Ross listened to the old grandfather clock ticktock in the silence, finding in its measured beat a reminder of how ineffectual he had been in his use of the time allotted him. He knew what was required if he was to resolve the secret of the morph. He had known it from the beginning. It had taken him forever just to get this far, and he had almost nothing to show for it. That the morph had brought him to Nest Freemark was questionable progress. That she believed it wanted something from her was suspect. She was levelheaded and intuitive, but her conclusion had come in the heat of a struggle to stay alive and might be misguided. So much of her thinking was speculative. How much was generated by wishful thinking and raw emotion? Could she really believe that Wraith and the morph were somehow joined? What could Wraith have to do with the morph’s interest in Nest? Why would it matter to the morph that the ghost wolf was an integral part of her magic?
Ross considered what he knew, still watching the boy. Be fair, he cautioned himself. Consider the matter carefully. It might be that there was a problem because the ghost wolf was created substantially out of demon magic. Perhaps the morph couldn’t tolerate that presence. Yet morphs had the ability to be anything. Their magic could be good or bad, could be used for any purpose, so that the presence of other magics logically shouldn’t have any effect. Was it something about the form of the ghost wolf that bothered the morph? Was Wraith’s magic competing with its own in some way?
Ross mulled his questions through. This boy, this boy! Such an enigmatic presence, closed away and so tightly sealed, so inscrutable! Why had the morph become a boy in the first place? The answer to everything was concealed there, in that single question—Ross was certain of it. Everything that had happened flowed directly from the morph’s last, final evolution into Little John, the form it had taken before asking for Nest, the form it had taken before their coming here.
His hands tightened about the smooth wood of the staff. What was the gypsy morph looking for? What, that it couldn’t seem to find in the woman whose name it had spoken with such need?
The door to the den opened, and Nest came out leading Harper by the hand. Neither said anything as they passed him and went into the kitchen. Ross followed them with his eyes, keeping silent himself. He could tell they had been crying; he could guess easily enough why. Nest poured apple juice into Harper’s baby cup and gave it to her, then poured a cup for Little John and carried it to the living room, Harper trailing after her. The children sat together once more and began working the puzzle anew.
Nest was bending down to help, speaking to them in a low voice, when the phone rang. She remained where she was, kneeling on the floor, Harper on one side and Little John on the other.
“John,” she called softly without looking up. “Could you get that, please?”
He crossed the hall to the kitchen phone and picked up the receiver. “Freemark residence.”
“I guess this just goes to prove how shameless I am, chasing after someone who leaves without a word in the middle of the night,” Josie Jackson said.
He rubbed his forehead. “Sorry about that. I’m the one who’s shameless. But I got worried about Little John. You looked so peaceful, I decided not to wake you.”
“That’s probably why you decided not to call this morning either. You wanted to let me sleep in.”
“Things have been a bit hectic around here.” He considered how much he ought to tell her, then lowered his voice. “Bennett Scott disappeared last night. They found her this morning at the bottom of the cliffs in Sinnissippi Park,”
“Oh, John.”
“Nest just finished telling Harper. It’s hard to know how she’s going to deal with this. I think Nest is trying to find out.”
“Should I come over?”
He hesitated. “Let me tell Nest you offered. She can call you back if she thinks you should.”