Then suddenly, unexpectedly, she thought of the children. She had forgotten about them in the rush of events, of Larry Spence coming and going, of the phone calls. She glanced toward her bedroom. They were being awfully quiet in there.
She walked down the hallway quickly, snapping on lights as she went. She was being silly. She was overreacting. Pick's security net was in place. No one could get in or out of her house without her sensing it. She fought down the impulse to run. No, she kept saying inside her head, trying to reassure herself. No!
"Harper! Little John!"
She reached her bedroom and threw open the door. An orange blur shot past her from under the bed and disappeared down the hall—Hawkeye, hair all on end, hissing in rage and fear. Her eyes swept the room hurriedly. Shadows nestled comfortably in the corners and draped the bed in broad stripes. The puzzle and toys lay scattered on the floor. Harper's cup of apple juice sat half-empty on her nightstand.
But the children were gone.
CHAPTER 25
At first, she could not bring herself to move. She just stood, staring at the empty room, shocked into immobility, frozen with disbelief. A rush of confused thoughts crowded through her mind. The children had to be there. She had put them there herself. She just wasn't seeing them. Maybe they were playing hide-and-seek, and she was supposed to come look for them. Maybe they were under the bed or in the closet. But they couldn't have just disappeared!
She forced herself to look for them because the sound of her thinking was making her crazy. Even though she knew what she would find, she searched under the bed and in the closet and anywhere else she could think to look. As she did, her shock dissipated and her anger began to grow. They were supposed to be safe; her house was supposed to be protected! Nothing was supposed to be able to get inside without her knowing! It was the first time that Pick had let her down, and she was furious at him.
It wasn't until she searched the adjoining rooms, desperate by now for help from any quarter, that she discovered the window in Bennett's bedroom was wide open. Then the telephone call from Larry Spence began to make sense. She had left him alone in that bedroom while she had gone to fetch the children, and he had used the opportunity to open the window from the inside. Pick had warned that the safety net was vulnerable from within. Larry was still under the sway of Findo Gask, and he had given Cask access without her knowing. He had come to her home specifically to help the demon steal the children.
Worried by the silence, Ross came down the hallway to find her. It was he who found the damp outline of the footprint on the carpet. The footprint wasn't human; it resembled that of a large lizard, three-toed and clawed at the tips.
The ur'droch took them, she realized at once. And now the demons had them.
She wanted to curl up and die. She wanted to attack someone. She was conflicted and ravaged by her emotions, and it was all she could do to hold herself together as she stood with Ross in the darkened hallway and discussed the possibilities.
"Cask has them," she insisted quietly, her voice hushed and furtive, as if the walls would convey her thoughts to those who shouldn't hear.
Ross nodded. He stood very tall and still, another shadow carved from the night that gathered outside. "He wants to trade for the morph."
"But he already has the morph."
"He doesn't realize that. If he did, he wouldn't have bothered with Harper." Ross was staring at her, green eyes locked on hers. "He thinks we still have it hidden away somewhere. He's taken the children to force us to give it up. Nothing else has worked—threats, attacks, breaking into the house. But he knows how you feel about the children."
She thought again of Larry Spence. "I was a fool," she said bitterly. She leaned against the wall, running her fingers through her curly hair. "I should have seen this coming. Gask tried for the children last night. I just didn't realize what he was doing. I thought he was attacking them to scare me. He was trying to steal them."
"He was more subtle about it this time. He used the deputy sheriff to open up the house and then distract us."
She made a disgusted noise. "Larry doesn't understand what's happening. John, what are we going to do?"
"Wait." He started back down the hall for the living room. "Gask will call."
The demon did so, fifteen minutes later. They were sitting in the kitchen by then, sipping at hot coffee and listening to the ticking of the grandfather clock in the silence. Outside, the darkness had chased west the last of the daylight and layered the snow-shrouded landscape. Streetlamps and porch lights blazed bravely in the blackness, small beacons illuminating houses adrift in snowbanks and wreathed in icicles. Thick flakes of snow floated through their gauzy halos as the new storm slowly rolled out of the plains.
"Good evening, Miss Freemark," Findo Gask greeted pleasantly when she picked up the phone on the second ring. "I have someone who would like to speak to you."
There was a momentary pause. "Neth?" Harper said in a tiny, frightened voice.
Findo Gask came back on the line. "No more games, Miss Freemark. Playtime is over. You lost. Give me what I want or you won't see these children again, I promise you. Don't test me on this."
"I won't," she said quietly.
"Good. I don't know where you've hidden the morph, but I will give you until midnight to recover it. I will call you back then to arrange a time and place for the exchange. I will call only once. Any delay, any excuses, any tricks, and you and Mr. Ross will spend a very lonely Christmas. Do we understand each other?"
She closed her eyes. "Yes."
He hung up. She placed the receiver back in its cradle and looked at Ross. "You were right," she said. "He wants a trade. The children for the morph."
He nodded without speaking.
"Except we don't have the morph to give him."
"No," he agreed softly. "We don't."
Findo Gask wrapped his fingers carefully about the Book of Names and stood staring off into empty space. Something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something wasn't right. It wasn't in the situation, which was progressing just as he had planned, or in Nest Freemark's voice, which was suitably submissive and worried. No, it was something else, something he had overlooked.
"Gramps!" Penny snapped at him impatiently. "What did she say?"
It wouldn't come to him, so he put the matter aside for later consideration. "She'll do what we want."
Penny giggled and twirled about in mock celebration. "Little Miss Track Shoes has run out of tricks! Too bad, too bad! No gold medal for her! Better luck next time!"
She danced around the room, frizzy red hair flying, gleefully singing tra-la-la-la. She danced at Twitch, who just looked at her dumbly, then at the ur'droch where it crouched hidden in a corner. Gask waited her out patiently.
"Make the children some dinner," he said when she had calmed down sufficiently to pay attention. "Don't get cute and don't frighten them."
"What's the difference?" she asked, pouting. "You'll kill them anyway. Why can't I have some fun with them first?"
"Because I say so, Penny," he answered, giving her a steady look. "Is that reason enough for you?"
The redhead's mouth twisted in a hard sneer. "Sure enough, Gramps. Anything your little old heart desires."
She disappeared into the kitchen, humming tunelessly. She was becoming increasingly unstable, less easily controlled. If she went off, as she was certain to do sooner or later, he would have to kill her. Not that he was reluctant to do so, but it was inconvenient. He still might need her help. His adversaries were resourceful, and their desperation would render them less predictable. Penny Dreadful was a valuable counter to such behavior. He might have to agree to give her the children as a reward. She would like that. If she had his promise that she could have them when this was over, she was more likely to stay in line. It was a cheap enough price.