She put her hand over her eyes wearily. “Thanks, Robert.”
“I’m sorry about her dying, and I’m sorry for all the things I’ve said about her. And about John Ross. You didn’t need to hear that kind of junk from me. I wish I’d never said any of it, but I did, and it’s too late to take it back. That’s been a problem for me all my life.”
“It’s okay, Robert.”
“I know things must be tough over there, especially for the little ones. Amy and I want you to think about coming over here Christmas Day. All of you, Ross included. You don’t have to come for the whole day, just as much of it as you want. But it would be good for the kids to have other kids to play with. It would be good for all of you to be with other people.”
She didn’t say anything, her throat and chest tight with sudden grief and despair. All she could think about was losing Harper and Little John to the demons and not being able to get them safely back.
“Nest?” he said.
She felt everything break apart inside like deadwood and then come back together again, the broken pieces bound together by iron forged in the furnace of her determination. “You’re a good guy, Robert,” she said quietly. “Tell Amy how much your invitation means to me. Let me think about it, and I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”
She hung up the phone, stared off into space for a moment, and then looked at Ross. “What do you say, John? I’m tired of being pushed around. Let’s not wait on Findo Gask and his phone call. Let’s go get the children back right now.”
CHAPTER 26
I
t took a considerable amount of effort on Nest’s part to persuade Ross that she was right. If they let Findo Gask dictate the conditions of any trade, she argued, he would put them in a box. He would create a situation where they had no hope of freeing either Harper or Little John. Besides, he would not make the exchange in any case, not even if they revealed to him that he had the gypsy morph in his possession already. He would simply kill them. If they wanted to have any chance at all, they had to act now, while Gask thought them paralyzed and helpless. They had to go after the demons on their own ground.
Ross was not averse to the idea of a preemptory strike; it rather appealed to him. He had taken on a fatalistic attitude regarding his own future, and his sole concern was for the children. But he was adamant that their best approach was to keep Nest out of the picture entirely. He would go by himself, confront Gask, and free the children if he could. If there were any sacrifices required, they would come from him.
“John, you can’t do it alone,” she pointed out reasonably. “You don’t even know how to get to where you need to go. I’ll have to drive us. Listen to me. When we get there, one of us will have to distract the demons while the other frees the children. It will be hard enough with two of us working together. It will be impossible if you try it alone.”
There were at least four demons, she added. Findo Gask, the girl Penny, the ur’droch, and a giant albino called Twitch. That was too many for him to try to take on by himself.
“I have as much stake in this as you do, John,” she said quietly. “Harper is my responsibility. Bennett gave her into my safekeeping. And what about Little John? He asked for me, brought you to me, and last night called me
Mama
as if I had it in me to give him the one thing he most needs. I can’t ignore that. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen or that it doesn’t mean anything, and it’s wrong of you to ask me to do so.”
“You’re not equipped for this, Nest,” he insisted angrily. “You don’t have the tools. The only real weapon you have is one you don’t want to use. What’s going to happen if you have to call Wraith out to defend you? What if you can’t? The demons will kill you in a heartbeat. I have the magic to protect myself, but I don’t think I can protect us both.
“Besides,” he said, shaking his head dismissively. “You aren’t the one who was asked to protect the morph. I was. This isn’t your fight.”
She smiled at that. “I think it’s been my fight since the day Findo Gask appeared on my doorstep and told me what would happen if I took you in. I don’t think I’ve got a choice.”
In the end, he agreed. They would go together, but only if she promised that once she had possession of the children she would get out of there and that she would not expose herself to any more danger than was absolutely necessary.
As
if,
she wanted to say, but agreed.
The children, she told him, were in an old house on Third Street, down by the west plant of MidCon Steel. She had gone to that house with church carolers earlier on the same night he had appeared at her door.
In the wake of everything else that had happened, Nest had all but forgotten the incident with Twitch and Allen Kruppert. She had suspected that something wasn’t right with that house and the strange people in it, but she hadn’t given the matter any further thought after Ross appeared with the morph. It wasn’t until now she remembered Bennett saying, when pressed, that Penny claimed to be Findo Gask’s niece.
“If the connection is real,” she explained to Ross, “they’re all staying in that house on Third. That’s where they’ll have the children. Gask wasn’t there that night, or at least he didn’t show himself. I think he was testing me, John, trying to see how strong I was, how easily I would frighten. But he was being careful to stay hidden from me in the process. I don’t think he has any idea we know about his connection to that house.”
“Maybe,” Ross acknowledged grudgingly. “But even if you’re right, we won’t be able to just walk in there. If you were smart enough to have Pick throw a protective net over your house, won’t Gask have done something like it to his?”
She had to agree that he would. How would they get past whatever safeguards he had installed? For that matter, how would they even know where to look for the children? If she couldn’t get to them before the demons discovered what they were about, the children’s lives were over. Even a distraction by Ross probably wouldn’t be enough to save them. At least one demon would get there first.
It was still snowing heavily outside, and the snowplows were beginning to make their runs up and down the nearby streets, metal blades scraping loudly in the snowfall’s hushed silence. Pick might have the solution to their dilemma, knowing what he did about magic’s uses, but she was unlikely to find him out on a night like this. Pick might be able to throw his voice from great distances to speak with her, but she could not do the same to summon him. Ross, when pressed, admitted he lacked any sort of magic that would enable him to bypass a demon security web. The way matters stood, if they went to the house on Third Street, any attempt at an entry would probably result in failure.
Nest felt time and opportunity slipping away. It was already edging toward eight o’clock. They had little more than four hours in which to act. The weather was worsening, the streets would soon be impassable where the snowplows hadn’t reached, and even getting to where they had to go would become difficult.
Hawkeye had reappeared from wherever he had been hiding and taken up a position on the living-room couch. The hair along the ridge of his spine was spiked, and his green eyes were fierce and angry and resentful. She watched him for a time as she stood in the kitchen doorway, thinking. He must have had a close encounter with the ur’droch when it took the children out of her bedroom. He was probably lucky to be alive.
An idea came to her suddenly, but it was so strange she could barely bring herself to allow it to take shape. In fact, it was more than strange—it was anathema. Under any other circumstances, she wouldn’t have even considered it. But when you are desperate, you will go down some roads you would otherwise avoid.
“John,” she said, drawing his attention. “I’m going outside for a little bit.” She spoke quickly, before she could think better of it, before she had time to reconsider. “I’m going to try something that might help. Wait here for me.”
She pulled on her hooded parka, scarf, gloves, and boots, and she laced, buttoned, and zipped everything up tight. She could hear Ross saying something behind her, but she didn’t answer. She didn’t trust herself to do so. When she was sufficiently bundled up, she went out the back door into the night.
It was cold and snowing, but the wind had died away, and the air didn’t have last night’s bite. Sending clouds of breath ahead of her, she walked to the hedgerow at the end of her backyard and passed through the tangle of brittle limbs to where the service road lay. Lights blazed from the windows of distant houses, but it was the eyes of the feeders who quickly gathered that drew her attention. There were dozens of them, slinking through the shadows, appearing and disappearing in the swirl of falling snow. They had come to her to taste the magic she was about to unleash, sensing in that way they had what she intended to do.
Her plan was simple, if abhorrent. She intended to release Wraith and send him into the park in search of Pick. Her own efforts would be wasted, because her presence alone would not be enough to summon the sylvan from wherever he was taking shelter. Moreover, it would take time she did not have. But Wraith was all magic, and magic of that size roaming Pick’s woodland domain would alert the sylvan instantly. It would draw him out and bring him in search of her.
The problem, of course, was that this plan she had stumbled on required that she release Wraith, something she was loath to do under any circumstance and particularly where she was not personally threatened. The difficulties she faced in releasing Wraith were daunting. She did not know for certain that she could control what he might do or how far away from her he might venture once released, or if she could bring him back inside once he was out. She did not know how much energy she would have to expend on any of this, and she was looking at a night ahead when she might need that energy to stay alive.
But without Pick’s help, she did not stand a chance of bypassing any security net Findo Gask might have set in place or of finding where the children were concealed. Without Pick’s help, her chances of succeeding were minimal.
It was a risk worth taking, she decided anew, and hoped she was thinking clearly.
She found a patch of deep shadow amid a cluster of barren, dark trees and bushes near the far end of the Peterson yard and placed herself there. The feeders were clustered all about her, but she forced herself to ignore them. They were no threat to her if she stayed calm.
Closing her eyes, she reached down inside in search of Wraith. It was the first time she had ever done so consciously. She was not sure about what she was doing and found herself groping as if blind and deaf. There were no pathways to follow, and she lacked anger and fear as catalysts to spark his interest. She searched, and nothing happened. She hunted, but found only silence and darkness.
She opened her eyes and frowned. It wasn’t working.
Briefly, she considered giving up, abandoning her search, going back into the house, and collecting Ross. But she was stubborn by nature, and she was curious about why she was struggling so. There should have been at least some sign of the ghost wolf. There should have been some small hint of his presence. Why wasn’t there?
Brushing at the snowflakes that settled on her eyelashes, she tried again. But this time she went looking for what she knew she could find—her own magic, the magic she had been born with. She found it easily and called it forth with a confidence born of familiarity. A syrupy warmth spread from her body into her limbs, tingling like a charge of electricity.
Sure enough, the summoning of her own magic brought out Wraith as well. She felt him surge inside, a massive jolt that staggered her. He was there all at once, brutal and powerful, waking to confront whatever threatened, emerging to investigate, feral instincts and hunger washing through her like fresh blood.
He came out of her in a rush—without her asking him to do so, without her being under threat, without any visible danger presenting itself. In a heartbeat, her worst fears were confirmed. She could not control him. She was the vessel that housed him, but she had no power over him. Her certainty about it was visceral. It left her feeling helpless and small and torn with doubt. She wanted his protective presence, but she did not want the responsibility for what he might do. Her nearly overpowering, instinctual wish was that he might be gone from her forever. But her need for his help was stronger still and thrust her repulsion aside.
The feeders fell away from her in a whisper of scattered snow, their lantern eyes disappearing back into the night.
Wraith began to run. With a surge, he bounded into the park, a low, dark shape powering through the new snow, legs churning, lean body stretched out. She didn’t ask it of him, didn’t direct him to go, but he seemed to sense all on his own what was required of him and responded. Something of her went with him, feeling what he felt, seeing through his eyes. She was trapped inside his wolf’s body, crossing swiftly over snowfields, past the dark trunks of trees, and over hillocks and drifts. She felt nothing of the cold and snow, for Wraith was all magic and could only wax or wane in power and presence; he would never be affected by the elements. She felt his brute strength and great heart. She felt the fury in him that burned just below the surface of his skin.
Most of all, she felt her father’s magic, white-hot and capable of anything, unburdened by moral codes and reason, shot through with the iron threads of the cause for which Wraith had been created when she was still a child—to protect her, to keep her safe from harmful magic, to bring her safely to maturity, and, ultimately, to deliver her into her father’s hands.
Everything had changed with time’s passage, shifted around and made new. Her father was dead. She was grown and become her own person. But Wraith was still there.
He bounded on across the snow-blanketed flats and into the trees, tiger face fierce and spectral. No one was in the park to see him, and it was just as well. Nightmares are born of such encounters. Nest felt herself enveloped in a haze of emotions she could neither define nor separate, emotions born of the ghost wolf’s freedom and raw power, emotions that emerged in a rush as he neared the deep woods.
Faster Wraith ran, deeper into the night.
Then, abruptly, Nest felt something snap all the way down inside her body where her joining with Wraith began. She gasped in shock, and for a long, painful moment, everything went black and silent.
When she could see again, she was back inside her own body, standing alone in the patch of shadows at the end of the Petersons’ backyard. The feeders had dispersed. Snow fell wet and cold on her face, and the park stretched away before her, silent and empty.
Her realization of what had happened came swiftly and left her stunned. She could no longer see through Wraith’s eyes. She was no longer connected to him.
The ghost wolf had broken free.
L
arry Spence pulled the cruiser into the driveway of the old Victorian on West Third and shut off the engine. In the ensuing silence, he sat in the car and tried to think matters through, to decide how he should approach this business. But it was hard; his head throbbed and there was a persistent buzz in his ears. He wasn’t sure how long he’d had the headache and buzzing; he couldn’t remember when they had begun. But they assailed him unrelentingly, making it almost impossible for him to concentrate.
Everything seemed so difficult all of a sudden.
He knew he had made a mistake about the children. He knew he had placed his career in jeopardy by allowing Robinson to take them out of Nest’s home. His betrayal of Nest was almost unbearable. It no longer mattered that he thought he was doing the right thing at the time; he had allowed himself to be manipulated and deceived. He was furious about this, but oddly impotent as well. He should do something, but even now, parked in the drive of Robinson’s safe house, he was uncertain what that something should be.