, and there was an unmistakable hint of desperation in her voice. She looked used and worn, and she did not look well. Nest suddenly felt the cold and grayness of the day more acutely. The sun had slipped all the way west, and darkness hung in the bare-limbed trees like a shroud.

“Of course, it’s all right,” she told Bennett softly.

The smile returned. “I knew it would be. You were always my big sister, Nest. Even when I was back with Big Momma and the other kids, moved to that southern Indiana redneck farming town . . .”

Her voice tightened, and she shivered with more than the cold.

“Mommy?” the little girl at her side said, tugging on her sleeve.

Bennett reached down and touched her round cheek. “Hey, pumpkin, it’s okay. This is your Aunt Nest. Nest, this is my baby girl, Harper.”

Nest came forward and dropped to one knee in front of the little girl. “Hello, Harper.”

“Say hello to Aunt Nest, baby,” Bennett encouraged.

The little girl lifted her eyes doubtfully. “Lo, Neth.”

Bennett picked her up and hugged her close. “She’s kind of shy at first, but once she gets to know you, she’s real friendly. Talks all the time. She can say a lot of words, can’t you, baby?”

Harper dug her face into her mother’s shoulder, entwining her tiny fists in Bennett’s dark hair. “Appo juss.”

Nest straightened. “I might have some apple juice in the fridge. Come on inside.”

Bennett picked up a small satchel sitting to one side and, still carrying Harper, followed Nest through the back porch door and into the house. Nest took them into the kitchen and sat them down at the table. She accepted a baby cup from Bennett and filled it with apple juice. The baby began to suck the liquid down with steady, hungry gulps.

Nest busied herself with emptying the dishwasher while Bennett bounced Harper gently on one knee. Every so often Nest would glance over, still trying to convince herself that it was really Bennett Scott. Piercings and tattoos aside, the young woman sitting at her kitchen table didn’t look anything like the girl she remembered. All of the softness and roundness was gone; everything was sharp and angular. Bennett had been full of life and bright-eyed; she had been a repository of fresh possibilities. Now she looked hollowed out, as if her life had been reduced to harsh truths that boxed her in.

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked impulsively, still worried about the way Bennett looked.

“What have you got?” Bennett Scott asked.

“How about some chicken noodle soup for you and Harper? It’s only Campbell’s, but it might take the edge off the chill.” She looked over. “Are you hungry?”

“Sure.” Bennett was looking down at Harper. “We haven’t had anything to eat . . .”

Nest put on a can of chicken noodle soup, made some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and peeled an orange. She didn’t take any for herself, which was just as well. Harper and Bennett ate everything.

As she watched them eating, Nest found herself recalling how long it had been since she had seen Bennett. Bennett had lived with her for almost two years while her alcoholic mother drifted in and out of rehab facilities and struggled to get her life together. Fifteen years ago, when Nest was fourteen, Enid Scott’s boyfriend had beaten her oldest boy, Nest’s close friend Jared, so badly he had almost died. The result was a court action that stripped Enid of her children and put them in foster homes. Old Bob was still alive then, and Nest had begged him to bring little Bennett, who was only five, home to live with them. Old Bob, perhaps remembering Gran’s promise to Enid to do what she could for her, applied for temporary custody of the little girl, and the court agreed to give it to him.

It was a hard time in everyone’s life. Nest and Bennett had gone through a traumatic and life-altering experience over a Fourth of July weekend that saw John Ross come and go from Hopewell like a one-man wrecking crew. Gran was dead. Enid was in recovery. All of the Scott children were in separate homes. Something of what they had survived brought them closer together. They became like sisters in the weeks and months that followed, and Nest remembered even now how happy Bennett had been living with her.

But eventually Enid returned, sufficiently dried out and stable to reclaim her children from their foster homes. It was a wrenching ordeal for both Bennett and Nest, and Old Bob even asked Enid to reconsider moving Bennett back until she was older. But Enid was determined to reunite her family, and it was hard to blame a mother for wanting that. Bennett went home with the others, and after a year’s probation, Enid was allowed to move the children out of state to a small town in Indiana where a handful of Enid’s relatives lived.

There were letters from Bennett at first, but she was only nine, and nine-year-olds don’t make it a point to write without encouragement. After a time, the letters stopped coming. Nest continued to write on her own, then tried calling. She found out that Enid was back in detox and the children were living with relatives. She began getting cards from Bennett again. Then the cards stopped for good.

When Old Bob died, Nest lost all track of Bennett Scott. Her own life was consumed with training for the Olympics and the demands of college. The relationship, like so many in her life, just drifted away.

Nest cleared the dishes from in front of Bennett and Harper. The little girl had fallen asleep in her mother’s lap, moppet’s head buried in a deep crease in the leather jacket. Nest motioned for Bennett to pick Harper up and led the way to one of the spare bedrooms in back. Together, they deposited Harper on the king-size bed, slipped off her shoes and parka, covered her with a blanket, and tiptoed out the door.

“I’ll make us some tea,” she advised, placing Bennett back at the kitchen table.

As she boiled water and fished about in the cupboard for some herbal tea bags, she wondered what had happened to Bennett Scott in those ten years gone. Nothing good, she suspected; very little remained of the child Bennett had been when she lived in Hopewell. She looked used and worn and hard. The tattoos and piercings suggested things Nest would rather not think about.

But maybe she was being small-minded and jumping to conclusions; she brushed the thoughts away angrily.

“Is Harper’s father traveling with you?” she asked, handing Bennett a cup of the tea and sitting down across from her.

Bennett shook her head. “It’s just Harper and me.”

“Are you meeting him for Christmas?”

“Not unless they decide to let him out of the pen.”

Nest stared.

“Sorry, Nest, that’s a lie.” Bennett looked away, shaking her head. “I tell it all the time. I tell it so often, I get to believing it. Bobby thinks he’s the father ’cause I told him so once when I needed money. But he isn’t. I don’t know who Harper’s father is.”

The old clock in the hallway ticked in the ensuing silence. Nest sighed wearily. “Why didn’t you write me to come for you, Bennett?” she said finally. “I would have.”

Bennett nodded. “I know that. You were my big sister, Nest. You were the only one who cared about me, except for Jared. He ran off as soon as he turned sixteen. I haven’t seen him since. I should have called you when I had the chance. But I wasn’t sure. I just wasn’t. Big Momma kept telling me that everything was going to be all right, even after she started drinking again and bringing home trash from the bars. And I kept right on believing, because I wanted it to be true.”

She put her teacup down and stared out the window. “She’s dead, you know. Drank herself to death, finally. Five years ago. Pneumonia, they said, but I heard the doctor tell Uncle Timmy that every organ in her body was ruined from her drinking.

“So I did what Jared did. I ran away from home. I lived on the streets, in the parks, on beaches, anywhere I could. I grew up real fast. You can’t imagine, Nest. Or if you can, you don’t want to. I was alone and scared all the time. The people I was with did things to me you wouldn’t do to a dog. I was so hungry I ate out of garbage cans. I was sick a lot. Several times I was in hospitals, then farmed out to foster homes. I always ran away.”

“But not here,” Nest said quietly.

Bennett Scott blew out a short breath and laughed. “You got a cigarette, Nest?” Nest shook her head. Bennett nodded. “Didn’t think so. World champion runner like you wouldn’t smoke, would you? Bet you don’t drink, either?”

“Nope.”

“Do any drugs?”

“Why didn’t you come here, Bennett?”

Bennett stretched, then slipped out of her leather jacket. She was wearing a sleeveless cotton sweater that hugged her body and retained almost no warmth. Nest got up, took the throw from behind the couch, walked over, and placed it over her shoulders. Bennett pulled it around her without a word, staring down at her teacup on the table.

“I’ve done a lot of drugs,” she said after a minute, still not looking up. She sipped at the tea. “I’ve done just about every drug you could name and a few besides. For a while I was doing them all at once sometimes, just to get away from myself and my crappy life. But the high never lasts; you always come down again, and there you are, the old you, and nothing’s changed.”

She looked up now. “I was sixteen when I was doing all of it at once, but I started a lot earlier.” She shook her head slowly. “That’s why I didn’t call you or write you or try to come see you. I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want you to know what I’d become. My life was . . .” She shrugged.

“It wouldn’t have mattered to me, you know,” Nest said.

Bennett shook her head reprovingly. “Pay attention, Nest. I know it wouldn’t have mattered to you. But it would have mattered to me. That’s the whole point.” She shivered inside the throw, her slim body hunching down and tightening into stillness. “When I got pregnant with Harper, I tried to stop using. I couldn’t do it. I wanted to stop, I wanted it bad. I knew what my using might do to her, but I couldn’t help myself. I tried a couple of programs, but they didn’t work out. Nothing worked.”

She brushed back her dark hair. “When Harper was born, I checked into Hazelden. You’ve probably heard of it, big drug-rehab program out of Minneapolis. I got into a treatment center for new mothers, something long term. It was better there. We were all women on drugs with children just born or about to be born. I went there because Harper was born clean, and that was a real miracle. My higher power gave me another chance, and I knew I’d be a fool not to take it. I was turning into Big Momma.” She snorted. “Who am I kidding? I was already there, worse than she ever was. You got any more of that tea, Nest?”

Nest got up and brought over the hot water and fresh tea bags. She poured them both another cup, then sat down again. “Are you better now?” she asked.

Bennett laughed bitterly. “Better? No, I’m not better! I’ll never ever be better! I’m an addict, and addicts don’t get better!”

She glared at Nest angrily, defiantly. Nest waited a moment, then said, “You know what I mean.”

Bennett’s sigh was sad and empty. “Sorry. I’m not mad at you. Really, I’m not. I’m mad at me. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, all year long, I’m mad at me. Loser me.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I’m not better. I’m ‘between treatments’ again. I stay good for a while, then I fall off the wagon. Look under
relapse
in the dictionary and you’ll find a picture of me. It’s pitiful. I don’t want it to happen, but I’m just not strong enough to stop it. Each time I go in for help, I think maybe this is the time I’ll get off drugs for good. But I can never quite manage it.”

“I guess it’s not easy,” Nest said.

Bennett Scott smiled. “Nope.” She exhaled sharply and set down the tea. “It wasn’t so much of a problem when it was just me. But now there’s Harper, and she’s almost three, and she hasn’t ever seen me clean for more than a few months in a row. First year or so, I got into rehabs where they’d let me keep her with me. Now they won’t do that. I don’t have many friends so I have to leave her with anyone who will take her.”

She looked down at her hands where they rested on the tabletop. They were cracked and dry, and the nails were dirty. She folded them together self-consciously. “I just got out again a couple of weeks ago. I don’t plan on going back.”

“If you needed to,” Nest said quietly, “you could leave Harper with me.”

Bennett’s eyes lifted. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. “Thanks, Nest. That’s nice of you to offer.”

“She would be safe here.”

“I know that.”

Nest looked out the window into the crisp black night. It was almost five in the afternoon. “Would you like to stay for dinner?” she asked.

Bennett Scott looked down again at her hands. “We wouldn’t want to be any trouble.”

In those few words, Nest heard a plea so desperate that she knew things were much worse than she believed. Then she remembered the dilapidated satchel Bennett was carrying. It was sitting inside the back door where Bennett had left it. Nest had thought it was just a baby bag, but now she wondered if it might not contain everything they had.

“Maybe you’d like to stay over for the night, too,” she said carefully, feeling her way across this treacherous ground. “Is someone else expecting you? Are you visiting anyone here?”