Terry Brooks - Running With The Demon

"You know," Robert snorted. "Old Enid and he were drinking and fooling around." Cass gave him a sharp look. "Well, they were! My dad says they were."

"Your dad doesn't know everything, Robert," Cass said evenly.

"Tell him that."

"Mom says they tried to he about it at first," Brianna interrupted, "but then Mrs. Scott broke down and told them everything. They didn't arrest her, but they took her kids away and put them in foster care. I guess she's in big trouble."

Everyone in that family is in trouble, Nest thought sadly. But it's Jared who's paying the price. Someone should have done something to help him a long time ago. Maybe it should have been her. She'd helped Bennett when she was lost; why hadn't she found a way to help Jared? Why hadn't she seen he might need her help? She could picture George Paulsen hitting him, could see the feeders rising up out of the shadows to spur George on. She could see Gran as well, standing on the porch with the shotgun pointed at the demon as hundreds of lantern eyes stared hungrily from the shadows.

"It just isn't fair," said Brianna.

They talked a while longer, sitting out under the oak trees in the seclusion of the backyard while beyond the hedgerow the park continued to fill with picnickers. Finally Nest told them she had to go in and get something to eat. Robert wanted to know if she was coming over to the park later for the fireworks, and Cass gave him a look and told him he was an idiot. But Nest said she might, that she had been thinking about it and there was no reason to just sit around the house. Gran would have wanted her to go. She would ask her grandfather.

She waited until they disappeared through the hedgerow into the park, then rose and walked slowly back toward the house. She had a curious, unpleasant feeling that everything was slipping away from her. She had always felt secure about her life, able to face whatever changes might come. But now • she felt her grip loosening, as if she might no longer be able to count on anything. It was not just losing Gran and maybe Jared; it was the dark way the world beyond the park had suddenly intruded on her life. It was John Ross and O'olish Amaneh appearing. It was the coming of the demon. It was the danger the maentwrog posed, threatening to break free of its centuries–old prison. It was the sudden emergence of so many feeders in places they had never been seen before and Pick's warning of a shift in the balance. It was the revival of the mystery surrounding her mother and father. It was Wraith's failure to protect her last night.

But mostly, she thought, it was the fear and uncertainty she felt at the prospect of having to rely on her magic to stay alive–her magic, which she mistrusted and disliked, a genetic gift come out of her own flesh and blood that she had never fully understood. Gran had left her with a single admonition. When he comes for you, use your magic. Not "if he comes" or. "should he come." There was no room for debate on what was going to happen or what was required of her, and Nest Freemark, at fourteen years of age, isolated by loss and doubt and secrets kept hidden from her, did not feel ready to deal with it. She was still wrestling with her sense of vulnerability, standing alone not ten feet from her back door, when the demon appeared.

The demon stepped from behind the garage where it opened onto the driveway leading down the lane, emerging from a patch of shadows cast by one of the old shagbark hickories. Nest froze on seeing him, the thoughts that cluttered her mind disappearing with the quickness of fireflies in daylight. She was so surprised by his appearance that she didn't even think to call out. She just stood there, staring at him in shock. His bland face was expressionless, as if coming upon her like this was quite natural. He studied her with his washed–out blue eyes, and his gaze was almost tender. He seemed to be seeing something about her that she herself could not, measuring it, weighing it, giving it full and deliberate consideration. She could hear Gran's words screaming in her ear. When he comes for you. When he comes for you. The words faded into a high–pitched ringing that deafened her. She tried to break free of him, to bolt for the safety of the house, but his gaze held her fast. No matter how hard she struggled, she could not escape. She felt tears come to her eyes. Rage and frustration boiled up within her, but even these were not powerful enough to release her.

Then the demon cocked his head, as if his attention had been drawn away. He smiled at her, a quick, empty gesture, a reflection of some private amusement. He lifted his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss off the tips. A moment later, he was gone, stepping back into the shadows in the lee of the garage and fading away.

Nest stood rooted in place, her hands shaking. She waited for him to reappear, to come for her as Gran had said he would. But nothing happened. The ringing in her ears faded, and she began to hear the sounds of the people in the park again, the robins singing in the trees in her yard, and the cars passing down Woodlawn Road. She took a deep breath and held it, trying to still herself. "

"Nest!"

John Ross limped slowly into view through the gap in the hedgerow from off the service road. A surge of relief flooded through her. She ran to him without thinking, racing across the backyard, barely able to contain the cry of gratitude that rose in her throat. Her legs churned and her arms pumped, and she threw off the last links of her immobilizing chains. She ran to outstrip her fear and revulsion, to leave them stymied and powerless in the wake of her quickness.

When she reached John Ross, she threw herself into his arms and clung to him.

"Hey, hey, it's all right," he said quickly, bracing himself with his staff, his free arm coming about her shoulders reassuringly. "What's wrong, Nest? Hey, stop crying."

She shook her head against his chest, fighting the tears, gasping for breath as she tried to speak. Everything washed out of her in a hot flush, all the rage and fear and horror and sadness of last night, evaporating like rainwater on hot concrete in the aftermath of a summer storm.

"I heard about your grandmother, and I came right out," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, Nest. I wish I had known he would do this. I would have tried to prevent it. I know how you must feel. I know how hard it must be."

"I hurt so bad," she said finally, the words coming from her mouth in little gulps.

"It can't be any other way," he replied. "Not when you lose someone you love so much."

She shook her head slowly, rubbing her face against his shirt, still pressing against him. "Why did this happen? Why did he do it? Was he just trying to get back at her for what happened when she was a girl? Is that it?" The pitch of her voice began to rise and the words to come faster. "John, he was just here, standing down by the garage, staring at me. I couldn't move! If you hadn't come …"

"Nest, slow down, it's all right." He patted her back in an effort to calm her.

She clutched him more tightly. "Gran left a note, John. Just before she died. She knew what was going to happen. The note says the demon is coming for me, too. For me! Why?"

The words hung sharp–edged and immobile in the silence that followed. John Ross said nothing, but in doing so said everything. Nest felt the precipice she had sought to escape drawing near once more. Ross knew, but would not tell her. Like Gran, he had secrets to hide. Her resolve began to falter. She heard the screen door open and saw her grandfather emerge, looking for her. She felt besieged on all sides, boxed in by her ignorance and confusion. She had to know what was happening. She had to know before it was too late.

A surge of wild determination and reckless courage flooded, through her. "John," she said quickly, lifting her face away from his chest to look at him. Her heart pounded. "Are you my father?"