And as she reached him, as it seemed she must come right up against him, right onto the tips of those gleaming teeth and that bristling fur, he simply faded away and was gone.
She continued without slowing through the space he had occupied, eyes closing against the rush of cold that washed over her, until she passed through the doorway and into the hall beyond. She stood there shaking, taking deep breaths to steady herself, leaning against the Christian-literature table, out of sight of those gathered within.
She jumped as a hand touched her shoulder. “Nest?”
John Ross was standing next to her, leaning on his black, rune-scrolled staff, his pale green eyes intense. He must have followed her out, she realized, and done so quickly.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded. “Did you see?”
He glanced about the deserted hall as if someone might be listening: Within the sanctuary, Reverend Emery was beginning his sermon, “Whither Thou Goest.”
“I saw,” he answered. He bent close. “What was that creature? How does it know you?”
She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. “That was Wraith.” She shook her head, refusing to offer any further explanation. “Where did all these feeders come from? What’s happening?”
Ross shifted uneasily. “I think the demon is here. I think that’s what’s drawing them.”
“Here? Why?”
Ross shook his head. “Because of me.” He looked suddenly tired. “I don’t know. I’m only guessing.”
She felt a deep cold settle in the pit of her stomach. “What should we do?”
“Go back inside. Stay with your grandfather. I’ll wait out here until after the service. Maybe the demon will show himself. Maybe I’ll catch sight of him.” His green eyes fixed on her.
She nodded uncertainly. “I have to go to the bathroom first. I’ll be right back.”
She hurried off down the hall to the Christian Education wing, Reverend Emery’s deep, compelling voice trailing after her, floating over the hush of the congregation. She did not feel very good; her stomach was rolling and her head pounding. She glanced through the open doors into the cavernous gloom of the sanctuary; the feeders had disappeared. She frowned in surprise, then shook her head and went on. It didn’t matter why they were gone, she told herself, only that they were. Her footsteps echoed softly on the wooden floor as she crossed the lower foyer. She pushed through the doors leading into the reception room, feeling worn and harried. Mrs. Browning, who had been her fifth-grade teacher, was arranging cups and napkins on several long tables in preparation for the fellowship to be held after the service. The bathrooms lay beyond. Nest slipped past Mrs. Browning without being noticed, went into the kitchen, and disappeared into the women’s bathroom.
When she came out, a man was standing there, surveying rows of cookies and cakes arranged on serving trays. He looked up expectantly as she entered.
“Ah, there you are,” he greeted, smiling. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she replied automatically, and then stopped in surprise. It was the maintenance man who had spoken with her the previous day when she had wandered through the park after working on the injured tree. She recognized his strange, pale eyes. He was wearing a suit now, rather than his working clothes, but she was certain it was the same man.
“Not feeling so good?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He nodded. “Well, that’s too bad. You don’t want to miss out on all these treats. Missing out on the sermon is one thing, but missing out on these cookies and brownies and cakes? No, sir!”
She started past him.
“Say, you know,” he said suddenly, stepping in front of her, blocking her way, “there’s a little something I want to share with you. A private fellowship, you might say. It’s this. I remember when sermons meant something. It’s been a while, but the old-time evangelists had a way of communicating that made you sit up and take notice. Now there’s the televangelists with their high-profile ministries, their colleges and their retreats, but they don’t talk about what matters. None of them do. Because they’re afraid. You know why? Because what matters is how the world will end.”