“Was it the demon?” she asked quickly.
“Of course it was the demon!” He was so matter-of-fact about it, so unshakably certain, so Pick, that she smiled in spite of herself. Pick scowled. “The stink of his magic is all over your front yard! He must have come right up to the front door! How did he do that? Where were you and your grandfather?”
Quickly she filled him in on what had happened-how she had been lured away from the dance by the demon, how Danny Abbott and his friends had stuffed her in a burlap bag and hauled her down to the caves, how the demon had come to her there and taunted her, how her grandfather had been summoned by her friends to find her, and how Gran had ended up being left alone.
“Oh, that’s a nasty piece of work!” Pick spit indignantly. “Your grandmother would have been a match for him once. More than a match for him, fact of the matter is. I told you as much. Would have split him up the middle if he’d tried something like this!”
Nest knelt at the windowsill, her face even with his. “So why didn’t she, Pick?” she asked. “She always said she had magic, that we both did. Why didn’t she use it?”
Pick scrunched up his seamed face, his sharp blue eyes narrowing, his mouth disappearing into his beard. “I don’t know. She wouldn’t have needed a shotgun if she’d had the magic. She was powerful, Nest-strong-minded and able. She’d studied on her magic; she’d learned how to use it. She might not have been as strong as he was, but he would have come out of a fight with her with a whole lot less skin! And there wasn’t a sign of her magic amid the leavings of his!” He rubbed his beard. “Truth is, I haven’t seen her use it in a long time-not in a very long time, girl. Not since your mother…”
He trailed off, staring at her as if seeing her in a new light.
“What?” she asked quickly.
“Well, I don’t know,” he answered vaguely. “I was just wondering.”
She let the matter drop, choosing instead to tell him about the note. She took it out of her pocket and unfolded it so that he could see that it was Gran’s writing, and then she read it to him. When he heard the words, his face underwent a strange transformation. “Criminy,” he whispered.
“What is it?” she demanded. “Stop making me guess what you’re thinking, Pick!”
“Well, it’s just that…” He shook his head slowly, his lips still moving, but no sound coming out.
“Why would the demon be coming after me?” she pressed, poking at him insistently with her finger.
Then the bedroom door opened, and her grandfather looked’ in. Pick disappeared instantly. Nest stood up, smoothing down the front of her T-shirt, composing her face.
“Your friends are at the back door,” her grandfather said. “I think you ought to see them.”
Reluctantly Nest came out of the bedroom and followed him down the hall. The old grandfather clock marked the cadence of their steps. As they passed the living room, she glanced in at the pictures of her mother and Gran resting on the fireplace mantel. Gran’s cross-stitch project rested on the arm of the old easy chair, unfinished. Her crosswords sat in a pile on the floor beside the chair. There were small pieces of her everywhere. Dull slants of gray light wedged their way through the drawn curtains and window shades, but the room felt musty and empty of life.
In the kitchen, dozens of containers of food sat unattended on the table and counters like forgotten guests. Her grandfather slowed and looked vaguely at the array of dishes. “I better see to this. You go on outside. It might be more private for you in the backyard.”
She went the rest of the way down the hall to the screen door and opened it. Robert, Cass, and Brianna stood waiting for her. Cass held a bouquet of daisies, mums, and marigolds.
“Hey,” she said by way of greeting.
“Hey,” they replied in jumbled unison.