“Because he said ‘Nest’ and you thought he was talking about me,” she said quietly.
“Because I thought he might be talking about you, yes.” She watched his face grow intense and troubled. “Because I had just watched him turn into a miniature Wraith, and it made me wonder. But mostly because I was at my wits’ end— am at my wits’ end still, for that matter—and I had to try something.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I am exhausted and almost out of time, and I haven’t gotten anywhere. I’ve been with him for twenty-two days, and I don’t have a clue how to reach him. I thought I would learn something in that time, thought I would tip to some secret about his magic. But all I’ve managed to do is to keep the two of us alive and running. There’s been no communication, no exchange of information, no discovery of any sort at all. Your name was the first breakthrough. That, and the fact that he’s stayed a little boy for four days now. Maybe it means something.”
She nodded, then rose to pour them both a fresh cup of coffee and reseated herself. Outside, the day was bright and clear and cold, the early morning frost still visible in the shadowed spaces and on the tree trunks in crystalline patches. Ross could hear the oil furnace thrum as it pumped out heat to ward against the freeze.
“He doesn’t seem especially interested in me now that he’s here,” she observed carefully.
He sipped at the coffee. “I know. He hasn’t spoken your name either. Hasn’t said a single word. So maybe I was wrong.”
“How much time is left?”
“Before he disappears altogether?” Ross shook his head. “Several days, I guess. They give a morph on the average of thirty days of life, and that leaves this one down to eight.”
“Interesting,” she said, “that he’s become a little boy.”
“Interesting,” he agreed.
They talked a bit longer about the propensities of gypsy morphs, but since morphs came without blueprints and tended to be wholly inconsistent in their development, there was really little to conclude about the intentions of this one. Nest would have liked to understand more about the strange creatures, but the fact remained that she understood little enough even about Pick, whom she had known for most of her life. Creatures of the forest and magic tended to be as foreign to humans as plankton, even to those as attuned to them as she was.
Bennett reappeared wearing jeans and an old sweatshirt she’d pulled from Nest’s closet and a pair of her walking shoes, so they set about making breakfast. It was served and consumed at the larger dining room table, with everyone eating except the morph, who picked at his food and said nothing.
“Lo, boy,” Harper said to him midway through the meal.
The gypsy morph studied her solemnly.
“Is he always this quiet?” Bennett asked Ross, frowning.
He nodded. “He understands everything, but he doesn’t speak.” He hesitated. “The fact is, we’re on our way to Chicago after the holidays to see a specialist on the matter.”
“Better have his appetite checked at the same time,” she advised pointedly. “He hasn’t eaten a thing.”
“He ate some cereal earlier,” Nest said.
“Mommy?” Harper asked, looking up, big eyes curious. “Boy talk?”
“Maybe later, sweetie,” Bennett said, and went back to her breakfast.
Afterward, she bundled up Harper and told Nest they were going for a walk in the park. She asked Ross if Little John wanted to come with them, but Ross said he hadn’t seemed well and should probably stay in. Her intentions were good, but he couldn’t take a chance on letting the gypsy morph out of his sight.
Bennett and Harper went out the back door, across the lawn, and into the frozen expanse of the park. It was still not even noon. From his position on the couch, the gypsy morph watched them go, staring out the window anew. Ross stood beside him for a time, speaking hi low tones, eliciting no response at all.
Finally he walked back into the kitchen and picked up a towel to help dry the dishes Nest was washing.