A Knight Of The Word

It might even cost him his relationship with Stef.

His head throbbed fiercely. One misstep was all it took, the Lady had cautioned. One misstep that led to another. He considered the possibility that the demon might take that step for him. It wasn’t too difficult to imagine.

But Simon Lawrence? He still couldn’t bring himself to accept that the Wiz was a demon.

Stefanie re-entered the room. He came to his feet, facing her. “Stef, I can’t go away just yet. I have to do something first. I have to see Simon.”

She sighed. “John, no.”

He took hold of her arms and held her gently, but firmly, in place. “I can call him up right now, or I can just go over. It won’t take but a moment.”

She shook her head, her eyes angry. “It wont do you any gaol, John. He’s made up his mind. I already argued your case for you, and it didn’t change anything.”

He studied her face, thinking she was right, that it was pointless. “I have to try,” he insulted any-way. “I have to make the attempt myself. I’ll be right back.”

She grabbed his arm as he started to turn away. “John, he’s not even there. He’s already gone down to the art museum to help put things in place for tonight’s benefit. He’s doing interviews and... Look, forget this. Let it go. Give me five minutes to pack a bag and we’re out of here. We’ll deal with it when we get back, okay?”

But he was already committed. He could not just walk away, not even for three or four days. He had to know the truth about Simon. He had no idea how he was going to find it out, but he could at least speak with him face-to-face and see how he responded.

Then a very strange thought occurred to him. What if the dream about killing the Wizard of Oz, wasn’t a warning at all? What if it were an admonition? Perhaps he had been mistaken about the purpose of the dream, and he was having it not because he was supposed to avoid the Wiz, but because he was supposed to go after him. His dreams of the future had been windows into mistakes that had been made in the present and might yet be corrected. He had assumed this was the case here. But he was no longer a Knight of the Word, and it was possible this dream, the only dream he was having anymore, the one he had experienced so often, was meant to work in a different way.

Maybe he was supposed to kill Simon Lawrence because Simon was a demon.

It was a stretch, by any measure, and he had no way of knowing if it were so. But if Simon was a demon, it would give new meaning to his dream. It would lend it a purpose and a reason for being that had been missing before.

Stefanie was still holding the root beer. He looked down at it and shook his head. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want it after all.”

She put her free hand on his arm. “John.”

“Stef, I’m going down to the art museum to find Simon. I won’t be long. I just want to ask him why he didn’t wait a little longer. I just want to hear him tell me why he wont give me the benefit of the doubt.”

She set the can of root beer down on the table. “John, don’t do this.”

“What can it hurt.”

“Your pride, for one thing.” She was seething. Her exquisite features were calm and settled, but her eyes were angry. “You don’t have anything to prove to Simon Lawrence, certainly not anything more than he should have to prove to you. Those are his signatures an those bank accounts, too. Why isn’t it just as likely he’s to blame?”

Ross put his, finger to her lips. “Because he’s the Wiz, and I’m not.”

She shook her head vehemently, her anger edging loser to a breakout. “I don’t care who he is. You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I just want to talk with him.”

She didn’t saw anything for a moment, studying him with a mix of resignation and dismay, as if realising all the arguments in the world had been suddenly rendered useless. “I’m not going to change your mind on this, am I?”

He smiled, trying to take the edge off the moment. “No, but I love you for trying. Go pack your bag. Wait for me. I’ll be back inside of an hour, and then we’ll go.”

He kissed her mouth, then walked over to the front closet and pulled on his greatcoat. She was still standing there, staring after him, as he went out the door.



Nest Freemark rode back into the city from the airport in impatient silence, staring out at the sun as it dropped westward toward the Olympics. It was already growing dark, the days shortened down to a little more than eight hours, the nights lengthening in response to the coming of the winter solstice, Shadows crept and pooled all across the wooded slopes of the city’s hills, swallowing up the last of the light.

She had thought to call ahead, to reach Ross by telephone, but what she had to say would be better coming from her in person. He might believe her then. She might stand a chance of convincing him.