She thought suddenly of the Freemark women, of the way the magic passed from one generation to the next. She thought of Gran, and the sacrifice she had made for Nest so many years ago.
When she spoke, her voice was distant and searching. “Pick, if I set Wraith free, will I lose him? Will I lose his magic?”
Pick was silent for a long time. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Maybe.”
She nodded slowly. “I’ll have to chance it. I’m leaving him out there to do what he wishes. I won’t take him back inside me.” She took a deep breath and turned away from the ghost wolf. No words were necessary. Wraith would know.
“Call Jonathan,” she ordered Pick. “Fly to the house on West Third and start checking. But be careful. I’ll take John in the car and meet you there.”
Pick grumbled to himself for a moment, then whistled sharply. The barn owl reappeared out of the trees, gliding past Nest’s outstretched hand, his great wings brushing her shoulder softly. The sylvan jumped onto his back, and in seconds they were gone, winging away into the night.
Nest watched them fade into the snowfall, keeping her back to Wraith. When they were gone, she turned to see if he was still there. He wasn’t. The ghost wolf had vanished. She stared at the space he had occupied, then glanced around quickly. There was no sign of him.
“Good hunting, Wraith,” she whispered.
Then she was running for the house and John Ross.
CHAPTER 27
They drove through the mostly deserted streets of Hope-well, Nest at the wheel and Ross beside her in the passenger seat. Neither spoke. Snow continued to fall in a curtain of thick, soft flakes, and everything was blanketed in white. The main streets had been cleared by the plows on their first pass, but the side streets were mostly untouched, the snow spilling over onto sidewalks and lawns in a smooth, unbroken carpet, the metal roofs of parked cars lifting out of the winterscape like the humped backs of slumbering beasts. Streetlights glistened off the pale crust in brilliant bursts that spread outward in halos of diminishing radiance. Everywhere, there was a deep, pervasive, and enveloping silence.
As she steered through the shaken-snow-globe world, Nest was shot through with doubt. She could not fathom doing what she knew she must without Wraith to stand beside her, even though she had accepted that it might be necessary. She tried not to dwell on the enormity of the task that lay ahead— getting into the demon lair, finding the children, and getting them out safely, all without having Wraith’s magic to aid her. She tried not to question her belief that giving up Wraith was somehow necessary in order to discover the secret of the gypsy morph, even though that belief was essentially blind and deaf and paper thin. She had not told Ross of it. She had not told him of freeing Wraith. If he had known, he would never have let her come with him. She had told him only what she felt necessary—that Pick had gone on ahead to scout the grounds and entrances to the demon house in order to find a way in. What happened from here forward must be on her conscience and not made a burden on his.
When they reached the intersection of West Fourth Street and Avenue G, Nest pulled the Taurus into the mostly invisible parking lot of a dry-cleaning service two blocks away from and out of sight of their destination. From there, they walked through the deep snow, down unplowed walks and across deserted side streets until the old Victorian came in sight. West Third was plowed, but empty of traffic, and the old houses were mostly dark at the ends of their snow-covered lawns and long drives. Even the one in which Findo Gask and his demons took shelter had only a few lights burning, as if electricity were precious and meant to be rationed.
They were almost in front of the house, keeping to the shadows and away from the pale glow of the streetlamps, when they saw the sheriff’s cruiser parked in the drive.