Twenty feet away, a shadowy figure in the deepening gloom, John Ross kept watch over her.

After Old Bob had dismissed him, he had walked into the park in search of the demon, determined to hunt him down. He went to the caves where the feeders made their lair, followed the riverbank east toward the toboggan slide and the deep woods beyond, and climbed to the prison of the maentwrog, that aging, ravaged oak that held the monster bound, but the demon was nowhere to be found.

He debated returning to Nest Freemark then, but did not. What could he say to her that he hadn't already said - or decided against saying? It was sufficient that he had told her the truth about her father. Telling her more would risk undermining what courage and resolve she could still muster. The best he could do was to watch over her, to wait for the demon to come to her, to be there when it appeared, and to do what he could to save her then.

He left the park and walked out to Lincoln Highway to have dinner at a McDonald's, then walked back again. Sitting in a crowd of spectators on the bleachers at the ball diamond closest to the Freemark house, he watched the sun move west toward the horizon. When dusk approached and the game began to break up, he walked to a stand of pine bordering the service road. Using magic to make certain they could not see him, he stood for a time in the shelter of the trees, watching Pick and Daniel as they wheeled overhead. When Nest went into the park, he followed.

Now he stood waiting, close enough to make certain he could act when the demon appeared, close enough to go to her aid if the need arose. All about him, the Fourth of July spectators were shrouded in gloom, vague and featureless in the night. Shouts and laughter rose from the crowded hillside amid the bang of firecrackers and the whistle of small rockets. The air was humid and still, filled with the erratic buzzing of insects and the raw smell of pine needles and wood smoke. He gripped his staff tightly in his hand, feeling anxious and uncertain. He needed only one chance at the demon, but would he get even that? How strong would Nest Freemark be then? He edged his way east toward the woods behind the pavilion, changing his location yet again, trying to avoid notice from the people gathered, concentrating on Nest. He could just make her out, sitting with her friends near the back of the crowd.

Then he caught sight of a familiar face and turned his head aside quickly as Robert Heppler walked past on his way back from the popcorn stand.

"So, did I miss anything?" Robert asked the girls as he plopped back down comfortably on the blanket, his bag of popcorn firmly in hand. "Want some?" he asked Brianna Brown. "I only breathed on it a little. Or did you pig out on the rest of the watermelon while I was gone?"

Brianna grimaced. "I leave the pigging out in life to you, Robert. You're so good at it."

Nest was staring off into s.p.a.ce, barely aware of the conversation. Robert glanced over. "Hey, Nest, guess who I just saw standing..."

A child flew out of the darkness and into their midst, a little boy running blindly through the night, sparklers waving in both hands. He saw them too late, veering aside when he was already on top of them, nearly losing his balance and toppling onto Robert. Robert yelled angrily at him, and sparks showered everywhere. Ca.s.s and Brianna leaped to their feet, stamping at the embers that had tumbled onto the blanket.

Nest rose with them, stepping back, distracted, and as she did so she heard Pick scream. He was screaming inside her head, throwing his voice so that only she could hear, throwing it from somewhere far away so that it was faint and fragmented. But it was terror-stricken, too.

Nest, Nest... quick, run... here, the oak collapsing... demon... knows you are ... the maentwrog breaking...

Then the screaming stopped, abruptly, completely, leaving an echo that rang in her ears as she stood shocked and frozen amid the crowd and her friends.

"Pick?" she whispered into the silence he had left behind. Her hand groped blindly at the air before her. "Pick?"

Her friends were staring at her, eyes filled with uncertainty. "Nest, what's wrong?" Ca.s.s asked urgently.

But Nest was already turning from her, beginning to run. "I have to go," she shouted over her shoulder, and raced away into the night.

Chapter Thirty.

It was an act of instinct rather than of reason, a response to an overwhelming, terrifying fear .that another life precious to her was about to be lost. Nest did not hesitate as she bolted through the crowd. Of course the demon was drawing her out. Of course it was a trap. She didn't have to think twice about it to know it was true. If she stayed where she was, safe within the crowd gathered on the slopes of Sinnissippi Park, he could not reach her so easily. But it was Pick who was at risk, her best friend in the whole world, and she would not abandon him even to save her own life.

She darted through the crowd as if become one of the wild children who waved their sparklers, dodging lawn chairs and coolers, avoiding blankets filled with people, seeking the open blackness of the woods beyond. She knew where to go, where the demon would be waiting, where Pick could be found; the sylvan's frantic words had told her that much. The deep woods. The maentwrog's prison. The aging oak from which, it seemed, the monster was threatening to break free. She thought she heard shouts trailing after her, calling her name, but she ignored them, burying them in her determination not to be slowed. She vaulted the last of the coolers that obstructed her pa.s.sage and broke for the trees.

In the open, beyond the scattering of flashlights and sparklers, she slowed just enough to let her vision adjust to the change of light. Ahead, the trees rose in dark, vertical lines against the softer black of the night. She angled past picnic tables and cook stations, running toward the rolling hills that fronted the deep woods. The sounds of the crowd faded behind her, receding into the distance, leaving her alone with the huff of her breathing and the beat of her heart. She heard her name called clearly then, but she forced herself to go on, trying to ignore the unwelcome summons, trying to outdistance it. When it continued, and she determined with certainty its source, she slowed reluctantly and turned to face a hard-charging Robert Heppler.

"Wait up, Nest!" he shouted as he rushed up to her from out of the darkness, blond hair swept back from his angular face.

She shook her head in disbelief. "Robert, what are you doing? Go back!"

"Not a chance." He came to a ragged halt before her, breathing hard. "I'm going with you."

"You don't even know what I'm doing!"

"Doesn't matter. You're not doing it alone."

"Robert..."

"The last time I let you wander off by yourself," he interrupted heatedly, "you ended up in the caves and I had to get your grandfather to come find you! I'm not going through that again!"

He brushed at his tousled hair, his mouth set, his eyes determined. He looked pugnacious and challenging. "You're going out to that big oak, aren't you? This has something to do with that tree, doesn't it? What's going on?"

"Robert!" she snapped at him, suddenly angry. "Get out of here!"

He stared back at her defiantly. "No way. I'm going with you. You're stuck with me."

"Robert, don't argue with me! This is too dangerous! You don't know what you're..." She stopped in exasperation. "Turn around, Robert! Right now!"

But he refused to budge. She came toward him menacingly. "I'm not afraid of you, Nest," he said quickly, clenching his fists. "I'm not Danny Abbott, either. You can't make me do anything I don't want to do. I don't know what's going on, but I..."

She locked his eyes with hers and struck out at him with her magic in a swift, hard attack. Robert Heppler went down like a stone, his muscles turned to jelly and his words became mush. He jerked once where he lay in the thinning forest gra.s.s, gave a long sigh, and blacked out.

She blocked the feelings of guilt that immediately a.s.sailed her and turned away, racing on. It was better this way. She knew Robert; he would not turn back. She would attempt an explanation later. If there was a later. Desperation and anger swept aside her attempts at forming an apology. She had done what she had to do. It didn't matter that she had promised not to use the magic, that she hated to use it, that it left her feeling sullied and drained. Gran was gone, and in moments she would face her killer, and all she had to rely qn was the magic she had just used on Robert.

A fierce glee rocked her, a strange sense of chains being cast aside and freedom being gained. The defiance she felt at having done something forbidden lent her a certain satisfaction. The magic was a part of her. Why should it ever be wrong to use it?

She charged down the slope into the ravine that separated the picnic grounds from the deep woods, feeling her feet beginning to slide on the loose earth and long gra.s.ses. She caught herself with her hands to keep from falling, straightened up again as she reached the base of the ravine, and ran on. The bridge that spanned the little creek appeared through the gloom, and she thundered onto it, tennis shoes pounding as she crossed to the far side and began to climb the slope into the woods.

When she reached the top of the rise, she slowed again. Ahead, a wicked green light pulsed faintly within the trees, like the heartbeat of something alive. She pushed the thought aside and went on, jogging now, her breathing slowing, her eyes flicking from side to side watchfully, trying to penetrate the wall of shadows. The trail had narrowed, choked with brush and hemmed by the trees, a twisting serpent's spine. It was black there, so dark that only the greenish light gave any illumination against the night. She was being drawn to it; she could not pretend otherwise. She repeated the words of Gran's note over and over in her mind, a litany to lend her courage.

She brushed at the insects that buzzed at her, thick clouds of them that flew at her eyes and mouth. Her fear returned in a sudden wave as she pictured what waited ahead. But she did not turn back. She could not. It was no different now than it had been when she had gone to save Bennett Scott from the feeders. No different at all.

Please, Pick, don't give up. I'm coming.

Moments later, she stepped from the woods into the clearing where the big oak stood. The tree was a vast, crooked monster within the darkness, its bark wet-looking and ravaged, as if skin split from the bones and muscles of a corpse. The wicked green light emanated from here, given off by the trunk of the old tree, pulsing slowly, steadily against the darkness. Nest stared in dismay. The tree was still intact, but it had the look of a dying creature. It reminded her of pictures she had seen of animals caught in steel traps, their limbs snared, their eyes glazed with fear and pain.

The demon stood next to the tree, his calm eyes fixed on her. He seemed to think nothing was out of place, nothing awry. It was all she could do to make herself meet his gaze.

"Where is Pick?" she demanded.

Her voice sounded impossibly childish and small, and she saw herself as the demon must see her, a young girl, weaponless and desperate in the face of power she could not even begin to comprehend.

The demon smiled at her. "He's right over there," he replied, and pointed.

Five feet or so off the ground, a small metal cage hung from the branches of a cherry. Within its shadowed interior, Nest could just make out a crumpled form.

"Safely tucked away," the demon said. "To keep him from meddling where he shouldn't. He was flying about on that owl, trying to see what I was up to, but he wasn't very smart about it." He paused. "A cage wasn't necessary for the owl."

A feathered heap lay at the edge of the trees, wings splayed wide. Daniel. "He came right at me when I knocked the sylvan off his back," the demon mused. "Can you imagine?"

He motioned vaguely at the cage. "You do know about sylvans and cages, don't you? Well, perhaps not. Sylvans can't stand being caged. It drains away their spirit. Happens rather swiftly, as a matter of fact. A few hours, and that's it. That will be the fate of your friend if someone doesn't release him."

Nest! Pick gasped in a frantic attempt to signal her. Then he went silent again, his voice choked off.

"Your little friend would like to say something to you about his condition, I'm sure," the demon breathed softly, "but I think it best he save his strength. Don't you?"

Nest felt alone and vulnerable, felt as if everything was being stripped from her. But that was the plan, wasn't it? "Let him go!" she ordered, staring at the demon as if to melt him with the heat of her anger.

The demon nodded. "After you do what I tell you." He paused. "Child of mine."

Her skin crawled at the sound of his words, and a new wave of rage swept through her. "Don't call me that!"

The demon smiled, satisfaction reflecting in his eyes. "You' know then, don't you? Who told you? Evelyn, before she died? The sylvan?" He shrugged. "I guess it doesn't matter. That you know is what matters. That you appreciate the special nature of our relationship. Who you are will determine what you become, and that is what we are here to decide."

He looked past her, suddenly startled. A hint of irritation flashed across his strange empty features. "Ah, it's the bad penny. He's turned up after all."

John Ross emerged from the trees, sweat-streaked and hard-eyed. He seemed taller and broader than she remembered, and the black staff gleamed and shimmered with silver light. "Get behind me," he said at once, his green eyes fixed on the demon.

"Oh, she doesn't want to do that!" the demon sneered, and threw something dark and glittering at the ravaged oak.

Instantly the tree exploded in a shower of bark and wood splinters, and the green light trapped within burst forth.

Old Bob crossed to the fireworks from his home as the crow flies, not bothering with the service road or any of the pathways, the beam of his flashlight scanning the darkness before him as he went. The weariness he had felt earlier fell away in the face of his fear, and a rush of adrenaline surged through him, infusing him with new strength. The sounds of laughter and conversation and the momentary flare of sparklers guided him through the broad expanse of the gra.s.sy flats, and in moments he had reached the rear edge of the crowd.

He began to ask at once if anyone had seen Mel Riorden. He knew most of the people gathered, and once he got close enough to make out their faces, he simply offered a perfunctory greeting and inquired about Mel. He was a big man with a no-nonsense way about him, a man who had just suffered a terrible loss, and those he spoke with were quick to reply. He moved swiftly in response, easing forward through the crowd toward the cordoned perimeter west of the slide. He was sweating freely, his underarms and back damp, his face flushed from his efforts. He did not have a definite plan. He was not even certain that he needed one. He might be mistaken about Deny Howe. He might be overreacting. If he was, fine. He would feel foolish, but relieved. He could live with that. He would find Derry, talk to him, possibly confront him with his suspicions, and deal with his feelings later.

He wove his way through knots of people sprawled on blankets and seated in lawn chairs, through darting children and ambling teens. The viewing area was packed. Some looked at him with recognition, and a few spoke. Some he stopped to talk with took time to offer condolences on his loss, but most simply answered his questions about Mel and let him go his way. His eyes flicked left and right as he proceeded, searching the darkness. He could no longer see the riverbank clearly, and the trees had faded into a black wall. The fireworks would begin any moment.

Finally, he found Mel and Carol seated together on a blanket at the very edge of the crowd with a handful of family and friends. Mel's sister was among them, but not her son. Old Bob said h.e.l.lo to everyone, then drew Mel aside where they could talk privately.

"Did Deny come to the fireworks with you?" he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice calm, to keep his fear hidden.

"Sure, you just missed him," his friend answered. "Been here with us all evening. Something wrong?"

"No, no, I just wanted to talk with him a moment. Where is he?"

"He took some drinks down to the guys shooting off the fireworks. Guess he knows one of them." Mel glanced over his shoulder. "I told him I didn't know if they'd let him go down there, but he seemed to think they would."

Old Bob nodded patiently. "He took them some drinks?"

"Yeah, beer and pop, like that. He had this cooler he brought with him. Hey, what's this about, Robert?"

Old Bob felt the calm drain away in a sudden rush, and the fears that had been teasing and whispering at him from the shadows suddenly emerged like predators. "Nothing," he said. He looked toward the river and the movement of flashlights. "He's still down there?"

"Yeah, he just left." Mel c.o.c.ked his head and his eyes blinked rapidly. "What's the matter?"

Old Bob shook his head and began to move away. "I'll tell you when I get back."

He moved more quickly now, following the line that cordoned off the staging area as it looped down toward the river's edge. He pa.s.sed several of the Jaycees responsible for patrolling it, younger men he did not know well or at all, and he asked each of them in turn if he had seen Deny Howe. The third man he pa.s.sed told him Deny had just gone inside the line, that he had been permitted inside only after identifying a member of the staging crew who he claimed was a friend. Old Bob nodded, told him that this was a violation of the agreement the Jaycees had signed with the park district in order to be allowed to sponsor this event, but that he would forget about reporting it if he could go down there right now and bring Deny back before anything happened. He gave the impression without saying so that he was with the park service, and the younger man was intimidated sufficiently by his words and the look on his face to stand aside and let him pa.s.s.

Seconds later, Old Bob was inside the line and working his way down the slope toward the moving flashlights of the men preparing to set off the fireworks. He had to hurry now. The fireworks were scheduled to begin at ten o'clock sharp, and it was almost nine-fifty. He turned off his own flashlight, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. As he neared, he could make out the figures of the staging crew moving through the firing platforms to make their last-minute preparations.

He saw Deny Howe then, his tall, lank figure unmistakable, even in the darkness, standing with one of the crew, talking. As Old Bob swerved toward them, the crewman started to move away. Old Bob waited a few heartbeats, then flicked on the flashlight.

"Deny!" he called out boldly. Deny Howe turned into the light, squinting. Old Bob slowed. "Been looking all over for you."

Derry's eyes flicked right and left. He was holding a small cooler in his left hand. His grin was weak and forced. "What are you doing down here, Robert? You're not supposed to be here."

"Neither are you." Old Bob gave him an indulgent smile. He was less than fifteen feet away now and closing. "You done here? Give everyone a drink yet? Got one left for me?"

Deny held up his hand quickly. "Stop right there. Right there, Bob Freemark."

Old Bob stopped, and gave him a calm, steady look. "What's in the cooler, Deny?"

Deny Howe's face flushed and tightened with sudden anger. "Get out of here!" he spat angrily. "Get away from me!"

Old Bob shook his head. "I can't do that. Not unless you come with me."

Deny took a quick step back from him. "I'm not going anywhere with you! Get the h.e.l.l out of my face!"

"What are you doing down here, Deny?" Old Bob pressed, starting forward again.

He could see the desperation in the younger man's eyes as they fixed on him. He looked trapped, frustrated. Suddenly, he laughed. "You want too know what I'm doing?" He was backing off as he spoke, edging down the line of platforms and scaffolding, away from the flashlight's steady beam. Abruptly he stopped. "All right, I'll show you."

He turned away a moment, his movements concealed by the darkness. When he turned back again, he was holding a gun.

The buzzing inside Derry's head had become a dull roar, a Niagara Falls of pounding white noise. He leveled the gun at Robert Freemark and his finger tightened on the trigger.

"Turn off the flashlight, old man."

Old Bob glanced to his left where the staging crew was gathered around the framework that supported the flag display. But they were too far away to see what was happening. No help was coming from there. Old Bob looked back at Deny and the flashlight went dark.

Deny nodded. "First smart thing you've done yet." He licked at his dry lips. "Walk toward me. Stop, that's far enough. You want to know what I'm up to? Fine, I'll tell you. Tellyou everything. You know why? No, don't say anything, d.a.m.n you, just listen! I'll tell you because you got a right to know. See, I knew you were coming. I knew it. Even though I told you to stay away, I knew you'd be here. Big mistake, old man."

"Deny, listen -" Old Bob began.

"Shut up!" Derry's face contorted with rage. "I told you not to say anything, and I d.a.m.n well mean it! You listen to me! While you and those other old farts have been sitting around waiting for a miracle to end this d.a.m.n strike, I've found a way to make the miracle happen!"

He edged back toward a grouping of rocket launchers, the cooler dangling from Ms hand, his eyes on Old Bob, ten feet away. He held the gun level on the old man, making sure it didn't waver, not wanting Old Bob to do something stupid, force him to fire the gun now, before he was ready, ruin everything. Oh, sure, he was going to shoot Mr. Robert Freemark, no question about that. But not quite yet. Not until he was somewhere no one could hear or see. He glanced over to where the staging crew shone their flashlights on the flag display, making sure they were still busy with their work. He grinned. Everything was working out just right.

He knelt in the shadows and set the cooler behind him, close to the launching platform. "Don't you move," he told Old Bob softly. "Just stand there. You ain't carrying a gun, are you?"

Old Bob shook his head. His big hands hung limply at his sides, and his body slumped. "Don't do this, Deny. There are women and children up there. They could be hurt."

"Ain't n.o.body going to be hurt, old man. What do you think I am, stupid?"

He kept the gun leveled as he lifted the cooler onto the platform and shoved it back into the shadows between the fireworks cases where it couldn't be seen if you weren't looking. Well, okay, maybe a few people would end up getting hurt, hit by debris or something. After all, that was part of the plan, wasn't it? Someone gets hurt, MidCon looks even worse. Derry gave a mental shrug. Point is, the strike will be over and in the long run everyone'll be happy.

He reached behind the cooler to where he had placed the timer switch and activated it. He had five minutes. He stood up, feeling good. "See, easy as pie. Now you turn around and walk down along the riverbank, Robert Freemark, nice and slow. I'll be right behind..."