Nest shook her head. "I don't know. He's still out there."

"Danny Abbott is a b.u.t.t-face." Robert muttered angrily. "You should have let me punch hirri out when I had the chance, Nest."

Hearing him say it made her smile. She came through the doorway, and the four of them walked out into the shady backyard and sat down at the old picnic table. Thick, gray clouds floated overhead, drifting out of the west where the sky was already darkening. Rain was on the way, sure enough. In the' park, the first of the softball games had started up. Families were arriving by the carloads to set up their picnic lunches and to settle in for the day's events and the evening's fireworks. Nest watched a line of cars crawl down Sinnissippi Road past the townhomes.

"Where's Jared?" she asked, wondering for the first time why he was missing. No one said anything. Nest saw the discomfort mirrored in their faces. "What's wrong? Where is he?"

"He's in the hospital, Nest," Ca.s.s said, her eyes lifting. "That's what we came to tell you. It was on the news this morning, but we thought maybe you hadn't heard."

"George Paulsen beat him up real bad," Brianna said softly.

"He beat him within an inch of his life!" growled Robert, shoving back his shock of blond hair aggressively. "The jerk."

Nest felt her stomach go cold and her throat tighten. She shook her head slowly, awash in disbelief.

"I guess it happened right after your grandpa sent us home," Ca.s.s explained. Her round face was filled with pain, and her dark eyes blinked rapidly. "Jared came in the door, and George >got mad at him for something and hit him. Jared hit him back, and then George really unloaded."

"Yeah, and then he runs off before the police arrive." Robert's face was flushed with anger. "But it didn't do him much good. He fell trying to climb the cemetery fence and tore his throat open on the exposed ends. Bled to death before anyone could reach him. My dad says it's the best thing that could have happened to him."

Nest felt a vast, empty place open inside. "How's Jared?"

Ca.s.s shook her head. "He's in a coma. It's pretty bad."

"Mom says he might die," Brianna said.

Nest swallowed and fought to keep the tears from coming. "He can't die."

"That's what I said," Robert agreed quickly. "Not Jared. He's just gone away, like he does sometimes. He'll be back when he's feeling better." He looked away quickly, as if embarra.s.sed by what he had said.

Nest brushed at her eyes, remembering the shy way Jared always looked at her. She struggled to bring herself under control. "Why would George Paulsen do something like that?"

"You know," Robert snorted. "Old Enid and he were drinking and fooling around." Ca.s.s gave him a sharp look. "Well, they were! My dad says they were."

"Your dad doesn't know everything, Robert," Ca.s.s said evenly.

"Tell him that."

"Mom says they tried to he about it at first," Brianna interrupted, "but then Mrs. Scott broke down and told them everything. They didn't arrest her, but they took her kids away and put them in foster care. I guess she's in big trouble."

Everyone in that family is in trouble, Nest thought sadly. But it's Jared who's paying the price. Someone should have done something to help him a long time ago. Maybe it should have been her. She'd helped Bennett when she was lost; why hadn't she found a way to help Jared? Why hadn't she seen he might need her help? She could picture George Paulsen hitting him, could see the feeders rising up out of the shadows to spur George on. She could see Gran as well, standing on the porch with the shotgun pointed at the demon as hundreds of lantern eyes stared hungrily from the shadows.

"It just isn't fair," said Brianna.

They talked a while longer, sitting out under the oak trees in the seclusion of the backyard while beyond the hedgerow the park continued to fill with picnickers. Finally Nest told them she had to go in and get something to eat. Robert wanted to know if she was coming over to the park later for the fireworks, and Ca.s.s gave him a look and told him he was an idiot. But Nest said she might, that she had been thinking about it and there was no reason to just sit around the house. Gran would have wanted her to go. She would ask her grandfather.

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. 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. 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 Twenty-Seven.

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 s.h.a.gbark 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 c.o.c.ked his head, as if his attention had been drawn away. He smiled at her, a quick, empty gesture, a reflection of some private amus.e.m.e.nt. 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 pa.s.sing 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 grat.i.tude 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 rea.s.suringly. "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 G.o.d 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 rea.s.suring 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."

"Thank you for the kind words and for your concern." The old man paused. "Mind telling me what happened to your face?"

Nest, who had been staring at nothing, still stunned from learning that Ross was not her father, glanced up at him quickly and for the first time noticed the cuts and bruises.

"I was attacked by some men from MidCon at the dance last night," Ross said, giving a barely perceptible shrug. "It was a case of mistaken ident.i.ty. They thought I was a company spy."

"A company spy?" Nest's grandfather looked incredulous. "The company doesn't have any spies. Who would they be spying on? For what reason?"

Ross shrugged again. "It's over now. I'm fine. I just wish I had been here for you and Nest."

Nest's grandfather looked at her. "You've been crying, Nest. Are you all right now?"

Nest nodded, saying nothing, feeling dead inside. She, looked at her grandfather, then looked quickly away.

Robert Freemark straightened and turned back to John Ross. "John, I have to tell you something. Evelyn wasn't all that warm toward you, I know. She thought that maybe you were someone other than who you claimed. She was suspicious of your motives. I told her she was being silly, that I thought you were a good man."

He shook his head slowly. "But I have to admit that a lot of strange things have happened since you arrived. Nest hasn't been herself for several days. Maybe she doesn't think I've noticed, but I have. Last night's events have made me think. A lot of things don't add up. I guess I need to ask you to explain some of them."

Ross met his frank gaze with a weary, distant look. He seemed to weigh the matter a moment before answering. "I think you deserve that much, Mr. Freemark."

Nest's grandfather nodded. Nest stepped back so that she could see them both, sensing the start of something that was not going to end pleasantly.

"Well, there's this business of the man who's been poisoning trees in the park." Robert Freemark cleared his throat. "Nest's friends told me about him when they came by to ask for my help in finding her." Quickly, he told John Ross what had happened. "They said she sent them first in search of you, making it pretty clear, I think, that you know about this man, too."

He paused, waiting. John Ross glanced at Nest. "I know about him. I came to Hopewell because I was tracking him."

"Tracking him?"

"It's what I do."

"You track people? Are you with the police? Are you a law-enforcement officer?"

Ross shook his head. "I work on my own."

Nest's grandfather stared. "Are you telling me, John, that you are a private detective? Or a bounty hunter?"

"Something else."

There was a long pause as Nest's grandfather studied the other man, hands resting loosely on his hips. "Did you know my daughter Caitlin at all, John? Was any of that true?"

"I knew of her, but I didn't know her personally. I didn't go to school with her. We weren't cla.s.smates. I'm sorry, I made that up. I needed to meet you. More to the point, I needed to meet Nest."

Another pause, longer this time. "Why, John?"

"Because while I didn't know Nest's mother, I do know her father."

Now Nest was staring hard at him, too, a look of horror spreading over her face. She swallowed against the sudden ache in her throat and looked quickly at her grandfather. Old Bob's face was pale. "Maybe you better just spit it out," he said.

John Ross nodded, bringing the black staff around in front of him so that he could lean on it, as if the talk was wearing on him in unseen ways. He looked down at his shoes momentarily, then directly at Nest.

"I'm sorry, Nest, this is going to hurt a lot. I wish I didn't have to tell you, but I do. I hope you'll understand." He looked back at her grandfather. "There's a lot of talk about how your wife died, sir. Some people are saying she was a crazy old woman who died shooting at ghosts. I don't think that's true. I think she was shooting at the man I've been tracking, the man I came here to find. She was trying to defend herself. But he is a very resourceful and dangerous adversary, and she wasn't strong enough to stop him. He's caused a lot of trouble and pain, and he's not finished. He came to Hopewell for a very specific purpose. He doesn't realize it yet, but I know what that purpose is."

Nest took a deep breath as his green eyes shifted back to hers. "He's come for you. Your grandmother knew. That made her a threat to him, so he got rid of her."

His gaze was steady. "He's your father, Nest."

In his dream, the Knight of the Word stands with a ragged band of survivors atop a wooded rise south of the burning city. Men have devoted such enormous time and energy to destroying themselves that they are exhausted from their efforts, and now the demons and the once-men have picked up the slack. At first it was the tented camps and nomads who were prey, but of late the attacks have shifted to the walled cities. The weakest have begun to fall and the nature of the adversary to make itself known. The Knight has battled the demons all through the destruction of the old world, confronting them at every opportunity, trying to slow the erosion of civilization. But the tide is inexorable and undiminished, and a new dark age has descended.

The Knight looks around to be certain that the women and children are being led to safety while he acts as sentry. Most have already disappeared into the night, and the rest are fading with the swiftness of ghosts. Only a few remain behind to stand with him, a handful of those who have discovered too late that he is not the enemy. Below, the city b.u.ms with an angry crackle. Hordes of captives are being led away, those who did not flee when there was time, who did not heed his warning. The Knight closes his eyes against the sadness and despair that wells within him. It does not change. He cannot make them listen. He cannot make them believe.

Look! says a weathered man next to him, his voice a low hiss of fear and rage. It's her!

He sees the woman then, striding forward out of the darkness and into the light, surrounded by men who are careful not to come too near. She is tall and regal, and her features are cold. He has never seen her before, but there is something familiar about her nevertheless. He is immediately intrigued. She radiates power and is an immutable presence. She is clearly the leader of those about her, and they hasten to do her bidding. A captive is brought before her and forced to kneel. He will not look at her, his head lowered stubbornly between his shoulders. She reaches for his hair and jerks savagely on it. When their eyes meet, he undergoes a terrible transformation. He twists and shakes, an animal trapped within a snare, enraged and terrified. He says things, screams them actually, the words indistinct, but the sounds clear. Then she is finished with him and he arches as if skewered on the point of a spear and dies writhing in the dirt.

The woman steps around him without a second glance and continues on, the flames of the city catching in their orange glow the empty look upon her face.

Do you know her? the Knight asks the man who has spoken.

Oh, yes, I know her. The man whispers, as if the night breeze might carry his words to her. His face is scarred and worn. She was a girl once. Before she became what she is. Her name was Nest Freemark. She lived in a little town called Hopewell, Illinois. Her father came for her on the Fourth of July when she was just fourteen and changed her forever. Her father, a demon himself, made her one, too. I heard him say so to a man he knew, just before he killed him. It was in a prison. Her father would have killed me as well, had he known I was listening.

Tell me about her, the Knight says quietly.

He turns the man in to the trees so that they can follow the others to safety, and in the course of their furtive withdrawal from the horror taking place on the plains below, the man does.

When John Ross awoke that morning in Josie Jackson's bed, he was in such pain that he could barely move. All of his muscles and joints had stiffened during the night, and the bruises from his beating had flowered into brilliantly colored splotches on his chest and ribs. He lay next to Josie and tried shifting various parts of himself without waking her. Everything ached, and he knew it would be days before he could function in a normal way again.

Last night's dream hung with veiled menace in the dark seclusion of his mind, a horror he could not dispel, and he was reminded anew of the older dream, the one that had given him his first glimpse of the monster Nest Freemark would become.

Should I tell her? he wondered anew. Now, while there is still time? Will it help her to know?

When they rose, Josie drew a hot bath for him and left him to soak while she made breakfast. He was dressing when she came in with the news of Evelyn Freemark's death. The details were on the radio, and several of Josie's friends had called as well. Ross walked in silence to the kitchen to eat, the momentary joy he had found during the night already beginning to fade. He tried not to show what he was feeling. The demon had outsmarted him. The demon had provoked last night's attack on him not because he was a threat to its plans, but to get him out of the way so he could not help Evelyn Freemark. He had spent so much time worrying about Nest that he had forgotten to consider the people closest to her. The demon was breaking Nest down by stripping away the people and defenses she relied upon. Ross had missed it completely.

He finished his breakfast and told Josie he was going out to see Old Bob, and she offered to come with him. He thanked her, but said he thought he should do this alone. She said that was fine, looking away quickly, the hurt showing in her dark eyes. She walked to the counter and stood there, looking out the kitchen window.

"Is this good-bye, John?" she' asked after a minute. "You can tell me."

He studied the soft curve of her shoulders against the robe. "I'm not sure."

She nodded, saying nothing. She ran a hand through her tousled hair and continued to stare out the window.

He groped for something more to say, but it was too late for explanations. He had violated his own rules last night by letting himself get close to her. Involvement with anyone was forbidden for a Knight of the Word. It was one thing to risk his own life; it was something else again to risk the life of another.