That was the real reason he was a Knight of the Word.
Such a hard lesson, in retrospect, but Stefanie Winslow had taught him well the price for not understanding it.
He thought back to last night. When he left Nest, he had gone back up to the apartment to write Simon a short note of explanation and a letter of authorisation for transfer of the misplaced funds. He had packed his duffel bag, then packed Stefanie’s suitcases, removing everything of a personal nature from the apartment. Tossing the wooden desk chair out the window to provide an explanation for the glass breakage had been an afterthought. He had taken the note and authorisation, put them in an envelope, and carried them over to Pass/Go.
Then he had gone down to the train station with his duffel and Stefanie’s bags in hand to wait for the six-ten commuter. When he reached Portland, he disembarked and dumped Stefanie’s bags in a Dumpster not a block away from the station.
He turned away from the window and looked around the little room. He wondered how Nest Freemark was doing. She had come to Seattle to help him, to give him a chance he might not otherwise have gotten, and it had cost her a great deal. He was sorry for that, but he did not think it his fault. The Lady had sent her, knowing to some extent the likely result. The Lady had planed her in a dangerous situation, knowing she would be forced to use her magic and would discover the truth about Wraith. It would have happened at another time in another place if not here. And it had saved his life. It did not make him feel better knowing this. But recognizing truths seldom achieved that result anyway.
He thought about how much alike they were, bath of them gifted with magic that dominated their lives, both of them pressed into service by an entity they would never fully understand or perhaps ever satisfy. They were outsiders in a world that lacked any real comprehension of their service, and they would struggle on mostly alone and largely unappreciated until their lives were ended.
There was one glaring difference, of course. In his case, the choice to be what he was had been his. In hers, it had not.
He went into the bathroom, showered and shaved, and came out again and dressed in the light of the bedside lamp. When he was finished, he packed his duffel bag, He went downstairs to the lobby, dropped his key on the desk, and walked out.
Sunrise was brightening the eastern sky, a faint, soft glow against the departing night. The day was just beginning. By nightfall. John Ross would be in another town, looking to make a change in the way the world was going. His dreams would begin to tell him again what he could do that would make a difference.
It wasn’t the worst sort of way to live one’s life. In his case, he concluded hopefully, perhaps it was the best.