He led her back outside, down the steps and into the yard. Then he shook the can of root beer as hard as he could, pointed it at her, and popped the top. Cold fizz sprayed all over her. He waited until she was glaring openly at him, then took a long drink from the can and said, "Okay, now we're even."

She went inside to wash and change her T-shirt, then came back out to find him dangling a length of string in front of Spook, who was watching with a mix of curiosity and mistrust. "Are you ready?" she asked, picking the kitten up and depositing him inside the house.

He shrugged. "Why are we doing this, anyway?" He dropped the string and walked over to retrieve his bike.

She kicked at his tire as she walked past. "Because I'm afraid Jared might not come back from wherever he's gone if one of us doesn't go get him."

They wheeled their bikes to the top of the drive, climbed onto the seats, and began to pedal into the twilight. They rode down Sinnissippi Road and across Lincoln Highway to the back streets that led to the hospital. They rode in silence, watching the city darken around them, its people settling in behind lighted windows in front of lighted screens. Children played in yards, and lawn mowers roared. Starlings sang raucously, and elderly couples walked in slow motion down the concrete sidewalks that had become the measure of their lives.

When they reached the hospital, Nest and Robert chained their bikes to the rack by the front entry and went inside. It was after nine o'clock, and the waiting room was quiet, most of the visitors gone home for the night. Side by side, they walked up to look in on Nest's grandfather, but he was sleeping again, so they didn't stay. Instead, they found a stairwell that connected the six floors of the hospital and stood just outside, glancing around surrept.i.tiously.

"So, what's the plan, Stan?" Robert asked, lifting one eyebrow.

"He's in five fourteen," Nest answered. "Just off the stairway. You go up the elevator and talk to whoever's working the nursing station. Ask about Jared or something. I'll go up the stairs and slip into his room while they're busy with you."

Robert smirked. "That's your whole plan?"

"a.s.suming you intend to help."

He stared at her. "Tell you what. I'll help if you'll tell me what you did to me last night. The truth, this time."

She stared back at him without answering, thinking it over. Then she said, "I used magic on you."

He hesitated, and she could tell that for just half a second he believed her. Then he smirked dismissively. "You're weirder than I am, Nest. You know that? Okay, let's go."

She waited until she saw him stop in front of the elevator; then she entered the stairwell and began to climb. She reached the fifth floor, inched the door open, and peered out into the hall. It was virtually deserted. She could see room 514 almost directly across from her. When Robert stepped out of the elevator a moment later and walked over to the nursing station, she slipped from her hiding place.

A moment later, she was inside Jared's room.

Jared Scott lay motionless in a hospital bed, looking small and lost amid an array of equipment, eyes staring at nothing behind half-closed lids, arms and legs laid out straight beneath the covers, face pale and drawn. The room was dark except for the lights from the monitors and a small night-light near the door. The blinds to the street were closed, and the air conditioner hummed softly. Nest glanced around the room, then back at Jared. A bandage covered the top half of his head, and there were raw, savage marks on his face and arms from the beating he had received. She stared at him in despair, her eyes shifting from his face to the blinking green lights of the monitoring equipment and back again.

She had been thinking about coming to see him all afternoon, ever since leaving her grandfather. Spook had decided her. She would use her magic to help Jared. She didn't know for certain that she could, of course. She had never used the magic this way. But she understood its potential to affect the human body, and there was a chance she could do some good. She needed to try, perhaps as much for herself as for him. She needed to step out from her father's shadow, from the dark legacy of his life, something she would never be able to do until she embraced what he had given her and turned it to a use he would never have considered. She would start here.

She walked over to Jared's bed and lowered the railing so that she could sit next to him. "Hey, Jared," she said softly.

She touched his hand, held it in her own as she had held her grandfather's that afternoon, and reached up to stroke his face. His skin felt warm and soft. She waited to see if he would respond, but he didn't. He just lay there, staring. She fought to hold back her tears.

This would be dangerous, she knew. It would be risky. If the magic failed her, she might kill Jared. But she knew as well, somewhere deep inside, that if she failed to act, she would lose him anyway. He was not coming back alone from wherever he had gone. He was waiting there for her to come get him.

She leaned over him, still holding his hand, and stared down into his unseeing eyes. "Jared, it's me, Nest," she whispered.

She moved until she was directly in his line of sight, her face only inches from his own. The room was still except for the slight hiss and blip of the machines, cloaked in darkness and solitude.

"Look at me, Jared," she whispered.

She reached out to him with her magic, spidery tendrils of sound and movement that pa.s.sed through his staring eyes and probed inward. "Where are you, Jared?" she asked softly. "We miss you. Me, Ca.s.s, Robert, Brianna. We miss you."

She nudged him gently, tried to reach deeper. She could feel something inside him resisting her, could feel it draw back, a curtain that tightened. She waited patiently for the curtain to loosen. If she pushed too hard, she could damage him. She experienced a sudden rush of uncertainty. She was taking an enormous chance, using the magic like this, experimenting. Perhaps she was making a mistake, thinking she could help, that the magic could do what she expected. Perhaps she should stop now and let nature take its intended course, unhindered by her interference.

She felt him relax then, and she probed anew, stroking him, brushing lightly against his fragile consciousness, the part he had locked deep inside where it was dark and safe.

Within her body, the magic hummed and vibrated, a living thing. She had never gotten this close to it for this long. She could feel its power building, working its way through her, heat and sound and motion. It was like trying to direct the movements of a cat; you felt it could spring away at any moment.

"Jared, look at me," she whispered.

Careful, careful. The magic prodded gently, insistently. Sweat beaded on Nest's forehead, and her chest and throat tightened with her efforts.

"I'm here, Jared. Can you hear me?"

Time slipped away. She lost track of how much, her concentration focused on making contact with him, on breaking through the sh.e.l.l into which he had retreated. Once, she heard someone approach, but the steps turned away before they reached Jared's room. Her concentration tightened. She forgot about Robert, about the nurses, about everything. She stayed where she was, not looking up, not shifting her gaze away from Jared, not even for a moment. She refused to give up. She kept talking to him, saying his name, using her magic to b.u.mp him gently, to open the door to his safehold just a crack.

"Jared," she said over and over. "It's me, Nest."

Until finally his eyes shifted to find hers, and he replied in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, "Hey, Nest," and she knew he was going to be all right.

On a Greyhound traveling west between Denver and Salt Lake City, John Ross sat staring out into the night, watching the lights of ranches and towns hunkered down in the empty flats below the Rockies flash by in the darkness. He sat alone at the rear of the bus, his staff propped up against the seat beside him, the roar of the engine and the whine of the wheels drowning out the snoring of his fellow pa.s.sengers. It was nearing midnight, and he was the only one awake.

He sighed wearily. Soon he would sleep, too. Because he would have to. Because the demands of his body would give him no choice.

Almost two days had pa.s.sed since he had left Nest Freemark standing in the rain in Sinnissippi Park. He had gone back to the hotel, gathered up his things, and waited in the lobby for the early-morning bus. When it arrived, he had climbed aboard without a backward glance and ridden away. Already his memory of Hopewell and her people was beginning to fade, the larger picture shrinking to small, bright moments that he could tuck away and carry with him. Old Bob, greeting him that first day at Josie's, believing him Caitlin's friend. Gran, her sharp old eyes raking across him as she sought to see through the fa9ade he had created. Josie Jackson, sleepy-eyed and warm, lying next to him on their last day. Pick, the sylvan, the keeper of Sinnissippi Park. Daniel. Wraith. The demon.

But mostly there was Nest Freemark, a fourteen-year-old girl who could work magic and by doing so come to terms with the truth about her family, when anything less would have destroyed her. He could see her face clearly, her freckles and quirky smile and curly dark hair. He would remember the long, smooth strides she took when she ran and the way she stood her ground when it mattered. In a world in which so much of what he encountered only served to reinforce his fears that the future of his dreams was an inevitability, Nest gave him hope. When so many others might have succ.u.mbed to their fear and despair, Nest had not. She represented a little victory when measured against the enormity of the battle being fought by the Word and the Void, but sometimes little victories made the difference. Little victories, like the small events that tipped the scales in the balance of life, really could change the world.

I wish I could have been your father, he had said, and he had meant it. he had said, and he had meant it.

He wondered if he would ever see her again.

He straightened in his seat, looking down the aisle past the slouched forms of the sleepers to where the driver hunched over the steering wheel, eyes on the road. In the bright glare of the headlights, the highway was an endless concrete ribbon unrolling out of the black. Morning was still far away; it was time to sleep. He had not slept since he had left Hopewell, and he could not put it off any longer. He shivered involuntarily at the prospect. It would be bad, he knew. It would be horrendous. He would be bereft of his magic, a night's payment for his expenditure in his battle with the maentwrog. He would be forced to run and to hide while his enemies hunted him; he would be alone and defenseless against them. Maybe they would find him this night. Maybe they would kill him. In the world of his dreams, all things were possible.

Weary and resigned, he eased his bad leg onto the padded bench and propped his body between the seat back and the bus wall. He was afraid, but he would not allow his fear to master him. He was a Knight of the Word, and he would find a way to survive.

John Ross closed his eyes, a warrior traveling through time, and drifted away to dream of a future he hoped would never be.