Nest Freemark was standing an the sidewalk outside Waterfall Pack when the apartment window exploded as if struck by a sledgehammer, raining shards of glass into the night and sending; feeders scattering into the shadows like rats. She turned toward the :sound, her fast thoughts of John Ross, but the dark thing that plummeted through The gleam was screaming in another voice entirely. Nest stood frozen in place, watching as it began to twist and re–form in mid–air, as if its flesh and bones were malleable. It had been human at first, but now it was something else entirely. It struck the Jumble of rocks midpoint on the waterfall, bounced away, and tumbled into the catchment.
Nest raced for the narrow park entrance, her heartbeat quick and hurried and anxious. She burst through the un–gated opening as the dark thing climbed free of the trough, a two–legged horror that was already losing what remained of its human identity, dropping down on all fours and shape–shifting into something more primal. Its legs thinned and lengthened and turned croaked, its torso thickened from haunches to chest, and its head grew elongated and broad–muzzled.
Stefanie Winslow, she thought in horror. The demon,
Re–formed into something that most closely resembled a monstrous hyena, the demon shook itself as if to be rid of the last of the disguise that had confined it and lifted its blunt snout toward the heights from which it had fallen. Feeders leaped and scrambled about it in a frenzy, like shadows flowing over one another, eyes bright against the dark. The demon snarled at them, snapped at the air through which they passed, and started to turn away.
Then it caught sight of Nest and wheeled quickly back again.
Even in the scattered light of the street lamps„ Nest could see the hard glitter of its eyes fix on her. She could see the hate in them. The big head lowered, the muzzle parted, and rows of hooked teeth came into view. A low–pitched, ugly snarl rose from its throat. Maybe it intended to finish what it had started in Lincoln Park. Maybe it was just reacting on instinct. Nest held her ground. She felt her magic gather and knot in her chest. She had fled from this monster once; this time she would stand and face it. The demon, it seemed, had made up its mind as well. It could have turned away from her, could have scaled the park fence and escaped without forcing a confrontation. But it never wavered in its approach.
In a scrabbling of claws on stone and with a bane–chilling howl, it attacked. Feeders converged in its wake, leaping and darting through the shadows in a wave of yellow eyes. Nest had only a moment to react, and she did so. She locked eyes with the demon and threw out the magic she had been born with, her legacy from the Freemark women, thinking to stun it, to throw it off stride, to cause it to falter. She need only delay it long enough for John Ross to reach her. He would be coming; the demon was dearly in flight from him. A few moments was all she needed, and her magic would give her that. She had used it on Simon Lawrence and the security guards at the museum not two hours earlier. It was an old and familiar companion, and she could feel its presence stir deep inside even before she called it forth.
Even so, she wasn't prepared for what happened next.
The magic she had called upon did not respond.
Another magic did.
It came from the same place as the magic she had been born to, from inside, where her soul resided in a conjoining of heart and mind and body. It exploded out of her in a rush of dark energy, taking its own distinctive form, unleashed by instincts that demanded she survive at any cost. Its power was raw and terrifying, and she, could not .control it. It did not release from her as she had expected„ Gut swept her along, borne within its storm–racked centre, and it was as if she were caught inside a whirlwind.
She was seeing the demon now through darker, more primitive eyes, and she realised suddenly, shockingly, that those eyes belonged to Wraith. She was trapped inside the ghost wolf. She had become a part of him.
Then she was hurtling into the demon, with no time left to think. Claws and teeth ripped and tore, and snarls filled the air, and she was fighting the demon as if became Wraith, herself grown massive through the shoulders and torso, rough–coated with fur, gimlet–eyed and lupine.
Back against the racks she drove the demon, steeped in the ghost wolf's strength and swift reactions. The demon twisted and fought, intertwined so closely with her she could feel the bunching of its muscles and hear the hissing of its breath. The demon tried to gain a grip on her throat, failed, and leaped away. She gave pursuit, a red veil of hot rage and killing need blinding her to everything else. They rolled and tumbled through the wrought–iron furniture, against the maze of rocks and fountains, and she no longer thought to wonder what was happening or why, but only to gain an advantage over a foe she knew she must destroy.
Perhaps she would have succeeded. Perhaps she would have prevailed. But then she heard her name called. A sharp cry, it was filled with despair and anguish.
John Ross had reached her at last.
White fire lashed the air in front of her, turning her aside. But the fire was not meant for her. It struck the demon full on, a rope of searing flame, and threw it backward to land in a bristling heap. She caught sight of Ross now, standing just inside the park entrance, his legs braced, the black staff bright with magic. Again the fire lanced from the Knight of the Word into the demon, catching it as it tried to twist away, knocking it down once more. Ross advanced, his face all planes and sharp edges, etched deep with shadows and grim determination.
The demon fought back. It counterattacked with a stunning burst of speed and fury, snapping at the scorched night air. Gut the Word's magic hammered into it over and over, knocking it back, flinging it away. Ross closed the distance between himself and his adversary, ignoring Nest, his concentration centred on the demon. The demon wailed suddenly, as if become human again, a cry so desperate and affecting that Nest cringed. Ross screamed in response, perhaps to fight against the feelings the cry generated somewhere back in the dark closets of his heart, perhaps simply in fury. He went to where the demon lay broken and writhing, a thing barely recognisable by now. It was trying to change again, to become something else–perhaps the thing Ross had loved so much. But Ross would not allow it. The black staff came down, and the magic surged forth, splitting the demon asunder, ripping it from neck to knee.
Feeders swarmed over it, rending and digging hungrily. The winged black thing that formed its twisted soul tried to break free from the carnage, but Ross was waiting. With a single sweep of his staff, he sent it spinning into the trailing fire and fading life.
What remained of the demon collapsed on itself and scattered in the wind. Even when the last of its ashes had blown away, John Ross stayed where he was, silhouetted against the shimmer of the waterfall, staring down at the dark smear that marked its passing darkness, a tiny, flaming comet.
CHAPTER 25
It was a little after ten–thirty the following morning when Andrew Wren walked into the offices of Pass/Go, announced himself to the receptionist, and was told Simon Lawrence would see him. He thanked her, advised her that he knew the way, and started back. He proceeded down the hall past the classrooms and offices, contemplating a collage of children's finger paintings that decorated one section of a sun–splashed wall. He was dressed in his corduroy jacket with the patches at the elbows and had worn a scarf and gloves against the November chill. He carried his old leather briefcase in one hand and a newsboy cap in the other. His cherubic face was unshaved, and his hair was uncombed. He had overslept and been forced to forgo the niceties of personal grooming and had simply pulled on his clothes and headed out. As a result, he looked not altogether different from some of the men standing in the soup line at Union Gospel Mission up the street.