Terry Brooks - Angel Fire East

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!" Cask shouted at him.

Ross tried to rise and fell back. He had no strength.

"You're dying, Mr. Ross!" Findo Cask 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.

In 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

Battered and disheveled, his black clothes stained and torn, Findo Cask 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.