It stood motionless in the darkness for a long moment, then began to strip off its clothes. It would hunt better once it had transformed. Its human guise was uncomfortable and restrictive, and it served only to remind the demon of the shell it had been trapped inside far so many years. All demons were mutable and, given time, could became whatever they chose. But this demon was particularly adept. It could change farms effortlessly, which was not usually the case. Most demons were required to keep to the form they adopted because it took so long to build another. But this demon was different. It could change forms with the speed of a chameleon changing colors, rebuilding itself in moments. Its ability had served it well as a creature of the Void. It specialized in ferreting out and subverting the mare powerful servants of the Word. It had destroyed many of them. It was working now at destroying John Ross.
Of course, it was only the part of Ross that was human that the demon sought to destroy. It would keep the rest. It would keep his magic. It would keep his knowledge. It would set free the dark underside that he worked so hard to contain and give it mastery over what remained of his spirit.
When its clothes lay on the floor, the demon began to change. Its human form disappeared as its body swelled and knotted with muscle and its skin sprouted thick, coarse hair. Its head lengthened, its jaws widened, and its teeth grew long and sharp. It took on the appearance of something that was a cross between a huge cat and a massive dog, but it resembled most closely a monstrous hyena–all powerful neck and sinewy shoulders and fanged muzzle.
Altered, it dropped dawn on all fours and began to make its way through the darkness. It passed from the basement down a set of open stairs to another level. Now it was inside the burned–out shell of old Seattle, of the ruin that served as the foundation for the city above. This was not a part of the old city that was covered by the underground tour. It was a part that was dosed off, inaccessible to most. The streets and alleyways ran on for hundreds of yards, mysterious and empty. Parts of it collapsed from time to time, and sometimes its darkened corridors flooded with runoff from the streets and sewers during heavy rains. Few knew it even existed. No one ever came down at night.
Except for the homeless.
And the demon who liked to hunt them.
The demon was thinking of John Ross, imagining what it would be like to close its massive jaws about his throat, to crush the life from him, to feel the blood spurt from his torn body. The demon hated Ross. But the demon was attracted to him, too. All that magic, all that power, the legacy of a Knight of the Word. The demon would like to. taste that. It would like to share it. It hungered for killing, but it hungered for the taste of magic even more.
Its feral eyes cast about in the black as it loped through the darkness on silent paws, ears pricked forward, listening. All about, feeders kept pace. There would be killing, they sensed. There would be terror and rage and desperation, and they were anxious to taste them all. Just as the demon hungered after magic and killing, the feeders hungered for the residual emotions in humans that both evoked.
John Ross belongs to me, the demon was thinking. He belongs to me because I have found him, claimed him, and understand his uses. I will subvert him, and I will set him free. I will make him over as I have made myself over. It will happen soon, so soon. The wheels of the machine that will make it possible are in motion. No one can stop them. No one can change what I intend.
John Ross is mine.
Ahead, distant still through the seemingly unending darkness, the faint sound of voices rose. The demon's jaws hung open and its tongue lolled out. The eyes of the feeders gleamed more brightly and their movements grew more intense.
Head lowered, nose sniffing expectantly at the cobblestones of the underground city's abandoned streets, the demon began to creep forward.
Above ground and unaware of the demon's presence, Nest Freemark was less than two blocks away.
It had taken her all day to get to Seattle, and she had arrived too late to make a serious effort at contacting John Ross until tomorrow–which, by now, was today, because it was after midnight. Fending off endless questions regarding her travel plans and misguided offers of help, she had booked a flight leaving O'Hare at three–fifteen in the afternoon and, as planned, ridden into Chicago that morning with Robert. Robert meant well, but he still didn't know when to back off. She avoided telling him exactly what it was she was doing or why she was going. It was an unexpected trip, a visit to some relatives, and that was all she would say. Robert was beside himself with curiosity, but she thought it would do him good to have to deal with his frustration. Besides, she wasn't entirely unhappy with the idea of letting him suffer a little more as penance for his behavior at her grandfather's funeral.
He dropped her at the ticketing entrance to United, still offering to come along, to accompany her, to meet her, to do whatever she asked. She smiled, shook her head, said good–bye, picked up her bag, anal walked inside. Robert drove away. She waited to make sure.
She hadn't seen Ariel since the night before and had no idea how the tatterdemalion planned to reach Seattle, but that wasn't her problem. She checked her bag, received her boarding pass, and was advised that the departure time had been moved back to five o'clock due to a problem with the plane.
She walked down to the assigned gate, took a seat, and resumed reading the hook she had begun the night before. It was titled "The Spiritual Child" and it was written by Simon Lawrence. She was drawn to the book for several reasons–first, because it made frequent reference to the writing of Robert Coles, and to his book The Spiritual Life of Children in particular, which she had read for a class in psychology last semester and enjoyed immensely, and second, because she was on her way to find John Ross, who was working for Lawrence at Fresh Start, and she wanted to know something about the thinking of flee man with whom a failed Knight of the Word would ally himself Of course, it might be that this was only a job for Ross and nothing more, but Nest didn't think so. That didn't sound like John Ross. He wasn't the sort to take a job indiscriminately. After abandoning his service to the Word, he would want to find something he felt strongly about to commit to.
In any case, she had whiled away the time reading Simon Lawrence, the airplane still hadn't shown, the weather had begun to deteriorate with the approach of a heavy thunderstorm, and the departure time had been pushed back yet again- Growing concerned that she might not get out at all, Nest had gone up to the gate agent and asked what the chances were that the flight might not leave. The agent said she didn't know. Nest retraced her steps to customer service and asked the agent on duty if she could transfer to another flight. The agent looked doubtful until Nest explained that a close friend was dying, and she needed to get to Seattle right away if she was to be of any comfort to him It was close enough to the truth that she didn't feel too bad about saying it, and it got her a seat on a flight to Denver connecting on to Seattle.