Running with the Demon - Terry Brooks [178]
In the open, beyond the scattering of flashlights and sparklers, she slowed just enough to let her vision adjust to the change of light. Ahead, the trees rose in dark, vertical lines against the softer black of the night. She angled past picnic tables and cook stations, running toward the rolling hills that fronted the deep woods. The sounds of the crowd faded behind her, receding into the distance, leaving her alone with the huff of her breathing and the beat of her heart. She heard her name called clearly then, but she forced herself to go on, trying to ignore the unwelcome summons, trying to outdistance it. When it continued, and she determined with certainty its source, she slowed reluctantly and turned to face a hard-charging Robert Heppler.
“Wait up, Nest!” he shouted as he rushed up to her from out of the darkness, blond hair swept back from his angular face.
She shook her head in disbelief. “Robert, what are you doing? Go back!”
“Not a chance.” He came to a ragged halt before her, breathing hard. “I’m going with you.”
“You don’t even know what I’m doing!”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re not doing it alone.”
“Robert...”
“The last time I let you wander off by yourself,” he interrupted heatedly, “you ended up in the caves and I had to get your grandfather to come find you! I’m not going through that again!”
He brushed at his tousled hair, his mouth set, his eyes determined. He looked pugnacious and challenging. “You’re going out to that big oak, aren’t you? This has something to do with that tree, doesn’t it? What’s going on?”
“Robert!” she snapped at him, suddenly angry. “Get out of here!”
He stared back at her defiantly. “No way. I’m going with you. You’re stuck with me.”
“Robert, don’t argue with me! This is too dangerous! You don’t know what you’re...” She stopped in exasperation. “Turn around, Robert! Right now!”
But he refused to budge. She came toward him menacingly. “I’m not afraid of you, Nest,” he said quickly, clenching his fists. “I’m not Danny Abbott, either. You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do. I don’t know what’s going on, but I...”
She locked his eyes with hers and struck out at him with her magic in a swift, hard attack. Robert Heppler went down like a stone, his muscles turned to jelly and his words became mush. He jerked once where he lay in the thinning forest grass, gave a long sigh, and blacked out.
She blocked the feelings of guilt that immediately assailed her and turned away, racing on. It was better this way. She knew Robert; he would not turn back. She would attempt an explanation later. If there was a later. Desperation and anger swept aside her attempts at forming an apology. She had done what she had to do. It didn’t matter that she had promised not to use the magic, that she hated to use it, that it left her feeling sullied and drained. Gran was gone, and in moments she would face her killer, and all she had to rely qn was the magic she had just used on Robert.
A fierce glee rocked her, a strange sense of chains being cast aside and freedom being gained. The defiance she felt at having done something forbidden lent her a certain satisfaction. The magic was a part of her. Why should it ever be wrong to use it?
She charged down the slope into the ravine that separated the picnic grounds from the deep woods, feeling her feet beginning to slide on the loose earth and long grasses. She caught herself with her hands to keep from falling, straightened up again as she reached the base of the ravine, and ran on. The bridge that spanned the little creek appeared through the gloom, and she thundered onto it, tennis shoes pounding as she crossed to the far side and began to climb the slope into the woods.
When she reached the top of the rise, she slowed again. Ahead, a wicked green light pulsed faintly