Running with the Demon - Terry Brooks [72]
Humming, he collected his canvas sack and disappeared back into the trees.
Chapter Thirteen
Nest pushed open the screen door off the porch just in time to hear the big grandfather clock in the den strike the half hour between five and six. As she paused in the silence that followed, Gran materialized out of the shadows of the kitchen, a thin, gray apparition gripping a pot holder.
“Dinner’s in an hour, Nest. Go wash up. We’ve got company coming.”
Nest caught the screen door as it started to swing back on its, springs and eased it quietly into place. She could feel the sweat, warm and sticky on her skin beneath her clothes. “Who is it?” she asked.
“Someone your grandfather invited. You’ll have to ask him.” Gran looked less than pleased. She gestured with the pot holder. “Go clean up first, though. You look like something the cat dragged in.”
She disappeared back into the kitchen. Nest could smell pot roast cooking, rich and savory, and she realized suddenly how hungry she was. She went down the hallway past Gran and the good smells and glanced into the den in search of her grandfather, but he was not there. She took a moment longer to listen for him; then, hearing nothing, she continued on to her room, closed the door, popped Nirvana into her CD player, stripped off her clothes, and headed for the shower. She tried not to look at herself in the mirror, but ended up doing so anyway. The girl looking back at her was skinny and flat-chested. She had bony arms and legs and looked as if she would disappear altogether if she turned sideways. She might have been half-pretty if her face hadn’t been breaking out so badly. As usual, Nest didn’t much care for her.
She spent a long time in the shower washing and soaking. Then she dried, dressed, and stared out the window into the park. She thought about Pick and the big oak tree, about her friends and the magic she hid from them, about the maintenance man and Wraith, and about the feeders. She thought about Two Bears and the dance of the spirits of the Indian dead, now less than six hours away. She wondered if Two Bears could see the feeders. He had seen Pick clearly enough, so shouldn’t he be able to see the feeders as well? She had never met anyone who could see the feeders besides herself and Gran. Pick said there were others, but not many and they all lived elsewhere. Pick said only a handful of people could see the feeders, and that was because you had to have some connection with magic. Maybe Two Bears could do magic, she thought. Wouldn’t he have to be able to do magic in order to summon spirits?
She left the window and went down the hall toward the living room, wrapped in her speculations. Her hair was still damp and loose. The curls tickled her ears. She brushed at them self-consciously, wishing suddenly that they weren’t having company for dinner, thinking about how boring it was likely to be, already planning how she would excuse herself as soon as the meal was consumed...
“Hello.”
She stopped in surprise. A man was standing just inside the front door looking at her. She had been so preoccupied with her musings she had missed seeing him.
“Hello,” she replied.
“Sorry if I startled you.”
“No, that’s all right. I was thinking about something.”
The words sounded stupid, and she colored slightly. The man didn’t seem to notice. His green eyes stayed fixed on her, his gaze so intense that she blinked in spite of herself.
“You must be Nest.” He smiled as if pleased by’this. “My name is John Ross.”
He extended his hand, and she took it in her own. His grip was strong, and she thought he must be used to hard work. He seemed to her to be constructed all of bones and muscle, but his clothes hung on him as they would have hung on a scarecrow. He looked strange with his shoulder-length hair tied back in that bandanna, but kind of cool, too. She thought it made