Running with the Demon Part 29

Then everything flared white hot about him, and it felt as if a giant fist had slammed into his back.

The force of the bomb's blast blew Derry Howe forward into Old Bob and carried both of them fifteen feet through the air before it dumped them in a tangled heap. Old Bob lay crumpled in the gra.s.s, one arm twisted awkwardly, Derry sprawled half on top of him. His ears rang and his head throbbed, and after a minute he felt the pain begin. I'm dying, he thought. Fireworks were exploding all around him, rockets going off in their launcher tubes or spinning wildly off into the darkness or streaming fire into the trees and sky and out over the river. The launching platform was in flames, and the frameworks for the flag display and others hung in ragged, half-burned tatters. The spectators were running and screaming in all directions, blankets scattered, lawn chairs dumped, coolers abandoned. Deep booms and ear-piercing whistles marked the detonation of explosive after explosive from within the white-hot inferno below. Old Bob felt blood on his chest and face and could not tell if it was his or Derry's. He could feel blood leaking inside his mouth and down his throat. When he tried to free himself from Deny, he found he could not move.

He closed his eyes against his pain and weariness.

Well, that's it, that's all she wrote.

He had just enough time left to wonder about Nest, and then everything went black.

Chapter Thirty-One.

The creature that emerged from the shattered remnants of the old oak was so loathsome that it defied comparison with anything John Ross had ever seen. It slouched out of the smoke and ruin, materializing as the pulsating green light fragmented, a nightmare come to life. It walked upright on two legs, but it was hunched over and crook-backed, as if its huge shoulders would not permit it to straighten. Tufts of coa.r.s.e, black hair dotted its scaly surface, and it had a snake's hooded yellow eyes and wicked tongue. Toes and fingers split in tripods from its feet and hands, ending in claws that seemed better suited to a great cat. Its face was long and narrow and featureless except for the slits that served as its eyes and mouth, and its head was a smooth, sinuous extension of its corded neck. It was big, fully ten feet in height, even stooped as it was, and its ma.s.s suggested that it weighed well over five hundred pounds. It swung around guardedly as it stepped forward into the clearing, casting its flat, empty gaze left and right, looking over the unfamiliar world into which it had emerged.

After centuries of being locked away, the maentwrog was free once more.

John Ross stared at the monster. It looked too huge to have been contained by the old tree, and he wondered how it could ever have been imprisoned. Not that it mattered now. All that mattered now was whether he was going to do anything about the fact that it was loose. His purpose in coming to Hopewell had nothing to do with the maentwrog. The maentwrog was an unneeded and dangerous distraction. He knew what he should do, what he had been sent to do. He should let the monster go its way, let it do what it would, let someone else deal with it. But there was no one else, of course. There was only him. By the time sufficient force was brought to bear, the maentwrog would have killed half the people of the town. It was a berserker, a killing machine that lacked any other purpose in life. It did not kill out of hunger or in self-defense, but out of primal need. It was not his responsibility, but he knew he could not let it pa.s.s.

And that was what the demon was counting on - the reason he had set the maentwrog free. John Ross was being given a choice, and the fact that he was human and not a forest creature made the outcome of his choosing a foregone conclusion.

He turned to Nest Freemark, who stood transfixed behind him, her eyes wide and staring, her curly hair wild and damp against her heated face. "Move back from me," he told her softly.

"John, no, it's too big," she whispered, her eyes filled with fear and terror.

"Move back, Nest."

She did so reluctantly, slowly withdrawing toward the wall of the trees. The clearing was lit by the remnants of the oak, a scattering of shards which were still infused with the green light and clung to the limbs and tall gra.s.ses. Overhead, the sky was dark and choked with clouds, the moon and stars hidden. In the distance, he heard the slow rumble of thunder. A sad, wistful resignation filled him. There was no way out of this. In his hands, the black walnut staff pulsed with light.

Ignoring the demon, who backed to the tree line, bland features lit with expectation, Ross stepped forward. He kept his eyes on the maentwrog, who was watching him now, seeing him for the first time, realizing that a confrontation was at hand. The creature dropped down on all fours, muscles bunching, tongue flicking out experimentally. Its mouth parted to reveal multiple rows of sharpened teeth, and it gave a deep, slow hiss of warning.

Ross summoned the magic from his staff, and it flowed over him like liquid light, encasing him in its armor, giving him protection for the battle ahead. The maentwrog cringed in revulsion as Ross slowly transformed, becoming less himself, less the human he had been, turning bright and hard within the magic's armor. His features melted, smoothing out within the light, and when he advanced in a slow, almost sensual glide, his limp had disappeared completely.

Within the shadows of the clearing, time seemed to slow and sound to cease.

Then the maentwrog threw itself at its adversary in a stunningly swift attack, claws ripping. But the Knight of the Word sidestepped with ease, and the gleaming black staff hammered into the monster as it hurtled past. Fire flared like molten steel, and the creature howled, a high-pitched, ragged snarl, its neck arching, its body writhing. It spun about as it was struck, one arm whipping at the Knight, who was not quite quick enough to avoid it. The blow sent him sprawling backward across the clearing, and he felt the impact even through the shield of his magic.

He scrambled to his feet as the creature launched itself at him a second time. Again he avoided the attack, using the staff to block the deadly claws. The staff's magic flared and burned, stripping off ragged lengths of reptilian skin, and the maentwrog spun away.

The Knight of the Word righted himself and moved to the center of the clearing, close to the remains of the maentwrog's shattered prison. From the corner of his eye, he saw Nest crouched down at the fringe of the trees, ready to bolt. But she would not run. She would not leave Pick. Or him, he believed. Whatever happened, she would stand her ground. She might be only a young girl, but she had the heart and soul of a warrior. He knew that much about her. He wished anew that he had been able to tell her more, to give her something else with which to defend herself. But it was a pointless exercise; whether he lived or died, he had done everything for her that he could.

He edged left toward the demon. There was his real enemy. If the maentwrog gave him even a moment's respite, he could... But no, it was too late for that, too late for anything but letting events unfold as they would. He felt a great despair at his limitations, at the narrowness of the charge he had been given, at the hard truths that belonged to him alone.

The maentwrog crept toward him once more, body lowered to the earth, eyes bright and gleaming. It would not stop until one of them was dead. The Knight understood the nature of his adversary, and he knew there would be no quarter. The beast had killed stronger creatures in its tune, and it was not afraid. Fueled by savagery and rage, it knew only one way.

It attacked, feinting several times in an effort to distract the Knight, then launched itself across the clearing, an unstoppable juggernaut of muscle, claws, and teeth. The Knight of the Word stood his ground and delivered a powerful blow, lashing out with such force that the magic's fire engulfed the maentwrog. But the monster's rush carried it past his defenses and right into him. The Knight was slammed against the earth, the armored light that protected him crushed downward like plastic. He rolled aside as the maentwrog thrashed within the cloak of fire, trying to reach him but tearing only the earth. He struck it repeatedly, slamming his staff against the ma.s.sive body, fire bursting from its polished length. The maentwrog screamed and struggled to pin him to the ground, twisting and arching in fury. Twice the Knight was felled, the breath knocked from his lungs, pain filling his body, his strength momentarily leaving him. Both times he rallied, refusing to back away. He could no longer see either the demon or Nest. He could barely make out where he was, the clearing filled with smoke and soot, the shards of light from the devastated tree obscured. He moved in a world of sound and sudden movement, of responses born of instinct and swift reaction, where an instant's hesitation would mean his death.

He broke from the maentwrog momentarily, sliding away through the murky gloom like a ghost, knowing he must wait for an opening. His strength was beginning to fail, and his magic was tiring. If he did not bring this battle to a swift conclusion, he would lose it. He was so battered already that he could no longer move without pain, his legs cramped, his arms leaden and weak. He had not been much of a fighter in the time before he had become a Knight of the Word, and so fighting did not come instinctively to him. He had learned what little he knew from his dreams of the future and his confrontations in the present, and he was a novice compared with the thing he battled. His magic had made the difference so far, but his magic was not without limits and it was tailored to a different end.

Then the maentwrog swiped at him from out of the smoke and dust, knocking him from his feet. In an instant, the creature was on top of him, bearing down with its forelegs, pinning him fast. Its jaws snapped at his head, sc.r.a.ping against the magic's armored light, ripping at the fabric. The Knight drove his feet into the monster's chest, fire exploding at the contact, but could not break free.

In that instant, Nest Freemark rushed out of the smoke and darkness, screaming in fury, no longer able simply to stand by and watch. Wielding a six-foot piece of deadwood, she swung it at the maentwrog in an effort to distract it, desperate to do something to help. The Knight cried out at her to go back, but she ignored him. Surprised, the maentwrog swiped at her with one ma.s.sive foreleg, and sent her cartwheeling back into the night.

One arm suddenly free, the Knight thrust the black staff deep into the monster's maw and sent the magic forth. Fire lanced into the monster's throat, burning and consuming, and the maentwrog reared backward in pain, trying to break free. But the Knight clung to it stubbornly as the maentwrog beat at him with its arms and tore at him with its claws, shrieking. The Knight felt as if everything was breaking apart inside his body, but the staff remained buried in the beast's throat, the fire exploding out of it.

The maentwrog stumbled and fell, then lay writhing on the earth, frantically trying to rise, to rid itself of the fire within. The Knight yanked the staff from its throat and drove it into one baleful eye, feeling the maentwrog's head shudder beneath the blow. He struck a second time, then a third, as fire flared in brilliant spurts and smoke billowed into the night.

When he could no longer lift his staff to strike, he tried to disengage himself from the shapeless ma.s.s at his feet, but his legs refused to respond.

Don't leave Nest alone! he screamed in silent desperation, and then his strength gave out completely and he collapsed. he screamed in silent desperation, and then his strength gave out completely and he collapsed.

In the smoky aftermath, the clearing went still.

Raindrops fell on Nest Freemark's face, soft, cool splashes against her heated skin. They fell out of the blackness in a ragged scattering, and then began to quicken. Nest brushed at them absently as she lay sprawled on the earth at the edge of the clearing, her eyes locked on the mix of smoke and gloom that roiled before her. She could,not see what was happening. In the last desperate moments of the struggle between John Ross and the monster, everything had disappeared. Fire belched and inhuman shrieks rent the air, and then suddenly there was only silence.

"John," she said softly, his name a whisper that only she was meant to hear.

A sudden breeze rose off the waters of the Rock River, gusted through the deep woods, and began to sweep away the haze. As the night air cleared, she could see both combatants, sprawled on the ground, motionless. She climbed slowly to her feet. Steam was rising off the maentwrog, and as she watched, it began to disintegrate, collapsing on itself as if a sh.e.l.l in which air had been trapped and released. The ma.s.sive body broke apart and fell earthward in a cloud of dust and ash, and in seconds only an outline remained, a dark shadow against the torn and bloodied earth.

John Ross remained where he was, motionless and crumpled. The black staff no longer gleamed. Nest moved to where he lay and stared down at him in horror.

A sudden, violent explosion shattered the silence, and the force of the explosion was so powerful that the shock wave rocked her as it pa.s.sed. The explosion had come from some distance off. She turned to look for its source, and she saw fireworks exploding everywhere. But they were not going off in any pattern, and the flashes of color that identified their location were not only overhead, but at ground level as well.

"It's only you and me now," he said quietly, a serene look on his face, his hands folded comfortably before him. "I suspected that Mr. Ross might try to intervene in this, so I arranged a minor distraction. It looks to me as if it did the job. Care to check for yourself?"

She straightened, forcing herself to stand fast, closing away her emotions so that he would not see them. "What do you want from me?" she asked, keeping her tone of voice flat and expressionless.

"I want you, child. My daughter. I want you with me, where you belong."

She choked back the urge to scream in rage. "I told you not to call me that. I am not your daughter. I am nothing like you. I have no intention of going with you anywhere. Not now, not ever. If you make me go, I will run away from you the first chance I get."

He shook his head admonishingly. "You are in deep denial, Nest. Do you know what that means? You can pretend all you want, but when all is said and done, I am still your father. You can't change that. Nothing can. I made you. I gave you life. You can't just dismiss the fact of my existence."

Nest laughed. A surge of adrenaline rushed through her. "You gave me life out of hate for my mother and my grandmother. You gave me life for all the wrong reasons. My mother is dead because of you. I don't know if you killed her or if she killed herself, but you are responsible in either case."

"She killed herself," the demon interjected with a shrug. "She was weak and foolish."

Nest felt her face turn hot. "But my grandmother didn't kill herself, did she?"

"She was dangerous. If I had let her live, she might have killed me."

"And so now I belong with you?" Nest was openly incredulous. "Why would you think I would even consider such a thing?"

The demon's bland features tightened. "There is no one else to look after you."

"What are you talking about? What about Grandpa?" She pointed at him threateningly, aggressively. "Get out of here! Leave me alone!"

"You have no one. Your grandfather is dead. Or if not, he will be soon."

"You're lying!"

The demon shrugged again. "Am I? In any case, none of them matter. Only me."

Nest was shaking with fury. "Why you would think, after all you've done, that I would do anything anything you wanted, is beyond me. I hate you. I hate what you are. I hate it that I am any part of you. You don't matter to me. You matter less than nothing!" you wanted, is beyond me. I hate you. I hate what you are. I hate it that I am any part of you. You don't matter to me. You matter less than nothing!"

"Nest." He spoke her name calmly and evenly. "You can say or do anything you like, but it won't change what's going to happen."

She took a deep breath to steady herself. "Nothing's going to happen."

"You are my flesh and blood, Nest. We are the same."

"We are not the same. We will never be the same."

"No?" The demon smiled. "You want to believe that, I expect. But you're not certain, are you? How can you be? Don't you wonder how much of me is inside you?" He paused. "Don't you owe it to yourself to find out?"

He started forward. "Don't touch me!" Nest snapped, clenching her fists at her sides.

The demon stopped, laughing. "But I must. I must touch you if I am to help you see who you can become, who you really are. I must, if I am to help you free the part of me you keep buried."

She shook her head rapidly from side to side. "Keep away from me."

He looked skyward, as if discovering the rain for the first time. It was falling more rapidly now, a slow, steady patter against the leaves of the trees, its dampness spreading darkly across the bare ground. Nest glanced down at John Ross, but he still wasn't moving. She looked over at Pick, slumped on the floor of his iron cage.

You have to help them.

Then, for the first time that night, she saw the feeders. They had ringed the clearing, hundreds - perhaps thousands of them, bodies scrunched together within the shadows cast by the trees, eyes bright with expectation as they gleamed catlike in the darkness. She had never seen so many gathered in one place, never in numbers like this. It seemed, on looking about, as if all the feeders in the world had come together in these woods.

"You belong to me," the demon repeated, watching her closely. "Child of mine."

She closed her eyes momentarily, blinking rapidly against the tears that were threatening to form. She was all alone, she knew. He had seen to that. He had done that to her. She stared balefully at him, daring him to come closer, hating him as she had never hated anyone. Her father. A demon. A demon. A demon. A demon. A demon. A demon.

"Step away from Mr. Ross, please," he ordered softly.

She stood her ground in challenge. "No."

The demon smiled coldly. "No?"

He gestured at her almost casually, and she was a.s.sailed with such fear that her legs buckled and her breath caught in her throat. She staggered under the weight of the attack, and as she did so the feeders came at her from every side. She whirled to meet their a.s.sault, her eyes locking quickly on those of her attackers, her magic turning them to mush. One by one they crumpled before her, falling to the sodden earth and melting away. But for each one she destroyed, two more took its place. She hissed at them like a cat, enraged and terrified by their closeness and numbers. They were touching her now, grappling for her, too many to fend off completely, and she was back once more in the darkness of the caves beneath the park, wrapped in electrician's tape and unable to help herself. She fought on, striking out wildly, destroying any feeder who would look at her, forcing some to cringe away as she wheeled on them, thrashing against those who tried to crawl over her.

But there were so many. Too many! Too many! Too many! Too many!

She clasped her head between her arms and closed her eyes, screaming defiantly.

Then suddenly the feeders were gone back into the night, and she was alone again. She lifted her head and found the demon watching her, amus.e.m.e.nt reflected in his pale eyes.

He started toward her again, a slow advance through the empty gloom and soft rain.

"Wraith!" she cried out desperately.

Abruptly, the big ghost wolf appeared. He emerged from the trees behind the demon and stalked into the ravaged clearing with his ma.s.sive head lowered and his hackles raised. Nest felt her heart leap as her giant protector advanced on the demon.

The demon stopped and looked casually over his shoulder. Wraith stopped as well.

The demon turned back to Nest, smiling. "I have a confession to make," he said. "I have been keeping something from you. Would you like to know what it is? It's rather important." Nest said nothing, suddenly terrified. He was enjoying the moment. "It's about this creature. Your protector. It's an elemental, a thing created of magic and the elements, a sort of familiar. You probably think your grandmother made it; maybe she even told you she did, But she didn't. I did."

His words spun through the silence like chips of jagged metal, cutting apart what remained of Nest's courage and resolve. She stared at him in disbelief. "You're lying."

He shook his head. "Think about it. I left you behind after you were born. Why would I do that if I thought any harm would come to you? You were my child; quite possibly you would have magic at your command. The feeders would be drawn to you. At times, you would be in danger." He shrugged. "So I created a protector to watch over you, to keep you from harm."

She shook her head slowly. "I don't believe you."

"No?" He laughed softly. "Watch."

He turned back to Wraith and made a quick gesture. Wraith sat back on his haunches obediently. The demon smiled at Nest. He made another gesture, and Wraith lay down and put his head between his paws, docile and responsive.

The demon faced Nest once more. "See?" He gave her a wink.

Nest felt the last of her hope fade, watched her last chance for survival drift off into the night. Use your magic. Trust Wraith. Use your magic. Trust Wraith. But Wraith was his creature. But Wraith was his creature. His His. The truth burned in her throat and left her dizzy and sick inside.

Oh, my G.o.d, my G.o.d! What am I supposed to do now?

The demon spread his arms in a gesture intended to convey his sympathy. "You're all alone, Nest. There isn't anyone left for you to turn to except me. But maybe that isn't as bad as you think. Let me take your hands in mine. Just for a few moments. Let me touch you. I can make you see things in different ways. I can give you an understanding of who you really are. What harm can come from that? If you don't like what you see, I'll leave."

But he wouldn't, she knew. He would never leave. And if she let him touch her as he wanted, she would be destroyed forever. She would be subverted in ways she could not begin to imagine. Her father was anathema to her. To any human. He was a demon, and there was nothing good that could come from embracing any part of what he offered.

"Stay away from me," she told him for the second time that night.

But he came toward her anyway, certain of himself now, confident that he held her fate in his hands, that there was nothing she could do to stop him. Nest was shaking with fear and helpless anger, but she stood her ground. There was nowhere to ran and no reason to try. Sooner or later, he would find her. The feeders began to edge out from the shadows again, their eyes brightening. She felt the rain fall steadily on her face, and she realized her clothing was soaked. Behind, through the trees of the deep woods, the fireworks were still exploding in a series of ragged bangs and whumps.

I will not become like him, she told herself then. I will never let that happen. I will die first. I will never let that happen. I will die first.

She waited until he was so close she could make out the lines of his face in the gloom, and then she attacked him with her magic. She struck out with ferocious determination, using every bit of power she could summon. She met his gaze squarely, locked his eyes with hers, and went after him. He was not expecting it. The force of her a.s.sault jolted him back a step, shook him from head to foot. His mouth opened in surprise, and his eyes went wide. But he did not collapse as Danny Abbott and Robert Heppler had. He kept his feet. His face underwent a frightening transformation, and for a moment she could see clearly the depth of his evil.

"You foolish little girl!" he hissed in undisguised fury.

He came at her again, stronger this time, breaking past her defenses, brushing aside her attack. She retreated from him, trying to bring more power to bear, to slow him, to keep him at bay. The feeders were scrambling and leaping wildly, closing about, tightening their circle. She felt their antic.i.p.ation, sensed their readiness. They would feed soon. They would feed on her.

Then she saw Wraith. He left the ground as if catapulted,'his huge, rippling body uncoiling, his muscles stretching. He crossed the open s.p.a.ce between them in a handful of heartbeats, paws tearing at the earth, jaws spread wide. A high-pitched snarl broke from his throat, so dark and terrible that for a second everything seemed to freeze with its sound.

In that second, Nest was certain he was coming for her and she was about to die. She brought her arms up quickly to shield herself and dropped to one knee.

But it was the demon Wraith had targeted, and he flew through the air in a blur of black and gray tiger stripes, crashing into his creator and bearing him to the earth in a bright flash of white teeth. The demon disappeared under the beast, body twisting, arms flailing in an effort to find purchase. Nest staggered back from them, nearly falling, not understanding what had happened. Why was Wraith attacking the demon? The demon screamed in rage and pain as the ghost wolf tore at him. It seemed as if the beast had gone insane, attacking with such ferocity that there was no stopping him. Feeders broke over them both, writhing and twisting jubilantly in response to the battle, frenzied in their eagerness to dine. They scattered momentarily as the demon threw off Wraith with a superhuman effort and struggled to his feet, torn and bloodied and battered. But Wraith was on top of him again in an instant, jaws snapping.

The demon screamed something then, just one time, a name that Nest heard clearly. "Evelyn!" There was recognition in the cry; there was rage and terror. Evelyn! Evelyn!