A Knight Of The Word

Simon nodded again. “First thing this morning.”


“Then it’s a story with a happy ending, and I think we ought to leave it at that. No one wants to read about a theft of charitable funds where the money is recovered and the thief is a nobody. It doesn’t sell papers. The real story here is about a man whose vision and hand work have produced a small miracle — the opening of a city’s stone heart and padlocked purse in support of a cause that might not gain a single politician a single vote in the next election. Besides, what point is there in writing about something that would serve no other purpose than to muddy up such beautiful, pristine waters?”

Andrew Wren picked up his briefcase and donned his cloth cap. “Someday, I’ll be back for the story of your life. The real story, the one you won’t talk about just yet. Meantime, go back to work on what matters. Just remember, for the record, you owe me one, Simon.”

Then he walked out the door, leaving the Wizard of Oz staring after him in bemused wonder.



Nest Freemark spent the first day of November travelling. After spending another night at the Alexis, she caught a mid morning flight to Chicago, which arrived shortly before four in the afternoon. She had debated returning to Northwestern for the one remaining day of the school week and quickly abandoned the idea. She was tired, jittery, and haunted by the events of the past few days, and not fit company for herself, let alone anyone else. Her studies and her training would have to wait.

Instead, she chartered a car to pick her up at the airport and drive her to Hopewell. What she needed most, she decided, was to just go home.

She slept most of the way there, on the airplane and in the car, curled up in the warmth of her parka, drifting in and out of a light, uneasy sleep that mixed dreams with memories, so that by the time her journey was over, with daylight gone and darkness returned, with Seattle behind her and Hopewell at hand, they seemed very much the same.

Nest, as a part of Wraith, as a part of a magic different from anything she knew, returned slowly to herself on the empty walkway in Waterfall Park. She felt the magic withdraw and her vision change. She felt Wraith slip silently away on the night breeze. She stood swaying in the wake of his departure, feeling as if she had returned from along journey. She drew in deep gulps of air, the cold burning down into her lungs, sending a rush of adrenaline through her body and sharp-edged clarity to her dizzied head.

Oh, my God, my God. she whispered soundlessly, and she hugged herself against the first onslaught of wistful despair.

John Ross turned from the demon’s remains and limped to her side. He reached for her, drew her into the cradle of his arms, and held her close. Nest, it’s alright, he whispered into her hair, stroking it softly, comfortingly. It’s all over. It’s finished.

Did you see? Did you see what happened. She gasped, broke down, and could not finish.

He nodded quickly. I know. I saw it begin at the museum. It didn’t happen there, but I saw that it could. Wraith is inside you, Nest. You said he just walked into you and was done, that last time you saw him. It’s like Pick said. Magic doesn’t just cease to exist. It takes another form. It becomes something else. Don’t you see? Wraith has become a part of you.

She was shaking now, enraged and despairing. But I don’t want him inside me. He’s got nothing to do with me! He belongs to my father! Her head jerked up violently. John, what if my father’s come back to claim me. What if Wraith is some part of him trying to reach out to me still!

No. no, he said at once, holding her away from him., bracing her shoulders with his strong hands. He released the black staff, and it clattered to the concrete.

His eyes held her own. Listen to me, Nest. Wraith wasn’t your father’s. He was never that. He saved you from your father, remember? Gran made him over with her own magic to protect you. He was yours. He belonged to you.

The lean, weathered face bent close. Perhaps he’s only done what be was supposed to do. When you became of age and strong enough to look after yourself, perhaps his job as your protector was finished.

Where does magic go when it has served its purpose and not been fully expended? It goes back to its owner. To serve as needed.

So maybe, he whispered, Wraith has just come home.