“I’ve got to be going,” she said perfunctorily.
The man looked at her some more, saying nothing. She forced herself to smile at him and turned away. Already the shadows of the big trees were lengthening. She went quickly, impelled by her discomfort.
She did not look back, and so she did not see the man’s strange eyes turn hard and cold and fixed of purpose as he watched her go.
When Nest Freemark was safely out of sight, the demon hoisted the canvas sack and stick over his shoulder and began walking. He crossed the roadway to the Indian mounds and angled down toward the river, whistling softly to himself. Keeping within the shelter of the trees, he worked his way steadily east through the park. The light was pale and gray where the hillside blocked the sun, the shadows deep and pooled. Afternoon ball games were winding down and picnickers were heading home. The demon smiled and continued on.
Richie Stoudt was waiting at the toboggan slide, seated at one of the picnic tables, staring out at the river. The demon was almost on top of him before Richie realized he was there. Richie leaped up then, grinning foolishly, shaking his head.
“Hey, how’s it going?” he sputtered. “Didn’t hear you come up. Been waiting though, just like you said to do. Got your message all right. Finished up at the Prestons’ and came right over.”
The demon nodded, smiled, and kept walking. “Let’s get started then.”
“Sure, sure.” Richie was right on his heels. He was small and wiry, and his thin face peeked out from under a mop of unruly dark hair. He was wearing coveralls over a blue denim shirt and high-top work boots, everything looking ragged and worn. “Didn’t know you worked for the park, I guess,” he said, trying to make conversation. “Pretty steady hours and all, I suppose. You sure this is all right, this late in the day and all? What is it we’re doing, anyway?”
The demon didn’t answer. Instead, he led Richie east into the big trees beyond the pavilion toward the slope that ran down to the little creek. The air was hot and still beneath the canopy of branches, and the mosquitoes were beginning to come out in swarms. Richie slapped at them irritably.
“Hate these things,” he muttered. When the demon failed to respond, he said, “You said this would pay pretty well and I might have a chance to catch on with the city? That right?”
“Right as rain,” the demon replied, not bothering to look at him.
“Well, all right, that’s great, just great!” Richie sounded enthused. “I mean, I don’t know if that damn strike is ever gonna get settled, and I need me something secure.”
They descended the slope to the creek, crossed the wooden bridge, and began to climb the opposite embankment toward the deep woods. In the distance, the bayou was as flat and gray as hammered tin. Richie continued to mutter about the mosquitoes and the heat, and the demon continued to ignore him. They crested the rise, following the path that Nest and Pick had taken earlier, and moments later they were standing in front of the big oak. The demon glanced about cautiously, but there was no sign of anyone except the feeders, who had followed them every step of the way and crouched now at the edge of the clearing, their eyes glimmering watchfully.
“Whoa, will you look at that!” Richie exclaimed, staring up at the sickened tree. “That guy looks like a goner!”
“That’s what we’re here to determine,” the demon explained, his bland face expressionless.
Richie nodded eagerly. “All right. Just tell me what to do.”
The demon dropped the canvas sack and took a new grip on the metal-tipped stick. He put his free hand on Richie’s shoulder. “Just walk over here to the trunk with me for a moment,” he said softly.
The shadows were deep and pervasive as they moved forward, the demon keeping his hand on Richie Stoudt’s shoulder. When they were right next to the massive trunk, the demon took his hand away.
“Look up into the branches,” he said