A Knight of the Word

CHAPTER 21

It was nearing two o'clock by the time Nest packed her bag, checked out of the Alexis, and caught a taxi to the airport. She rode south down 1–5 past Boeing Field on one side and lines of stalled traffic heading north on the other. She stared out the window, watching the city recede into the distance, wrestling with the feeling that her connection with John Ross was fading with it.

She was riddled with doubt and plagued by a sense of uneasiness she could not explain.

She had done everything she had come to do and a little more. She had found John Ross, she had given him the Lady's warning, she had persuaded him he was in danger, and she had extracted his solemn promise he would take whatever steps were necessary to protect himself. She kept telling herself there was really nothing else she could do–nothing else, in fact, that she could justify–but none of the monolog seemed to help.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Ariel and Audrey and Boot were still dead and some part of the guilt for that was still hers. Maybe it had something to do with her discomfort at having done so little to help them. She knew she was dissatisfied with the idea of leaving the demon who had killed them loose in the city of Seattle. But what was she supposed to do? Track it down and exact revenge? How would she do that and what difference would it make now? It wouldn't bring back the forest creatures. It wouldn't make things whole or right in any meaningful way. Maybe it would give her a measure of satisfaction, but she wasn't even sure of that.

Mostly, she decided, she was bothered by the prospect of leaving behind so many loose ends. She was a runner, a competitor, and she was used to seeing things through to the finish, not giving up halfway. And that's what her leaving felt like.

For a time she managed to put it aside and think about what waited at the other end of her flight. Northwestern University, with classes first thing in the morning, three days of homework waiting to be made up, and her lapsed training regimen. Her grandparents' home, now hers, and the papers sitting on the kitchen counter, which would permit its sale. Pick, with his incessant questions about her commitment to Sinnissippi Park. Robert, waiting patiently for a phone call or letter telling him everything was all right.

As she would wait for a phone call or a letter from John Ross telling her the same thing.

Or would she never hear another word?

The taxi took the airport exit, wound its way along a series of approaches, and pulled onto the ticketing ramp. She looked over at the big airplanes parked at the boarding gates and contemplated the idea of flyng home. It didn't seem real to her. It didn't seem like something that was going to happen.

She got out at the United terminal, paid the driver, and walked inside. She checked in at the ticketing counter and received her boarding pass and gate assignment. She decided to keep her bag with her because it was not very big and she did not want the hassle of trying to retrieve it through baggage claim at O'Hare. She walked toward the shops and gate ramps, remembering suddenly, incongruously, she still hadn't replaced her windbreaker. She had thrown on her sweatshirt, but that wasn't going to provide her with enough warmth when she had to go outside in Chicago.

She glanced around, then walked into a Northwest Passage Outdoor Shop, a clothing store that sold mostly logo products. After rooting around in the parkas for a while, she found a lightweight down jacket she could live with, carried it up to the register, and paid for it with her charge card.

As she carried it out of the store, under her arm, she found herself wondering if the dead children's memories that had helped make up Ariel would be used to make another tatterdemalion or if they would be blown about by the wind forever. What happened to tatterdemalions when their lives ended? Little more than scraps of magic and memories to begin with, did they ever come together again in a new life? Pick had never said.

She moved to a seating area facing a security check and sat down. She was back to thinking about John Ross. Something was very wrong. She didn't know what it was, but she knew it was there. She was trying to pretend everything was fine, but it wasn't On the surface maybe, but not down deep, beneath the comfortable illusion she was trying to embrace. She held up her anxiety for examination, and it glared back at her defiantly.

What was it she was missing?

What was it she needed to do in order to make the discomfort go away?

She began to examine the John Ross situation once again. She went through all of its aspects, stopping abruptly when she came to his dream. The Lady had warned Nest about the dream, that it would come to pass in a few short days, and that to the extent Ross was a part of the events it prophesied, he risked becoming ensnared by the Void. The dream foretold that Ross would kill Simon Lawrence, the Wizard of Oz.

It also foretold that he would kill her. But it hadn't done that until last night.

Because until these past few days, she hadn't been a part of his present life at all, had she?

She stared at the lighted window of a newsstand across the way, thinking. John Ross had told her about his dreams five years earlier. His dreams of the future were fluid, because the future was fluid and could be changed by what happened in the present. It was what he was expected to accomplish as a Knight of the Word. It was his mission. Change those events that will hasten a decline in civilization and the fall of mankind. Change a few events, only a few, and the balance of magic can be maintained and the Void kept at bay.

What if, in this instinct, the Lady- was playing at the same game? What if the Lady had sent Nest to John Ross strictly for the purpose of introducing a new element into the events of his dream? Ross would listen to Nest, the Lade had told her through Ariel. Her words would carry a weight that the words of others could not. But it hadn't worked out that way, had it? It wasn't what she'd said to Ross that had trade a difference. It was what had happened to her in the park. It was the way in which her presence had affected the demon that, in turn, had affected him. Like dominos toppling into one another. Could that have been the Lady's purpose in sending her to Ross all along?

Nest took a slaw, deep breath and let it out again. It wasn't so strange to imagine there were Barnes being played with human lives. It had happened before, and it had happened to her. Pick had warned her the Word never resealed everything, and what appeared to be true frequently was not. He had warned her to be careful.

That triggered an unpleasant thought. Perhaps the Lade knew Nest's presence would affect John Ross's dream, would change it to include her„ jolting Ross out of his complacent certainty he was not at risk.

If so, it meant the Word was using her as bait.

When John Ross left Nest, he didn't go back to Pass/Go or to his apartment. He walked down First Avenue to a Starbucks instead, stepped inside, bought a double–tall latte, took it outside to a bench in Occidental Park, and sat down. The day was still sunny and bright, the cool snap of autumn just a whisper on the back of the breezes blowing off the sound. Ross sipped at his lane thoughtfully, warmed his hands on the container, and watched people walk by.

He kept thinking he would have a revelation regarding the demon's identity. He was certain that if he thought about the puzzle hard enough, if he looked at it in just the right way, he would figure it out. There were only a handful of possibilities, after all. A lot of people worked at Fresh Start and Pass/Go, but only a few were close to him. .And once you eliminated Ray Hapgood and Stef and certainly Simon, there weren't many candidates left.

But each time he considered a likely suspect, some incongruity or contradictory piece of evidence would intervene to demonstrate he was on the wrong track. The fact remained that no one seemed to be the right choice. His confusion was compounded by his complete failure to understand what his dream about killing Simon Lawrence had to do with anything. The demon's subterfuge was so labyrinthine he could not unravel it.

He finished the latte and crumpled the empty container. He was running out of ideas and choices. He would have to keep his promise to Nest and subtract himself from the equation.

Dumping the latte container in a trash can, he began walking back to his apartment. He wouldn't even bother going in to work. He would just pack an overnight bag, call Stef, have her meet him, and walk down to the ferry terminal. Maybe they would go up to Victoria for a few days. Stay at the Empress. Have high tea. Visit the Buchart Gardens. Pretend they were real people.

He was almost to the front door of his apartment building when he heard his name called. He turned to watch a heavyset, rumpled man come up the sidewalk to greet him,

Mr, Ross?' the man inquired, as if to make sure.

Ross nodded, leaning on his walking stick, trying to place the other's fact.

`We haven't met,' the newcomer said, and extended his hand. `I'm Andrew Wren, from The New York Times.'

The investigative reporter, Ross thought warily. He took the proffered hand arid shook it. 'How do you do, Mr. Wren?'

The professional face beamed behind rimless glasses. `The people at Pass/Go thought I might find you here. I came by earlier, but you were out. I wonder if 1 could speak with you a moment?'

Ross hesitated. This was probably about Simon. He didn't want to talk to Wren, particularly just then, but he was afraid that if he refused it would look bad for the Wiz.

`This won't take long; Wren assured him. 'We could sit at one

of those tables in the little park right around the comer, if you wish'

They walked back to the entrance to Waterfall Park and took seats at a table on the upper level where the sound of the falls wasn't quite so deafening. Ross glanced across the street at the offices of Pass/Go, wondering if anyone had seen him. No, he amended wordlessly, not if anyone had seen him. If the demon had seen him.

He grimaced at his own paranoia. 'What can I do for you, Mr. Wren?'

Andrew Wren fumbled With his briefcase. `I'm doing a piece on Simon Lawrence, Mr. Ross. Last night, someone dropped off some documents at my hotel room: He extracted a sheaf of papers from the case and handed them across the table. I'd like you to take a look'

Ross took the packet, set it before hurt, and began to thumb through the pages. Bank accounts, he saw. Transfers of funds, withdrawals and deposits. He frowned. The withdrawals were from Fresh Start and Pass/Go. The deposits were into accounts under Simon Lawrence's name. And under his.

He glanced up at Andrew Wren in surprise. Wren's soft face was expressionless. Ross went back to the documents. He worked his way through, then looked up again. 'Is this same sort of joke?'

Wren shook his head solemnly. `fm afraid not, Mr. Ross. At least not the sort anyone is Laughing at. Particularly Simon Lawrence'

`You've shown these to Simon?'

`I have'

`What did he say?'

`He says he's never seen them'

Ross pushed the packet back across the table at Wren. 'Well neither have I. I don't know anything shout these accounts other than the fact they're not mine. What's going an here?'

Andrew Wren shrugged. 'It would appear you and Simon Lawrence have been siphoning finds from the charitable corporations you work for. Have you?

John Ross was so angry he could barely contain himself 'No, Mr. Wren, I have not. Nor has Simon Lawrence, I'm willing to bet. Those signatures are forgeries, every last one of them. Mine looks pretty good, but I know I didn't sign for any of those transfers. Someone is playing a game, Mr. Wren.'

The minute he said it, he knew. The answer was there in ten foot–high neon lights behind his eyes, flashing.

'Do you have any idea who that someone might be, Mr. Ross?' Andrew Wren asked quietly, folding his hands over the documents, his eyes bright and inquisitive.

Ross stared at him, his mind racing. Of course, he did. It was the demon. The demon was responsible. But, why?

He shook his head. `Offhand, Id say whoever provided you with the information, Mr. Wren'

The other man nodded thoughtfully. `I've considered that'

'Someone who doesn't like Simon Lawrence'

'Or you'

Ross nodded. `Perhaps. But I'd say Simon is the more likely target' He paused. 'but you've thought this through already, haven't you, That's what an investigative reporter does. You've already considered all the possibilities. Maybe you've even made up your mind'

_Wren grimaced. 'No. Mr. Ross, I haven't done that. It's too early for making up one's mind about this mess. I have tried to consider the possibilities. One of those possibilities relies on your analysis that the Wiz is the primary target. But far that to be true, it must also be true that someone is setting him up. That requires a motive. You seem to have a rather goad one. If you were looking for a way to protect yourself in the event your own theft was discovered, salting an account or two in Simon Lawrence's name might just do the trick.'

Ross thought it through. 'Oh, I get it. I steal a little for me, a little for him, then claim it was a his idea i£ I get caught. That gets me a reduced sentence„ maybe even immunity.'

`It's happened before'

'You know something, Mr. Wren?' Ross looked off at the waterfall for a minute, then back again. His eyes were hard and felled with a rage he could no longer disguise. 'I'm just about as mad as I've ever been in my life. I love my work with Fresh Start. I would never do anything to jeopardize that. Nor would I do anything to jeopardize a program 1 strongly believe in and support. I've never stolen a penny in my life. Frankly, I don't care much about money. I've never had it, and I've never missed it. Nothing's happened to change that'

He rose, stiff–legged and seething. `So you go right ahead and do what you have to do. But let me tell you something. If you don't find out who's behind this, I will. That's a promise, Mr. Wren. I will'

`Mr. Ross?' Andrew Wren stood up with him. `Could you just give me another minute? Mr. Ross?'

But John Ross was already walking away.

Bait.

Nest Freemark considered the implications of the word as calmly as she could, which wasn't easy to do. The thought that she had been dispatched to Seattle to find John Ross, not with any expectation she could influence him by virtue of well–reasoned argument, but solely for the purpose of influencing his dreams and forcing him to rethink his position at the same time she was being put at risk was almost more than she could bear.

She fumed for a moment, then wondered haw the Lady could know how her presence would affect things. Could she know the dream would be changed in a way that would make Ross reconsider? If the Lads: knew what the dream was, it wasn't such a long shot she knew haw to change it.

Nest put her face in her hands and closed her eyes. She was jousting with shadows. She was just guessing.

She left behind the dream and its implications and went back to what she knew. There was a demon, The demon was in Seattle, The demon was after Ross. The demon was someone he knew, probably well. The demon was determined to claim him- so determined it had been willing to attack and kill another demon who challenged it for possession of his soul.

So far, so good. Nest nodded into her hands. What else?

The demon had recognized Nest and decided she was a threat. But not enough of a threat to do anything about her until after she had gone to Lincoln Park to speak with Boot. Boot was going to tell her something when the demon attacked, something about the demon changing again, only not in the same way.

She backed off, knowing all she could do with that approach was to speculate, that the answers she needed had to be reached from another direction.

She glanced at her watch. Three–thirty. Her plane would begin boarding around four. She looked down at her bag, glanced over at the security check and the people lined up to go through the metal detector, and went bade to thinking.

The demon had been present when she had gone to Fresh Start to find John Ross. Her magic, into whatever form it had evolved, had reacted to the demon and made Nest physically sick. The demon had tracked her or followed her or intercepted her message and found her later at Lincoln Park. Which? It had killed Boot, Audrey, and Ariel, and had tried to kill her. And then it had gone back to the city and set fire to Fresh Start. Why?

Her head hurt. Nothing fit. She walked down the concourse with her bag to an SBC stand and ordered a decaf cappuccino. Then she found a different seat and thought about the demon some more.

What was she missing?

Stay away from him, Ariel had warned her of John Ross. He has demon stink all over him. He is already lost.

Seemed right to her, given his refusal to accept the possibility he was in danger, that he might be fooling himself about his vulnerability. But John Ross genuinely seemed to believe that he was a different person, no longer a Knight of the Word, no longer a keeper of the magic. He was shattered by San Sobel, and now he was in love with Stefanie Winslow and committed to the work of Simon Lawrence, and his life was all new.

Like her own was new, she thought suddenly. She had left the past behind as well, back in the park of the Sinnissippi, back with the passing of Gran and Old Bob, back with the end of her childhood.

She thought suddenly of her mother. There was no reason for it, but all of a sudden she was thinking about haw much she missed not having her there while she was growing up. Gran and Old Bob had done the best they could, which was pretty good, but the gap in her life that her mother's death had left wasn't something anyone could fill. She wondered if that was how John Ross had felt before Stef had come into his life. He had wandered alone for more than ten years in service to the Word, living with his terrible dreams of the future and the responsibility they forced on him in the present. It was so hard to be without someone who loved you. Everyone was affected by the absence of love. Even her father, who was a demon …

The words froze in mid–sentence, crystallised in her mind, and hung there like shards of ace. She had been trying to think of something earlier, something that spoke to the issue of the demon's behaviour with Ross, something from her past. Now she knew what it was. It was her father's behaviour toward Gran years ago.

It was the same. It was exactly the same.

In a moment's time, everything carne together, all the loose ends, all the answers she had been unable to locate, all the missing clues. She felt her breath catch in her threat as she thought it through, trying it out, seeing if it fit.

She knew who the demon was.

She knew why John Ross could not escape it

A wave of heat rushed through her, Maybe she had been wrong about the Lady after all. Maybe the Lady knew Nest would see what Ross could not.

But was there still time enough to save him?

She was on her feet, her bag flung aver one shoulder, running for the exit and the taxi stand.