Running with the Demon - Terry Brooks [171]
Her father.
But she could not think of him that way, she knew. He was a demon, and he was her enemy.
She pondered Gran’s note. Should she rely on it? Was Pick right in his assumption that Gran had made Wraith and given up her magic to do so? Was that why she was defenseless against the demon? Trust Wraith. She remembered Gran telling her over and over again that the feeders would never hurt her, that she was special, that she was protected. She had never questioned it, never doubted it. But the demon was not a feeder, and perhaps this time Gran was wrong. Why hadn’t Gran told her more when she’d had the chance? Why hadn’t she given Nest something she could rely upon?
I’m so afraid, she thought.
She pushed through the gap in the hedgerow and entered her backyard. The house loomed dark and gloomy before her, and she was reluctant to enter it. Pick had disappeared from her shoulder, gone back into the trees. She hesitated a moment, then walked up to the back door, half expecting the demon to jump out at her.
But it was her grandfather who appeared, stepping from the shadow of the porch entry. “Are you all right, Nest?” he asked quietly, standing there on the steps, his big hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. He looked gaunt and tired.
She nodded. “I’m okay.”
“It was a terrible shock, hearing something like that about your father,” he said, testing her with the words. He shook his head. “I’m still not sure I believe it.”
She felt suddenly sad for him, this strong man who had lost so much. She gave him a faint smile and a look that said, Me either.
“I sent John away,” he said. “I told him I didn’t appreciate him coming to my house under false pretenses, whatever his reason for it, and I felt it would be better if he didn’t come back. I’m sorry if that upsets you.”
Nest stared, uncomprehending. She wanted to ask him if he had lost his mind, but she held her tongue. Her grandfather didn’t know what she did about John Ross, so it wasn’t fak for her to judge him. It was clear he had acted out of concern for her. Would she have acted any differently in his place?
“I’m going to lie down for a little while, Grandpa,” she said, and went past him up the steps and into the house.
She went down the hall to her room and closed the door behind her. Shadows dappled the walls and ceiling, and the air was still and close. She felt suddenly trapped and alone.
Would John Ross abandon her? Would he give up on her in the face of her grandfather’s antagonism? Even worse, was it possible there was nothing more he could do?
As she lay down on her bed, she found herself praying fervently, desperately that when the demon appeared next, she would not have to face him alone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Afternoon passed into evening, a gradual fading away of minutes and hours measured by changes in the light and a lengthening of shadows. The rain did not come, but the clouds continued to build in the west. Old Bob wandered through the house like a restless ghost, looking at things he hadn’t looked at in years, remembering old friends from other times, and conjuring up memories of his distant past. Visitors came and went, bringing casseroles and condolences. Fresh-cut flowers and potted plants arrived, small white cards tucked carefully inside their plain white envelopes, words of regret neatly penned. The news of Evelyn Freemark’s death had spread by radio and word of mouth; the newspaper article would not appear until tomorrow. Phone calls asked for details, and Old Bob dutifully provided them. Arrangements for the funeral, memorial service, and burial were completed. A fund that would accept monetary donations was established in Evelyn’s name by the local Heart Association.