She waited until they disappeared through the hedgerow into the park, then rose and walked slowly back toward the house. She had a curious, unpleasant feeling that everything was slipping away from her. She had always felt secure about her life, able to face whatever changes might come. But now • she felt her grip loosening, as if she might no longer be able to count on anything. It was not just losing Gran and maybe Jared; it was the dark way the world beyond the park had suddenly intruded on her life. It was John Ross and O'olish Amaneh appearing. It was the coming of the demon. It was the danger the maentwrog posed, threatening to break free of its centuries–old prison. It was the sudden emergence of so many feeders in places they had never been seen before and Pick's warning of a shift in the balance. It was the revival of the mystery surrounding her mother and father. It was Wraith's failure to protect her last night.
But mostly, she thought, it was the fear and uncertainty she felt at the prospect of having to rely on her magic to stay alive–her magic, which she mistrusted and disliked, a genetic gift come out of her own flesh and blood that she had never fully understood. Gran had left her with a single admonition. When he comes for you, use your magic. Not "if he comes" or. "should he come." There was no room for debate on what was going to happen or what was required of her, and Nest Freemark, at fourteen years of age, isolated by loss and doubt and secrets kept hidden from her, did not feel ready to deal with it. She was still wrestling with her sense of vulnerability, standing alone not ten feet from her back door, when the demon appeared.
CHAPTER 27
The demon stepped from behind the garage where it opened onto the driveway leading down the lane, emerging from a patch of shadows cast by one of the old shagbark hickories. Nest froze on seeing him, the thoughts that cluttered her mind disappearing with the quickness of fireflies in daylight. She was so surprised by his appearance that she didn't even think to call out. She just stood there, staring at him in shock. His bland face was expressionless, as if coming upon her like this was quite natural. He studied her with his washed–out blue eyes, and his gaze was almost tender. He seemed to be seeing something about her that she herself could not, measuring it, weighing it, giving it full and deliberate consideration. She could hear Gran's words screaming in her ear. When he comes for you. When he comes for you. The words faded into a high–pitched ringing that deafened her. She tried to break free of him, to bolt for the safety of the house, but his gaze held her fast. No matter how hard she struggled, she could not escape. She felt tears come to her eyes. Rage and frustration boiled up within her, but even these were not powerful enough to release her.
Then the demon cocked his head, as if his attention had been drawn away. He smiled at her, a quick, empty gesture, a reflection of some private amusement. He lifted his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss off the tips. A moment later, he was gone, stepping back into the shadows in the lee of the garage and fading away.
Nest stood rooted in place, her hands shaking. She waited for him to reappear, to come for her as Gran had said he would. But nothing happened. The ringing in her ears faded, and she began to hear the sounds of the people in the park again, the robins singing in the trees in her yard, and the cars passing down Woodlawn Road. She took a deep breath and held it, trying to still herself. "
"Nest!"
John Ross limped slowly into view through the gap in the hedgerow from off the service road. A surge of relief flooded through her. She ran to him without thinking, racing across the backyard, barely able to contain the cry of gratitude that rose in her throat. Her legs churned and her arms pumped, and she threw off the last links of her immobilizing chains. She ran to outstrip her fear and revulsion, to leave them stymied and powerless in the wake of her quickness.
When she reached John Ross, she threw herself into his arms and clung to him.
"Hey, hey, it's all right," he said quickly, bracing himself with his staff, his free arm coming about her shoulders reassuringly. "What's wrong, Nest? Hey, stop crying."
She shook her head against his chest, fighting the tears, gasping for breath as she tried to speak. Everything washed out of her in a hot flush, all the rage and fear and horror and sadness of last night, evaporating like rainwater on hot concrete in the aftermath of a summer storm.
"I heard about your grandmother, and I came right out," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, Nest. I wish I had known he would do this. I would have tried to prevent it. I know how you must feel. I know how hard it must be."
"I hurt so bad," she said finally, the words coming from her mouth in little gulps.
"It can't be any other way," he replied. "Not when you lose someone you love so much."
She shook her head slowly, rubbing her face against his shirt, still pressing against him. "Why did this happen? Why did he do it? Was he just trying to get back at her for what happened when she was a girl? Is that it?" The pitch of her voice began to rise and the words to come faster. "John, he was just here, standing down by the garage, staring at me. I couldn't move! If you hadn't come …"
"Nest, slow down, it's all right." He patted her back in an effort to calm her.
She clutched him more tightly. "Gran left a note, John. Just before she died. She knew what was going to happen. The note says the demon is coming for me, too. For me! Why?"
The words hung sharp–edged and immobile in the silence that followed. John Ross said nothing, but in doing so said everything. Nest felt the precipice she had sought to escape drawing near once more. Ross knew, but would not tell her. Like Gran, he had secrets to hide. Her resolve began to falter. She heard the screen door open and saw her grandfather emerge, looking for her. She felt besieged on all sides, boxed in by her ignorance and confusion. She had to know what was happening. She had to know before it was too late.
A surge of wild determination and reckless courage flooded, through her. "John," she said quickly, lifting her face away from his chest to look at him. Her heart pounded. "Are you my father?"
The pain that filled his eyes when she spoke the words was palpable. He stared at her with such intensity that it felt to her as if he was unable to convey with words what he was feeling.
"It's just that Gran seemed so suspicious and resentful of you," Nest hurried on, trying to make the answer easier for him, to let him tell her what she already knew was so. "I heard her talking to Grandpa. She was saying things that made it pretty clear… I'm not angry or anything, you know. I just… I just…"
He brought his hand to her face, resting the palm against her cheek. "Nest," he said softly. "I wish to God I were your father. I would be proud to be your father." He shook his head sadly. "But I'm not."
She stared at him in disbelief, feeling her expectation crumple inside and turn to despair. She had been so sure. She had known he was her father, known it from the way that Gran reacted to him, from the way he spoke of her mother, from his history, from his voice and eyes, from everything he was. How could he not be? How could he not?
Her grandfather came up behind them, and Nest turned toward him. He saw the stricken look in her face, and his jaw tightened. His eyes locked at once on John Ross.
"Morning, John," he said, a decided edge to his voice. He placed a reassuring hand on Nest's shoulder.
"Good morning, sir," Ross answered,, taking his own hand away.
"Is something wrong here?"
"No, sir. I just came by to offer my condolences. I'm very sorry about Mrs. Freemark. I believe she was a remarkable woman."