The Pagan Stone Page 0,117

bobbed and floated.

"Not exactly the right ambiance for a quick picnic," Cal decided. With his hand on Quinn's shoulder, he leaned over to brush his lips at her temple. "You okay to go another ten minutes before we break?"

"Hey, I'm the three-miles-a-day girl."

"You're the pregnant girl. One of them."

"We're good," Layla said, then dug her fingers into Fox's arm. "Fox."

Something rose out of the churning water. Head, neck, shoulders, the dirty red sludge of the pond, dripping, running. Torso, hips, legs, until it stood on the churning surface as it might a platform of stone.

Hester Deale, bearer of the demon's seed, damned by madness, dead centuries and by her own hand, stared out of wild and ravaged eyes.

"You'll birth them screaming, demons all. You are the damned, and his seed is cold. So cold. My daughters." Her arms spread. "Come, join me. Spare yourselves. I've waited for you. Take my hand."

What she held out was brittle with bone, stained with red.

"Let's go." Fox put his arm firmly around Layla's waist, drew her away. "Crazy doesn't stop with death."

"Don't leave me here! Don't leave me here alone!"

Quinn glanced back once, with pity. "Was it her, or another of Twisse's masks?"

"It's her. It's Hester." Layla didn't look back. Couldn't. "I don't think Twisse can take her form-or Ann's. They're still a presence, so it can't mimic them. Do you think when we finish this, she'll be able to rest?"

"I believe it." Cybil looked back, watched Hester-weeping now-sink back into the pool. "She's part of us. What we're doing is for her, too."

They didn't stop at all. Whether it was nerves, adrenaline, or the Nutter Butters and Little Debbies Fox passed around, they kept hiking until they'd reached the clearing. The Pagan Stone stood silent. Waiting.

"It didn't try to stop us," Cal pointed out. "Barely messed with us."

"It didn't want to waste the energy." Cybil peeled off her pack. "Storing it up. And it thinks it destroyed the one weapon we had. Bastard's feeling cocky."

"Or like the last time we came here on the eve of a Seven, it's hitting the town." Cal pulled out his cell phone, punched the key for his father's. His face, his eyes were grim when he flipped it back closed. "Nothing but static."

"Jim Hawkins will kick demon ass." Quinn put her arms around Cal. "Like father, like son."

"Fox and I could try to see," Layla began, but Cal shook his head.

"No, nothing we can do. Not there, not at the farm. And there's something to be said for saving our energies. Let's set up."

In short order Gage dumped an armload of wood near Cybil as she unpacked provisions. "Seems superfluous. If we wait a few hours, there'll be plenty of fire."

"This is our fire. An important distinction." Cybil lifted a thermos. "Want some coffee?"

"For once, no. I'm going to have a beer." He looked around as he opened one. "Funny, but I'd feel a lot better if it had come after us, like last time. Bloody rain, lashing wind, bone-snapping cold. That bit with your father-"

"Yes, I know. It was like a tip of the hat. Have a nice walk, catch you later. Arrogance is a weakness, one we'll make sure it regrets."

He took her hand. "Come here a minute."

"We need to build the fire," she began as he drew her to the edge of the clearing.

" Cal 's the Boy Scout. He'll do it. There's not a lot of time left." He put his hands on her shoulders, ran them down her arms, up again. "I've got a favor to ask you."

"It's a good time to ask for one. But you'll have to live to make sure I followed through."

"I'll know. If it's a girl..." He saw the tears swim into her eyes, watched her will them back. "I want Catherine for her middle name-for my mother. I always felt first names should belong to the kid, but the middle one..."

"Catherine for your mother. That's a very easy favor."

"If it's a boy, I don't want you to name him after me. No juniors or any crap like that. Pick something, and put your father's name in the middle. That's it. And, make sure he knows-or she, whichever-not to be a sucker. You don't draw to an inside straight, don't bet what you can't afford to lose and-"

"Should I be writing this down?"

He gave her hair a tug. "You'll remember. Give him these." Gage pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket. "The last hand I