Then Penny catapulted out of the haze, another deadly knife in hand. Screaming and spitting, she raked at his midsection. Buttressed by demon magic, the slender blade broke through his defenses and pierced his side. He gasped from the force of the blow and the sudden pain. Penny yanked the knife free and stabbed at him again, but he deflected the second blow and sent her spinning away.
Almost immediately, Twitch reappeared. Reaching down, he fastened both massive hands about Ross’s neck and began to squeeze.
W
hen she heard the front door explode off its hinges, Nest called to Pick, “Hang on.”
She broke from the darkness of the stairwell into the light and raced for the children. But she had forgotten she had removed her shoes, and she couldn’t find sufficient purchase in her stocking feet. She was sliding on the tile floor almost instantly.
Harper was clinging to Little John, both of them frozen in place, uncertain what was happening.
“Run!” she shouted at them.
She was expecting the guard demon to come at her, had readied her magic to combat it, and still wasn’t prepared when the ur’droch hurtled out of the shadows. A blur of darkness, it crossed in front of the children to intercept her, pushing through her magic as if it wasn’t there. It slammed into her with stunning force, unexpectedly solid for something that seemed so insubstantial. The blow spun her sideways into the wall, where she sagged to her knees. Pick went flying off her shoulder and disappeared.
Wheeling back, keeping to the shadows until the last moment, the ur’droch attacked again. Dazed and gasping for air, she sent her small magic lancing into it, to gain a moment’s respite. The demon was staggered this time, and it careened into the sofa, knocking it askew. Swiftly, it slid back into the gloom.
Nest looked quickly for the children. Harper and Little John were hanging on to each other only a few yards away.
“Run!” She screamed again.
Overhead, the ceiling shuddered from the impact of colliding bodies and expended magic. The lamp shade on the bar counter tilted crazily, and its dim light sprayed the darkness, casting strange shadows that rocked and swayed.
Nest braced herself against the wall, willing herself to remain upright. Everything in her body felt broken. The children were running to reach her, arms outstretched. The ur’droch shot out of the darkness in pursuit, a roiling black shadow. Nest threw her magic at it, trying again to keep it at bay. But she had little strength left and almost no focus she could bring to bear, and she could feel both crumble in the face of the other’s determined assault.
Then Wraith appeared, suddenly, explosively, in response to her desperate need, in answer to her unspoken prayer, launched from the layered darkness as if from a nightmare’s epicenter. Tiger-striped muzzle drawn back, the big ghost wolf hammered into its enemy and sent it flying into the shadows. Barely pausing, it gave pursuit. Seconds later, they emerged in a ball of dark fury, tearing at each other, emitting sounds that were primal and blood-chilling. Across the shadowy room they surged, back and forth, locked in their life-and-death struggle.
The children reached Nest safely and latched on to her legs. She was so weak, she almost went down again. Her head spun. She had to get them out of there, but she had no strength to do so.
And she couldn’t leave Wraith. Not after he had come back for her. Not without trying to help.
The ghost wolf and the ur’droch wheeled and lunged through the pale spray of tilted lamplight, through the hazy gloom, back and forth across the furniture’s debris.
Harper was sobbing and clutching tightly at her legs, and Little John was saying “Mama, Mama,” over and over.
Get them out! Wraith is only something made of magic! He isn’t real! It doesn’t matter what happens to him! Get the children out!
She hugged them against her in paralyzed confusion, eyes riveted on the battle taking place before her.
Do something!
The ur’droch continually tried to carry the fight into the shadows, to maneuver at every opportunity toward the room’s shadowy edges. It dragged at Wraith, hauling him out of the light . . .
Impulsively, Nest stumbled toward the stairway and the bank of wall switches she had passed coming in. When she reached them, she threw them all on.
Light blazed the length and breadth of the rec room, flooding through the shadows, and suddenly there was no more darkness to be found. The ur’droch wheeled about in confusion, and Wraith took advantage. Boring in with single-minded fury, he fastened his jaws on some part of the demon that Nest could not identify and began to shake his enemy. The ur’droch jerked from side to side as if made of old rags. Bits and pieces of it began to come loose. It made no sound, but things that might have been clawed feet scrabbled at the tile floor and flailed at the air. Still Wraith shook it, braced on all fours, tiger face lifted to hold it aloft.
Then abruptly the ur’droch exploded into black smoke and disintegrated into ash. The small, winged creature that was its withered soul made a futile effort to escape, but Wraith had it in his massive jaws instantly, crushing it to pulp.
With a rush of air and billowing, inky smoke, the ur’droch was gone.
A
t that same moment, John Ross was struggling to break loose from the giant Twitch. Magic from his staff lanced into the big albino’s midsection, burning through him. The massive hands that were fastened about his neck released, but the tree-trunk arms closed about his chest. Ross felt his ribs crack as even the Word’s magic was unable to protect him. In desperation, he slammed his forehead into the bridge of the albino’s nose. Twitch roared and shook himself, and his arms loosened just enough for Ross to twist free.
Tumbling to the floor, he rolled away from the flailing giant into Penny, who stabbed at him again and again with her knives, her face streaked with blood and her eyes wild. He fended her off with a solid kick, then struck at her with the staff. He caught her across the ankles with a sweeping blow and dropped her to her knees. She dug into the floor with her knives, tearing at the carpet, consumed by madness and blood-lust. Larry Spence staggered past, still pulling the trigger on his empty .45,
click,
click,
click,
and with a wicked, sideways slash of her blade, Penny cut him open to his backbone.
Larry Spence fell to the floor, dying, as Ross brought the length of his staff across Penny’s face, shattering her skull into pieces. Faceless and groping, knives gone, fingers become claws, still she fought to reach him, until his magic burned through the core of her body to her twisted, black soul and turned both to ash.
A fresh gout of fire spurted up the curtains and along the length of the west wall. Leather-bound book clutched to his dark chest, Findo Gask was crouched by the old fireplace, laughing. Ross tried to reach him, but Twitch reappeared in his path, all size and lumbering destruction, tearing at the air and furniture indiscriminately. Ross held his ground, summoning what remained of his strength, calling up the magic one final time. Twitch reached for him, and Ross jammed one end of the staff into the giant’s throat and sent the magic skimming along its length. Twitch reared back, body shaking as if he had touched a live wire, voice booming with rage. Ross pushed him back into the closest wall and pinned him there, refusing to let him escape. Fire spurted from the giant’s ears and mouth and nose, and his huge body convulsed.
When the demon collapsed finally, Ross found that tiny bat of wickedness that formed its core as it tried to break free of the giant’s dead, hollow shell, slammed it to the floor, and burned it away.
With everyone around him dead, Ross sagged to one knee and stared across the room at Findo Gask. The demon stared back. For an instant, neither moved. The room flickered with shadows as the fire sparked by the combatants’ magic continued to consume the old house. The fire shone quicksilver and eerie against the darkness beyond, as if something come alive to challenge the night.
“Mr. Ross!” Gask shouted at him.
Ross tried to rise and fell back. He had no strength.
“You’re dying, Mr. Ross!” Findo Gask said, and laughed.
His leathery face was streaked with sweat and grime, and his black coat was torn. He began easing his way slowly along the wall toward the back of the house. Again, Ross tried unsuccessfully to climb back to his feet. Nothing seemed to work. He summoned his magic to support him, but he had almost nothing left to call on.
“Demon poison, Mr. Ross!” Gask spit at him. There was venom and rage in his voice. “Just a scratch would be enough for normal men. But a blade’s length plunged inside the stomach wall will put an end even to a Knight of the Word!”
Ross reached down and touched his damaged midsection, willing the wound to heal over and the blood flow to stop. He kept his eyes on Findo Gask the entire time.
“I’ll be leaving now, Mr. Ross!” the demon taunted. “Time to check on Miss Freemark. Down in the basement, isn’t she? Don’t bother getting up to show me the way. I’ll find it on my own. Get on with the business of dying, why don’t you?”
He was almost to the darkened hallway when he turned back one last time. “It was all for nothing, Mr. Ross! All of it! You’ve lost everything!”
Then he wheeled away and was gone.
I
n the hushed aftermath of the ur’droch’s destruction, Nest knelt before Harper and Little John and touched their faces gently. “It’s all right,” she told them. “Everything is all right.”
Wraith prowled through the scattered remains of the demon, big head lowered as he sniffed at the ashes. Little John watched him intently. Overhead, the battle continued, violent and unabated.
“Come here, peanut,” Nest urged Harper, and when the little girl did, she took her in her arms and held her, cooing softly. “It’s all right, it’s all right.”
Little John looked at them, eyes suspicious and uncertain. Nest held out her hand to him, but he refused to come. She gestured with her fingers. He stayed where he was.
Gently, she eased Harper away from her, folding the little girl down against her thigh, freeing both arms. “Little John,” Nest said softly. “It’s all right.”
The boy stared at her with such longing that it was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears. His need was naked and compelling, but he could not seem to free himself from the indecision or doubt or whatever it was that kept him at bay. She held his gaze, her arms outstretched, patiently waiting him out. She noticed for the first time how much the color of his hair and skin were like her own. She was surprised at how similar their features were.
Odd,
she thought. She had not remembered that his eyes, like hers, were green. They had always seemed so blue . . .
In fact, she amended suddenly, they had been blue.
“Oh, my God!” she whispered.
He was changing right in front of her, just a little, barely enough to tell that anything was happening. It was his face that was transforming now, beginning to mirror her own in small, almost negligible ways—just enough that she could not fail to see what he was doing, what he was trying to make happen.
Mama
he had called her.
Mama.
“Do you want me to be your mother, little boy?” she asked him quietly. “Is that what you want? I want that, too. I want to be your mother more than anything. You and me and Harper. We can be a family, can’t we?”
“Luv ’ou, Neth,” Harper murmured without looking up, keeping her face lowered against Nest’s thigh.
“Come here, Little John,” Nest urged again. “Come let me hold you, sweetie.”
The gypsy morph glanced over at Wraith. The big ghost wolf lifted his head immediately and stared back. After a moment, he took a step toward the morph, and Little John instantly reached for Nest, cringing. Nest took him into her arms at once, pulling him against her, stroking his hair.
“It’s all right, Little John,” she told him. “He won’t hurt you. He isn’t coming over here. He’s staying right where he is.”
She glared in warning at Wraith, as if the look alone could convey what she wanted. The ghost wolf merely stared back at her, eyes bright and fierce, revealing nothing of his thoughts. When he turned away again, it was almost as an afterthought.
“Little boy,” she cooed to the gypsy morph. “Tell me what you want. Please, little boy.”
His head lifted, and he glanced over to make certain that Wraith was not trying to approach.
“He’s not coming back to me, not like he was, not inside me. He doesn’t belong there. He doesn’t even want to be there. It was my fault, Little John. I made him be there. But he won’t come back again. I won’t let him. It’s all right now. It’s only you and me.”
It had gone quiet upstairs, but she could smell smoke and feel the heat of flames. The house was on fire, and she was out of time. If she didn’t break through to him now, she never would. She had to take him out of there, but she didn’t want to interrupt what was happening. She was as close to him as she would ever be. She could feel that he was ready to reveal himself to her. Something crashed overhead, and she wondered suddenly what she would find waiting for her when she finally took the children back up.
“I love you, Little John,” she whispered, a twinge of desperation creeping into her voice.
She felt him stir, worming more tightly into her.
“Tell me what you want, little boy,” she begged.
When he did, it was not at all what she had expected, but ever so much more than she had any right to hope.
CHRISTMAS
CHAPTER 28
B
attered and disheveled, his black clothes stained and torn, Findo Gask made his way slowly down the back hallway of the old Victorian in search of Nest Freemark. He had lost his flat-brimmed hat and a good chunk of his composure. He kept his Book of Names clutched tightly to his chest. Behind him, flames climbed the walls and ate through the ceiling, consuming hungrily. His strange, gray eyes burned with the intensity of the fire he turned his back on, reflecting the mix of anger, frustration, and disappointment he was battling.
John Ross and Nest Freemark had been much stronger and more daring than he had anticipated. He could not believe they’d had the temerity to come for him, much less the courage to attack in spite of such formidable odds. It wasn’t the loss of Twitch and Penny and most probably the ur’droch that bothered him. They had all been expendable from the beginning. It was his loss of control over the situation. It was the effrontery Ross and Nest Freemark had displayed in attacking him when he had believed them so thoroughly under his thumb. He prided himself on being careful and thorough, on never getting surprised, and the night’s events had knocked his smoothly spinning world right out of its orbit.
His seamed face tightened. There was no help for it now. The best he could do was to set things right again. He would have to make certain that Nest Freemark, if she was still alive, did not stay that way. Then he would have to find the gypsy morph and, at the very least, put an end to any possibility that its magic might one day serve the Word.
When he reached the top of the basement stairs, he paused. It was brightly lit below, but devoid of movement and sound. Whatever was down there that was still alive was keeping very quiet. Then he heard someone stirring, heard a child’s voice, and knew they had not escaped him. Footsteps approached the stairwell, and he moved swiftly back into the shadows. When he saw Nest Freemark at the bottom of the stairs, he backed into the hall. Where to deal with her? She would attempt to slip out the back, of course, bringing the children with her. It was the children she would think of first, not Ross. It was the children she had come to save, surmising correctly that waiting to make any kind of trade for the morph would get them all killed.
She was intelligent and resourceful. It was too bad she wasn’t more her father’s daughter. In all the years he had worked in the service of the Void, he had never come across anyone like her.
He sighed wearily. He would wait for her outside, he decided, where he would put an end to her for good.
When she emerged onto the back porch, he was standing in the shadows by the hedgerow across the way. He could see her clearly in the light of the flames. She carried the little girl in her arms, and the sylvan rode her shoulder. There was no sign of the boy.
When she came down the porch stairs, he stepped out to confront her.
“Miss Freemark!” he called out sharply, bringing her head around. “Don’t be so quick to leave! You still have something that belongs to me!”
She stopped at the bottom of the steps and stared at him wordlessly. She didn’t panic. She didn’t turn back or try to move away. She just stood there, holding her ground.
“We’re finished, you and I, Miss Freemark,” he said, coming forward a few steps, closing the distance between them. “The game is over. There’s no one left but us.” He paused. “You did destroy the ur’droch, didn’t you?”
Her nod of acquiescence was barely discernible. She seemed to be trying to make up her mind about something. “Congratulations,” he offered. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible. The ur’droch was virtually indestructible. So that accounts for everyone, doesn’t it? Mr. Ross disposed of Twitch and Penny, and they disposed of Mr. Ross and the deputy sheriff. That leaves just us.”
To her credit, she didn’t react visibly to his words. She just stood there, silent and watchful. He didn’t like it that she was so unmoved, so calm. She was made of fire and raw emotion, and she should be responding more strongly than this.
“Think how much simpler it would have been if you’d listened that first day when I asked for your help.” He sighed. “You were so stubborn, and it has cost you so much. Now here we are, right back where we started. Let’s try it again, shall we, one last time? Give me what I want. Give me the gypsy morph so that I can be out of your life forever!”
The faintest of smiles crossed her lips. “Here’s a piece of irony for you, Mr. Gask. You’ve had what you wanted all night, and you didn’t realize it. It’s been right under your nose. Little John was the gypsy morph. That boy was what you were looking for. In his last transformation before coming here, that’s what he became. How about that, Mr. Gask?”
Findo Gask quit smiling. “You’re lying, Miss Freemark.”
She shook her head. “You know I’m not. You can tell. Demons recognize lies better than most; it’s what they know best. No, Mr. Gask, you had the morph. That was one of the reasons John and I came here tonight—because we didn’t have it to trade for the children and had no other way to get them back.”
She shifted the little girl in her arms. The child’s head was buried in her shoulder. “Anyway, he’s lost to both of us now. Another piece of irony for you. You notice I don’t have him with me? Well, guess what? He ran out of time. His magic broke apart down there in the basement. He disappeared. Poof! So it really is just you and me, after all.”
Findo Gask studied her carefully, searching her face, her eyes, sifting through the echoes of her words in his mind. Was she lying to him? He didn’t think so. But if the morph had self-destructed, wouldn’t he have sensed it? No, he answered himself, magic was flying everywhere in that house, and he wouldn’t have been able to separate the sources or types.
“Look in my eyes, Mr. Gask,” she urged quietly. “What do you see?”
What he saw was that she was telling the truth. That the morph had been the boy all along, and now the boy was gone. That the magic had broken apart one final time. That it was beyond his reach. That was what he saw.
He felt a burning in his throat. “You have been a considerable source of irritation to me, Miss Freemark,” he said softly. “Maybe it is time for you to accept the consequences of your foolish behavior.”
“So now you want to kill me, too,” she said. “Which was your plan all along anyway, wasn’t it?”
“You knew as much. Isn’t that another reason why you came here instead of waiting on my call?”
He took a step toward her.
“I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you, Mr. Gask,” she said sharply. “I can protect myself better than most.”
She glanced to her right, and Gask followed her gaze automatically. The big ghost wolf the ur’droch had encountered at her home the night before stood watching him from the shadows, head lowered, muzzle drawn back, body tensed. Gask studied it a moment, surprised that it was still alive, that it hadn’t been forced to exchange its own life for that of the ur’droch. He had thought the ur’droch a match for anything. Well, you never knew.
“I don’t think your friend is strong enough to stop me,” he said to Nest Freemark, keeping his eyes fixed on the beast.
“I’ve lost a lot in the past few days, Mr. Gask,” she replied. “This child in my arms is one of the few things I have left. I promised her mother I would look after her. If you intend to keep that from happening, you’re going to have to do it the hard way.”
Gask continued to measure the ghost wolf. He did not care for what he saw. This creature had been created by a very powerful demon magic that had been strengthened at least once since. It was not hampered by the rules that governed the servants of the Word. It would fight him as a demon would fight him. Most likely it had already destroyed the ur’droch. Findo Gask was stronger and smarter than his late companion, but he was not indestructible. He might prevail in a battle with this creature, but at what cost?
In the distance, the wail of fire engines rose out of the silence. Lights had come on in the surrounding homes. On the street, a cluster of people had begun to gather.
He let the tension drain from his body. It was time to let go of this business, time to move on. He could not afford to let personal feelings interfere with his work. There would be other days and more important battles to fight.
A shawl of snowflakes had collected on the shoulders and the lapels of his frock coat. He brushed them away dismissively. “What is the worth of the life of a single child here or there?” he asked rhetorically. “Nothing. The end will be the same. Sooner or later, the Void will claim them all.”
“Maybe,” she said.
He backed away slowly, still watching the ghost wolf, still wary. “You’ve failed, Miss Freemark. People died for you, and what do you have to show for it? Mr. Ross gave up his life, and what did he gain by doing so? What was the point of any of it? What did you accomplish?”
The yellow eyes in the tiger-striped face glowed like live coals as they tracked his retreat. Findo Gask backed all the way across the side yard and through the barren-limbed hedge before turning away.
He walked to the street without looking back, fighting to stay calm, to keep his frustration and rage from making him do something foolish. He could go back after her, he knew. He could find a way to get to her, sooner or later. But it was pointless. She had nothing left he wanted. His battle with her was finished. There were other causes to attend to. It made no difference to him that he had failed to secure the morph’s magic. It mattered only that it could never be used in the service of the Word. By that measuring stick, he had won. It was enough to satisfy him.
When he reached the street, he saw a pair of fire engines wheeling around the corner and coming for the house. He turned the other way, walking quickly. At the corner, he paused. Standing beneath the streetlight, he opened the Book of Names and looked at the last entry.
The name
John Ross
was faintly legible against the aged parchment. Even as he watched, the name turned a shade darker.
You take away what you can from these battles,
he thought. The life of a Knight of the Word was a reasonable trophy.
He closed the book and walked on. In seconds, his tall, dark figure had vanished into the night.
N
est Freemark remained where she was until she could no longer see Findo Gask. Harper nestled against her breast, fast asleep. Pick sat on her shoulder, twiggy fingers wrapped in her parka collar, a silent presence.
Wraith had faded away into the ether, free to go where he wished, but never, she believed, to go too far from her.
“He did a fine job of convincing himself, didn’t he?” Pick said finally, gesturing after Findo Gask.
Nest nodded. “He believed what he saw in my eyes.”
“You didn’t lie.”
“I didn’t have to.”
“I guess he was looking hard enough that if he was ever going to find out, he would have found out now.”
“I guess.”
The flames from the burning house were growing hotter as the fire spread to the roof. On the front lawn, the firemen were scrambling to contain the blaze, their efforts directed primarily at protecting the surrounding homes. It was clear there was nothing they could do to save the Victorian or anyone in it.
“You think he was telling the truth about John Ross?” Pick asked suddenly.
She watched the activity out front without speaking for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”
“I could try to get back inside for a quick look.”
The entire front half of the house was engulfed in flames and the fire was spreading quickly. Any attempt at going back inside would be foolish. Her heart could not accept that John Ross was really dead, but she knew it was so. If he was still alive, he would have come for her by now.
“Let it go, Pick,” she said softly.
Pick went silent, absorbing the impact of her words. In her arms, Harper stirred. The little girl was growing heavy, but Nest refused to put her down. She was reminded of the time she had carried Bennett home from the cliffs of Sinnissippi Park fifteen years earlier after saving her from the feeders. She hadn’t put Bennett down either that night, not until she was safely home in bed. She would do the same now with Harper. Maybe this time, it would make a difference.
“You better get going,” Pick said finally.
She nodded. “You better get going, too.”
He hesitated. “Don’t you be second-guessing yourself later,” he snapped at her suddenly. “You did everything you could! More than everything, in fact! Criminy, you should be proud of yourself!”
He jumped from her shoulder and disappeared into the tangle of the shrubbery. Moments later, she caught a glimpse of a barn owl winging its way toward the river through the snowfall and the night.
Safe journey, Pick,
she wished him.
She turned and walked back toward the street, angling diagonally across the front yards of the old houses, keeping to the shadows of the trees and porches, holding Harper tightly against her. She glanced back once at the burning house, and when she did so, her eyes filled with tears. She began to cry silently, realizing what she was leaving behind, thinking of John Ross. She thought of all they had shared over the past fifteen years. She thought of what he had endured in his twenty-five years as a Knight of the Word. He had given everything in his service to the Lady. In the end, he had even given his life.
She brushed at her eyes with the back of her gloved hand. John Ross might have died for her and for the children, but he hadn’t died for nothing. And neither of them had failed in what they had set out to do.
She fought to compose herself as she crossed down a side street and came in view of her car. She wished he could have lived to see the baby.
John Ross Freemark
she would name him. He would be born next fall, another of those children Findo Gask was so quick to dismiss as unimportant. But this one could surprise him. Created of wild magic and born to a woman for whom magic was a legacy, he could become anything. She felt him inside her, deep in her womb, transformed into what he had sought to become all along—her baby-to-be, her future child. She did not know his plan, nor perhaps did he know it himself. Even the Word might not know. They must bide their time, all of them; they must wait and see.