"I'll be leaving Hopewell soon, maybe even sometime today. I don't know when I'll be back." His eyes met hers as she turned to look at him. "I wish it could be different."

She studied him a moment. "I'd like to believe that. Can I write you?"

He shook his head slowly. "I don't have an address."

Her smile was wan and fragile. "All right. Will you write me sometimes?"

He told her he would try. He could tell she wanted to say more, to ask him why he was being so difficult, so secretive. But she did not. She just kept looking at him, as if knowing somewhere deep inside that it was useless, that she would never see him again.

She drove him back to the hotel so that he could change his clothes, then drove him out to the Freemarks' and dropped him off at the entrance to the park. She barely spoke the entire time. But when he started to get out of the car, she reached over and put her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth.

"Don't forget me," she whispered, and gave him a hint of the smile that had drawn him to her that first day.

Then she straightened herself behind the steering wheel while he closed the car door and drove away without looking back.

He had made up his mind in that instant to tell Nest Freemark about her father.

Now, as he stood looking at Nest's shattered face, he wondered if he had made the right decision. The mix of shock and horror that flooded her eyes was staggering. She blinked rapidly, and he could tell that she wanted to look away from him, to hide from his terrible revelation, but she could not. She tried to speak, but no words would come. Old Bob was stunned as well, but his exposure to the truth wasn't as complete. He didn't know what Nest did. He didn't know that her father was a demon.

"My father?" she whispered finally. "Are you sure?"

The words hung between them in the ensuing silence, a poisonous and forbidding accusation.

"Nest," her grandfather began, reaching for her.

"No, don't say anything," she said quickly, silencing him, stepping back. She tore her gaze from Ross and looked out into the park. "I need to... I just have to..."

She broke off in despair, tears streaming down her face, and bolted from the yard through the hedgerow and into the park. She ran past the ball diamond behind the house, down the service road toward the park entrance, and off toward the cemetery. John Ross and her grandfather stood looking after her helplessly, watching her angular figure diminish and disappear into the trees.

Old Bob looked at Ross then, a flat, expressionless gaze. "Are you certain about this?"

Ross nodded, feeling the grayness of the day descend over him like a pall. "Yes, sir."

"I don't know that you should have told her like that."

"I don't know that I should have waited this long."

"You've tracked him here, her father, to Hopewell?"

"Yes, sir."

"And he's come for Nest?"

Ross sighed. "Yes, sir, he has. He means to take her with him."

Old Bob shook his head in disbelief. "To kidnap her? Can't you arrest him?"

Ross shook his head. "I haven't the authority. Besides, I can't even find him. If I do, I can't prove any of what I've told you. All I can do is try to stop him."

Old Bob slipped his big hands into his pockets. "How did you find all this out?"

"I can't tell you that."

Old Bob looked away, then back again, his face growing flushed and angry. "You come to Hopewell with a story about your college days with Caitlin that's all a lie. You manage to get yourself invited to our home and then you keep from us the truth of what you are really doing here. You do not warn us about Nest's father. You may think you have good reasons for everything you've done, John, but I have to tell you that I've put up with as much of this as I'm going to. You are no longer welcome here. I want you off my property and out of our lives."

John Ross stood firm against the old man's withering stare. "I don't blame you, sir. I would feel the same. I'm sorry for everything." He paused. "But none of what you've said changes the fact that Nest is still in danger and I'm the best one to help her."

"Somehow I doubt that, John. You've done a d.a.m.n poor job of protecting any of us, it seems to me."

Ross nodded. "I expect I have. But the danger to Nest is something I understand better than you."

Old Bob took his hands out of his pockets. "I don't think you understand the first thing about that girl. Now you get moving, John. Go find Nest's father, if that's what you want to do. But don't come back here."

John Ross stood where he was a moment longer, looking at the old man, trying in vain to think of something else to say. Then he turned without a word and limped away.

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

Nest fled into the park in mindless shock, her thoughts scattered, her reason destroyed. Had she known a way to do so, she would have run out of her skin, out of her body, out of her life. The face of the demon would not leave her, the image burned so deeply into her mind that she could not dispel it, his features bland and unremarkable, his blue eyes pale and empty.

Your father...

Your father...

She flew into a dark stand of pine and spruce, flinging herself into the concealing shadows, desperate to hide from everything, frantic to escape. The leathery branches whipped at her face and arms, bringing tears, but the pain was solid and definable and slowed her flight. She staggered to a halt, grounded anew, lacking a reason to run farther or a better place to go. She moved aimlessly within the tangle of the grove, tears welling in her eyes, fists clenching at her sides. This wasn't happening, she thought. It couldn't be happening. She walked through the conifers to a ma.s.sive old oak, put her arms about the gnarled trunk, and hugged it to her. She felt the rough bark bite into her arms and legs, into her cheeks and forehead, and still she pressed harder.

Your father...

She could not say the words, could not complete the thought. She pressed and pressed, willing her body to melt into the tree. She would become one with it. She would disappear into it and never be seen again. She was crying hard now, tears running down her face, her body shaking. She squeezed her eyes tight. Had her father really killed Gran? Had he killed her mother as well? Would he now try to kill her?

Do something!

She forced herself to go still inside and the tears to stop. Her sobs died away in small gulps as the cold realization settled over her that the crying wasn't doing any good, wasn't helping anything. She pushed away from the tree and stared out into the park through gaps in the conifers, rebuilding her composure from tiny, scattered fragments. She caught glimpses between the needled branches of other lives being led, all of them distant and removed. It was the Fourth of July, America's day of independence. What freedom should she celebrate? She looked down at her arms, at how the oak's bark had left angry red marks that made her skin look mottled and scaly.

A shudder overtook her. Could she ever look at herself again in the same way? How much of her was human and how much something else? She remembered asking Gran only a few days earlier, weary of the years of secrecy, if her father might be a forest creature. She remembered wondering afterward what that would feel like.

Now she could wonder about this.

She shifted her gaze inward, staring at nothing, still unable to believe it was true. Maybe John Ross was mistaken. Why couldn't he be? But she knew there was no mistake. That was why Gran had been so anxious to avoid any discussion of her father all those years. She felt sick inside thinking of it, of the lies and half truths, of the rampant deception. Awash with misery and fear, she felt bereft of anything and anyone she could depend upon, mired in a life history that had compromised and abandoned her.

She moved back to the oak and sat down, leaning against the rugged trunk, suddenly worn out. She was still sitting there, staring at the trees around her, trying to decide what to do next, when Pick dropped out of the tree across the way and hurried over.

"Criminy, I thought I'd never catch up with you!" he gasped, collapsing to his knees in front of her. "If it wasn't for Daniel, I'd never get anywhere in this confounded park!"

She closed her eyes wearily. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? What do you think think I'm doing here? Is this some sort of trick question?" I'm doing here? Is this some sort of trick question?"

"Go away." Her voice was a flat, hollow whisper.

Pick went silent and stayed that way until she opened her eyes to see what he was doing. He was sitting up straight, his eyes locked on hers. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," he said quietly, "because I know how upset you are about your father."

She started to say something flip, then saw the look in his eyes and caught herself just in time. She felt her throat tighten. "You heard?"

Pick nodded.

"Everything?"

"Everything." Pick folded his wooden arms defensively. "Do me a favor. Don't tell me I should have told you about him before this. Don't make me remind you of something you already know."

She compressed her lips into a tight line to keep the tears in check. "Like what?"

"Like how it's not my place to tell you secrets about your family." Pick shook his head admonishingly. "I'm sorry you had to find out, but not sorry it didn't come from me. In any case, it's no reason for you to leap up and run off. It's not the end of the world."

"Not yours, anyway."

"Not yours, either!" The words snapped at her. "You've had a nasty shock, and you have a right to be upset, but you can't afford to go to pieces over it. I don't know how John Ross found out about it, and I don't know why he decided to tell you. But I do know that it isn't going to help matters if you crawl off into a hole and wait for it all to go away! You have to do something about it!"

Nest almost laughed. "Like what, Pick? What should I do? Go back to the house and get the shotgun? A lot of good that did Gran! He's a demon! Didn't you hear? A demon! My father's a demon! Jeez! It sounds like a bad joke!" She brushed away fresh tears. "Anyway, I'm not talking about this with you until you tell me the truth about him. You know the truth, don't you? You've always known. You didn't tell me while Gran was alive because you didn't feel you should. Okay. I understand that. But she's dead now, and somebody better tell me the truth right now or I'm probably going to end up dead, too!"

She was gulping against the sobs that welled up in her throat, angry and afraid and miserable.

"Oh, for goodness' sake!" Pick threw up his hands in disgust and began tugging on his beard. "Exactly what is it you think I should tell you, Nest? What part of the truth haven't you figured out, bright girl that you are? Your grandmother was a wild thing, a young girl who bent a lot of rules and broke a few more. That Indian showed you most of it, with his dancing and his visions. She ran with the feeders in Sinnissippi Park, daring anything, and that led to her involvement with the demon. The demon wanted her, whether for herself or her magic, I don't know. He was furious when she found out what he was and told him she didn't want anything more to do with him. He threatened her, told her the choice wasn't hers to make. But she was tough and hard and not afraid of him, and she wouldn't back down. She told him what she would do if he didn't leave her alone, and he knew she meant business."

The sylvan stamped his foot. "Are you with me so far? Good. Here's the rest of it. He waited for his chance to get even, the way demons do. He was mostly smoke and dark magic, so aging wasn't a problem for him. He could afford to be patient. He waited until your grandmother married and your mother came along. He waited for your mother to grow up. I think your grandmother believed she'd seen the last of him by then, but she was wrong. All that time, he was waiting to get back at her. He did it through your mother. He deceived her with his magic and his lies, and then he seduced her. Not out of love or even infatuation. Out of hate. Out of a desire to hurt your grandmother. Deliberately, maliciously, callously. You were the result. Your grandmother didn't know he was responsible at first, and even if she had, she wouldn't have told your mother. But the demon waited until you were a few months old and then told them both. Together."

Nest stared at him, horrified.

His face knotted. "Told them why, too. Took great delight in it. I was there. Your mother went off the cliffs shortly afterward. I think maybe she did it on purpose, but n.o.body saw it happen, so I can't be sure."

His frustration with her att.i.tude seemed to dissipate. His voice softened. "The thing that concerns me is that the demon wanted to hurt your grandmother, to get even with her for what she'd done to him, and that was why he destroyed your mother, but I think he's after you for a different reason. I think he believes you belong to him, that you're his child, his flesh and blood, and that's why he's come back - to claim what's his."

Nest hugged her knees to her chest, listening to the soft rustle of spruce and pine boughs as a breeze pa.s.sed through the shadowed grove. "Why does he think I would go with him? Or stay with him if he took me? I'm nothing like him."

But even as she said it, she wondered if it was so. She looked and talked and acted like a human being, but so did the demon, in his human guise, when it suited him. Underneath was that' core of magic that defined them both. She did not know its source in her. But if she had inherited it from her father, then perhaps there was more of him in her than she wished.

Pick pointed a finger at her. "Don't be doubting yourself, Nest. Having him for your father is an accident of birth, nothing more. Having his magic doesn't mean anything. Whatever human part of him went into the making of you is long since dead and gone, swallowed up by the thing he's become. Don't look for something that isn't there."

She tightened her lips stubbornly. "I'm not."

"Then what are you thinking, girl?"

"That I'm not going with him. That I hate him for what he's done."

Pick looked doubtful. "He must know that, don't you expect? And it mustn't matter to him. He must think he can make you come, whether you want to go with him or not. Think it through. You have to be very careful. You have to be smart."

He put his chin in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. "This whole business is very confusing, if you ask me. I keep wondering what John Ross is doing in Hopewell, of all places. Why would a Knight of the Word choose to fight this particular battle? To save you? Why, when there's dozens of others being lost everywhere you turn? You're my best friend, Nest, and I'd do anything to help you. But John Ross doesn't have that connection. There's a war being waged out there between the Word and the Void, and what's going on here in Sinnissippi Park seems like an awfully small skirmish, the presence of your father notwithstanding. I think there must be something more to all this, something we don't know about."

"Do you think Gran knew?" she asked hesitantly.

"Maybe. Maybe that's why the demon killed her. But I don't think so. I think he killed your grandmother because he was afraid of her, afraid that she would get in his way and spoil his plans. And because he wanted to get even with her. No, I think John Ross is the one who knows. I think that's what he's doing here. Maybe it was your grandmother's death that prompted him to tell you about your father - because of what he knows that we don't."

Nest shook her head doubtfully. "Why wouldn't he just tell me what it is?"

"I don't know." Pick tugged hard on his beard. "I wish I did."

She gave him a wry, sad grin. "That's not very comforting."

They were silent for a moment, staring at each other through the growing shadows, the sounds of the park distant and m.u.f.fled. A few stray raindrops fell on Nest's face, and she reached up to brush them away. A dark cloud was pa.s.sing overhead, but the sky behind it showed patches of brightness. Perhaps there wouldn't be a thunderstorm after all.

"That note your grandmother left you reminds me of something," Pick said suddenly, straightening. "Remember that story you told me about your grandmother seeing Wraith for the very first time? You were hi the park, just the two of you, and she went right up to him. Remember that? He was standing just within the shadows, you said, not moving, and they stared at each other for a long time, like they were communicating somehow. Then she came back and told you he was there to protect you." He paused. "Doesn't it make you wonder just exactly where Wraith came from?"

Nest stared at him, her mind racing as she considered where he was going with this. "You think it was Gran?"

"Your grandmother had magic of her own, Nest, and she learned some things from your father before she found out who he was and quit having anything to do with him. Wraith appeared after your mother died, after your father revealed himself, after it was clear that you could be in danger. More to the point, maybe, he appeared about the same time your grandmother quit using her magic, the magic she no longer had to defend herself with when your father came for her last night."

"You think Gran made Wraith?"

"I think it's possible. Hasn't Wraith been there to protect you from the time you were old enough to walk?" Pick's brow furrowed deeply. "He's a creature of magic, not of flesh and blood. Who else could have put him there?"

Disbelief and confusion reflected on Nest's face. "But why wouldn't Gran tell me? Why would she pretend she wasn't sure?"

Pick shrugged. "I don't know the answer to that any more than I know why John Ross won't tell you what he's really doing here. But if, I'm right, and Wraith was made to protect you, then that would explain the note, wouldn't it?"

"And if you're wrong?"

Pick didn't answer; he just stared at her, his eyes fierce. He didn't think for a moment he was wrong, she realized. He was absolutely certain he was right. Good old Pick.

"Think about this, while you're at it," he continued, leaning forward. "Say John Ross is right. Say your father has come back for you. Look at how he's going about it. He didn't just s.n.a.t.c.h you up and cart you off. He's taking his time, playing games with you, wearing you down. He found you in the park and teased you about not being able to rely on anyone. He came to your church and confronted you. He used his magic on that poor woman to demonstrate what could happen to you. He had that Abbott boy kidnap you and take you down into the caves, then teased you some more, telling you how helpless you were. He killed your grandmother, and sidetracked John Ross and your grandfather and me as well. Where do you think I was all night? I was out trying to keep the maentwrog locked up in that tree, and it took everything I had to get the job done. But you see, don't you? Your father's gone to an awful lot of trouble to make you think that he can do anything he wants, hasn't he?"

She nodded, studying his wizened face intently. "And you think you know why?"

"I do. I think he's afraid of you."

He let the words hang in the silence, his sharp eyes fixed on her, waiting for her response. "That doesn't make any sense," she said finally.

"Doesn't it?" Pick c.o.c.ked one bushy eyebrow. "I know you're scared about what's happened and you think you don't have any way of protecting yourself, but maybe you do. Your grandmother told you what to do. She told you to use your magic and trust Wraith. Maybe you ought to listen to her."

Nest thought it over without saying anything, sitting face-to-face with the sylvan, alone in the shadows of the grove. Beyond her momentary shelter, the world went about its business without concern for her absence. But it would not let her forget where she belonged. Its sounds beckoned to her, reminding her that she must go back. She thought of how much had changed in a single day. Gran was dead. Jared might die. Her father had come back into her rife with a vengeance. Her magic had become the sword and shield she must rely upon.

"I guess I have to do something, don't I?" she said quietly. "Something besides running away and hiding." She tightened her jaw. "I guess I don't have much choice."

Pick shrugged. "Well, whatever you decide to do, I'll be right there with you. Daniel and me. Maybe John Ross, too. Whatever his reasons, I think he intends to see this through."