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By Root 578 0

or weaker depending on how we behave. The Word made them to be a reflection of us. If we behave well, we diminish them. If we behave badly, we strengthen them. Give them too much to feed on and they devour us. But they’re not subject to the same laws as we are. They don’t have life in the same way we do; they don’t have substance. They creep around in the shadows and come out with any release of the dark that’s inside us. I can burn them all to ash, but they will just come back again, born out of new emotions, new behavior. Do you understand?”

The girl nodded dubiously. “Are they everywhere, everywhere in the world?”

“Yes.”

“But aren’t there more in places where things are worse? In places where the people are killing each other, killing their children?”

“Yes.”

“Then why aren’t you there? What are you doing here, in this little, insignificant Midwestern town? No one is dying here. Nothing is happening here!” Her voice rose. “What is so important about Hopewell?”

Ross did not look away, dared not. “I can’t answer that. I go where I’m sent. Right now, I’m tracking the demon. I’m here because of him. I know that something pivotal is going to take place, something that will affect the future, and I have to stop it. I know it seems incredible that anything occurring in a tiny place like Hopewell could have such an impact. But we know how history works. Cataclysms are set in motion by small events in out-of-the-way places. Maybe that’s what’s happening.”

She studied him fixedly. “It has something to do with me, doesn’t it?”

Tell her! “It looks that way,” he hedged.

She waited a moment, then said, Ross nodded slowly. “It’s possible.”

She glared at him, needing more, wanting a better answer. “But how would that change anything about the future? What difference would that make to anyone but us?”

Ross started walking again, forcing her to follow. “I don’t know. What was it you were going to show me?”

She caught up to him easily, kept her hot gaze turned on him. “If you’re hiding something, I’ll find out what it is.” Her voice was hard-edged and determined, challenging him to respond. When he failed to do so, she moved ahead of him as if to push the matter aside, dismissive and contemptuous. “This way, over there, in those trees.”

They descended a gentle slope to a small stream and an old wooden bridge. They crossed the bridge and started up the other side into the deep woods. It was silent here, empty of people, of sound, of movement. The heat was trapped in the undergrowth, and none of the river’s coolness penetrated to ease the swelter. Insects buzzed annoyingly in their faces, attracted by their sweat.

“Actually, it wasn’t a dream,” she said suddenly. “About Gran, I mean. It was a vision. An Indian named Two Bears showed it to me. He took me to see the spirits of the Sinnissippi dance in the park last night after you left. He says he is the last of them.” She paused. “What do you think?”

A chill passed over John Ross in spite of the heat. O’olish Amaneh. “Was he a big man, a Vietnam vet?”

She looked over at him quickly. “Do you know him?”

“Maybe. There are stories about an Indian shaman, a seer. He uses different names. I’ve come across people who’ve met him once or twice, heard about some others.” He could not tell her of this, either. He could barely stand to think on it. O’olish Amaneh. “I think maybe he is in service to the Word.”

Nest looked away again. “He didn’t say so.”

“No, he wouldn’t. He never does. He just shows up and talks about the future,