Nest shook her head doubtfully. “Why wouldn’t he just tell me what it is?”
“I don’t know.” Pick tugged hard on his beard. “I wish I did.”
She gave him a wry, sad grin. “That’s not very comforting.”
They were silent for a moment, staring at each other through the growing shadows, the sounds of the park distant and muffled. A few stray raindrops fell on Nest’s face, and she reached up to brush them away. A dark cloud was passing overhead, but the sky behind it showed patches of brightness. Perhaps there wouldn’t be a thunderstorm after all.
“That note your grandmother left you reminds me of something,” Pick said suddenly, straightening. “Remember that story you told me about your grandmother seeing Wraith for the very first time? You were hi the park, just the two of you, and she went right up to him. Remember that? He was standing just within the shadows, you said, not moving, and they stared at each other for a long time, like they were communicating somehow. Then she came back and told you he was there to protect you.” He paused. “Doesn’t it make you wonder just exactly where Wraith came from?”
Nest stared at him, her mind racing as she considered where he was going with this. “You think it was Gran?”
“Your grandmother had magic of her own, Nest, and she learned some things from your father before she found out who he was and quit having anything to do with him. Wraith appeared after your mother died, after your father revealed himself, after it was clear that you could be in danger. More to the point, maybe, he appeared about the same time your grandmother quit using her magic, the magic she no longer had to defend herself with when your father came for her last night.”
“You think Gran made Wraith?”
“I think it’s possible. Hasn’t Wraith been there to protect you from the time you were old enough to walk?” Pick’s brow furrowed deeply. “He’s a creature of magic, not of flesh and blood. Who else could have put him there?”
Disbelief and confusion reflected on Nest’s face. “But why wouldn’t Gran tell me? Why would she pretend she wasn’t sure?”
Pick shrugged. “I don’t know the answer to that any more than I know why John Ross won’t tell you what he’s really doing here. But if, I’m right, and Wraith was made to protect you, then that would explain the note, wouldn’t it?”
“And if you’re wrong?”
Pick didn’t answer; he just stared at her, his eyes fierce. He didn’t think for a moment he was wrong, she realized. He was absolutely certain he was right. Good old Pick.
“Think about this, while you’re at it,” he continued, leaning forward. “Say John Ross is right. Say your father has come back for you. Look at how he’s going about it. He didn’t just snatch you up and cart you off. He’s taking his time, playing games with you, wearing you down. He found you in the park and teased you about not being able to rely on anyone. He came to your church and confronted you. He used his magic on that poor woman to demonstrate what could happen to you. He had that Abbott boy kidnap you and take you down into the caves, then teased you some more, telling you how helpless you were. He killed your grandmother, and sidetracked John Ross and your grandfather and me as well. Where do you think I was all night? I was out trying to keep the maentwrog locked up in that tree, and it took everything I had to get the job done. But you see, don’t you? Your father’s gone to an awful lot of trouble to make you think that he can do anything he wants, hasn’t he?”
She nodded, studying his wizened face intently. “And you think you know why?”
“I do. I think he’s afraid of you.”
He let the words hang in the silence, his sharp eyes fixed on her, waiting for her response. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she said finally.
“Doesn’t it?” Pick cocked one bushy eyebrow. “I know you’re scared about what’s happened and you think you don’t have any way of protecting yourself, but maybe you do. Your grandmother told you what to do. She told you to use your magic and trust Wraith. Maybe you ought to listen to her.”