Terry Brooks - Running With The Demon

"Dinner's in an hour, Nest. Go wash up. We've got company coming."

Nest caught the screen door as it started to swing back on its, springs and eased it quietly into place. She could feel the sweat, warm and sticky on her skin beneath her clothes. "Who is it?" she asked.

"Someone your grandfather invited. You'll have to ask him." Gran looked less than pleased. She gestured with the pot holder. "Go clean up first, though. You look like something the cat dragged in."

She disappeared back into the kitchen. Nest could smell pot roast cooking, rich and savory, and she realized suddenly how hungry she was. She went down the hallway past Gran and the good smells and glanced into the den in search of her grandfather, but he was not there. She took a moment longer to listen for him; then, hearing nothing, she continued on to her room, closed the door, popped Nirvana into her CD player, stripped off her clothes, and headed for the shower. She tried not to look at herself in the mirror, but ended up doing so anyway. The girl looking back at her was skinny and flat–chested. She had bony arms and legs and looked as if she would disappear altogether if she turned sideways. She might have been half–pretty if her face hadn't been breaking out so badly. As usual, Nest didn't much care for her.

She spent a long time in the shower washing and soaking. Then she dried, dressed, and stared out the window into the park. She thought about Pick and the big oak tree, about her friends and the magic she hid from them, about the maintenance man and Wraith, and about the feeders. She thought about Two Bears and the dance of the spirits of the Indian dead, now less than six hours away. She wondered if Two Bears could see the feeders. He had seen Pick clearly enough, so shouldn't he be able to see the feeders as well? She had never met anyone who could see the feeders besides herself and Gran. Pick said there were others, but not many and they all lived elsewhere. Pick said only a handful of people could see the feeders, and that was because you had to have some connection with magic. Maybe Two Bears could do magic, she thought. Wouldn't he have to be able to do magic in order to summon spirits?

She left the window and went down the hall toward the living room, wrapped in her speculations. Her hair was still damp and loose. The curls tickled her ears. She brushed at them self–consciously, wishing suddenly that they weren't having company for dinner, thinking about how boring it was likely to be, already planning how she would excuse herself as soon as the meal was consumed…

"Hello."

She stopped in surprise. A man was standing just inside the front door looking at her. She had been so preoccupied with her musings she had missed seeing him.

"Hello," she replied.

"Sorry if I startled you."

"No, that's all right. I was thinking about something."

The words sounded stupid, and she colored slightly. The man didn't seem to notice. His green eyes stayed fixed on her, his gaze so intense that she blinked in spite of herself.

"You must be Nest." He smiled as if pleased by'this. "My name is John Ross."

He extended his hand, and she took it in her own. His grip was strong, and she thought he must be used to hard work. He seemed to her to be constructed all of bones and muscle, but his clothes hung on him as they would have hung on a scarecrow. He looked strange with his shoulder–length hair tied back in that bandanna, but kind of cool, too. She thought it made him look like a little boy. She wondered suddenly what he was doing there. Was he their dinner company or just someone looking to do yard work?

She realized she was still holding his hand and quickly released it. "Sorry."

He smiled and looked around. Hi§ eyes settled on the portraits of the Freemark women, grouped to one side of the entry door. "Your family?" he asked.

She nodded. "Six generations of us."

"Handsome women. This house has a good feel to it. Have you lived here all your life?"

She was pondering whether to answer his question or ask one of her own when her grandfather appeared from the den. "Sorry to take so long. I was just looking for her yearbook, senior year, when she was president of the student council. Nest, have you met Mr. Ross?"

Nest nodded, watching her grandfather closely. It was her mother's yearbook he was holding.

"Mr. Ross knew your mother in school, Nest. In college, in Ohio." He seemed fascinated by the idea. "He came down to visit us, to say hello. I ran into him at Josie's this morning and invited him to join us for dinner. Look here, John, this is Caitlin's picture from her senior year."

He opened the yearbook and held it out for John Ross to see. Ross limped gingerly over for a look, and for the first time Nest noticed the polished black staff leaning against the wall next to the umbrella stand. The staff was covered with strange symbols carved into wood black and depthless beneath the staff's worn sheen. Nest stared at the markings for a long moment as John Ross and her grandfather studied her mother's yearbook. There was something familiar about the markings. She had seen them somewhere before. She was certain of it.

She looked at John Ross anew and wondered how that could be.

Moments later, Gran called them in to dinner. She seated them at the big dining–room table, Nest next to John Ross across from Robert and herself. She placed the food on the table, then finished off her bourbon and made herself another before taking her seat. She picked up her fork and began to eat with barely a glance at her company. Very unlike Gran, who was a stickler for good manners. Nest thought something was clearly troubling her.

"Did you know my mother a long time?" Nest asked, curious now to know more about this stranger.

Ross shook his head. He took small, careful bites as he ate. His green eyes were distant as he spoke. "No, I'm afraid I didn't. I didn't meet her until her second year, and she went home at the end of it. We only had a few months together. I wish I had known her better."

"She was pretty, wasn't she?"

John Ross nodded. "She was."

"You were a year ahead of her at Oberlin, you said," Old Bob encouraged. "Did you stay on and graduate?"

"Caitlin could have graduated, too, if she'd wanted," Gran said quietly, giving him a sharp glance.

"I think Caitlin was one of the smartest people I've ever known, Mrs. Freemark," John Ross offered, looking now at Gran. She looked back at him very deliberately. "But she was fragile, too. Very sensitive. She could be hurt more easily than most. I admired that about her."

Gran put down her fork and sipped at her bourbon. "I don't know that I understand what you're saying, Mr. Ross."

Ross nodded. "It's just that most of us are so hardened to life that we've forgotten how to respond to pain. Caitlin wasn't like that. She understood the importance of recognizing the little hurts that other people ignore. She was always concerned with healing. Not physical injuries, you understand. Emotional hurts, the kind that inflict damage on your soul. She could identify and heal them with a few well chosen words. She was better at it than anyone. It was a genuine gift."

"You said you dated? You and Caitlin?" Old Bob helped himself to more of the roast, ignoring the look Gran shot him. Nest watched the interplay with fascination. Something about John Ross being here had Gran very upset. Nest had never seen her so on edge.

"On and off for some of that year." John Ross smiled, but kept his eyes fixed on his plate. "Mostly we were just friends. We went places together. We talked a lot. Caitlin talked about you all the time. And about her home. She loved the park."

"I have to tell you that she never mentioned you, Mr. Ross," Gran observed pointedly, watching his face.

John Ross nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that. But she kept a lot to herself. I don't suppose I was very important to her in the larger scheme of things. But I admired her greatly."