He got between the crib and the thing posing as Anne. He wanted to sob, seeing her face again when he thought he never would. He wanted to rip the thing to pieces for even borrowing that face, for trying to breathe the same air as Aidan did.
"Get away from him." He growled, scanning his brain for an exorcism that used to be like a second language to him. "Now."
His mother had heard him holler for Dean and grabbed the two sawed off shotguns filled with rock-salt rounds they kept in the kitchen and went running for the nursery. She pumped the one in her right hand as she burst through the door, shouting her son's name and tossing the other to him. He caught it one handed and raised it to the intruder.
Nothing was going to its hands on her grandbaby, Mary thought, eyes level over the barrell of Dean's gun. The thing had the utter cruelty to borrow Anne's face. It would pay for that.