Finally, she turned away. She would survive only if she kept her head. Stay busy, take things one at a time, anticipate what might happen without overreaching, and she might have a chance. Findo Gask could talk about making choices and suffering consequences all he wanted. She had made up her mind the moment she had seen Bennett Scott’s dead face that she wasn’t giving up the gypsy morph and its magic to the demons no matter what happened. A line had been crossed, and there was no going back. She didn’t know what her decision might end up costing her, but she did know the cost of capitulating now was too great to live with.
Her resolve surprised her. It wasn’t that she was brave or that she believed in the power of right over wrong. She knew Findo Gask was correct about her; she was being unreasonably stubborn. But somewhere along the way— since last night’s events, she supposed—she had decided that whatever happened to her or even to those around her, she wouldn’t back down. Something important was happening here, and even if she didn’t understand exactly what it was, she would fight for it. She had an overpowering conviction that in this instance fighting was necessary, and that she must do so no matter what the consequences.
John Ross would understand, she believed. Certainly he had waged similar battles over the years, championing causes when the issues weren’t entirely clear to him, believing that instinct would guide him to make the right decisions when reason wasn’t enough.
She glanced out the window into the park. She would have to warn Pick of Cask’s threat—although Pick was probably being pretty careful already. But if even O’olish Amaneh couldn’t stand against the demons, what chance did the sylvan have—or any of them, for that matter? She couldn’t imagine anyone being stronger than Two Bears. She couldn’t believe that he might be gone.
She put aside her thoughts on the last of the Sinnissippi and walked into the living room. Harper and Little John were still playing. She smiled at Harper when the little girl looked up. “Come talk to me a minute, sweetie,” she said gently.
She took Harper down the hall to her grandfather’s den and shut the door behind them. She led Harper over to the big leather recliner that Old Bob had favored for reading and cogitating and naps, sat down, and pulled the child onto her lap.
“When I was little, my grandfather would always bring me into this room and put me on his lap in this chair when he had something important to tell me,” she began, cradling Harper in her arms. “Sometimes he wanted to talk about our family. Sometimes he wanted to talk about friends. If I did something wrong, he would bring me in here to explain why I shouldn’t do it again.”
The little girl was staring at her. “Harper be bad?”
“No, sweetie, you haven’t been bad. I didn’t bring you in here because you did something bad. But something bad has happened to Mommy, and I have to tell you about it. I don’t want to, because it is going to make you very sad. But sometimes things happen that make us sad, and there isn’t anything we can do about it.”
She exhaled wearily and began to stroke Harper’s long hair. “Harper, Mommy isn’t coming home, sweetie.” Harper went still. “She got very sick, and she isn’t coming home. She didn’t want to get sick, but she couldn’t help it.”
“Mommy sick?”
Nest bit her lip. “No, sweetie. Not anymore. Mommy died, honey.”
“Mommy died?”
“Do you understand, Harper? Mommy’s gone. She’s in Heaven with all the angels she used to tell you about, the ones who make the sun bright with all the love that mommies have for their babies. She asked me to take care of you, sweetie. You and I are going to live together right here in this house for as long as you want. You can have your own room and your own toys. You can be my little girl. I would like that very much.”
Harper’s lip was quivering.”Okay, Neth.”