In the distance, the wail of fire engines rose out of the silence. Lights had come on in the surrounding homes. On the street, a cluster of people had begun to gather.
He let the tension drain from his body. It was time to let go of this business, time to move on. He could not afford to let personal feelings interfere with his work. There would be other days and more important battles to fight.
A shawl of snowflakes had collected on the shoulders and the lapels of his frock coat. He brushed them away dismissively. “What is the worth of the life of a single child here or there?” he asked rhetorically. “Nothing. The end will be the same. Sooner or later, the Void will claim them all.”
“Maybe,” she said.
He backed away slowly, still watching the ghost wolf, still wary. “You’ve failed, Miss Freemark. People died for you, and what do you have to show for it? Mr. Ross gave up his life, and what did he gain by doing so? What was the point of any of it? What did you accomplish?”
The yellow eyes in the tiger-striped face glowed like live coals as they tracked his retreat. Findo Gask backed all the way across the side yard and through the barren-limbed hedge before turning away.
He walked to the street without looking back, fighting to stay calm, to keep his frustration and rage from making him do something foolish. He could go back after her, he knew. He could find a way to get to her, sooner or later. But it was pointless. She had nothing left he wanted. His battle with her was finished. There were other causes to attend to. It made no difference to him that he had failed to secure the morph’s magic. It mattered only that it could never be used in the service of the Word. By that measuring stick, he had won. It was enough to satisfy him.
When he reached the street, he saw a pair of fire engines wheeling around the corner and coming for the house. He turned the other way, walking quickly. At the corner, he paused. Standing beneath the streetlight, he opened the Book of Names and looked at the last entry.
The name John Ross was faintly legible against the aged parchment. Even as he watched, the name turned a shade darker.
You take away what you can from these battles, he thought. The life of a Knight of the Word was a reasonable trophy.
He closed the book and walked on. In seconds, his tall, dark figure had vanished into the night.
-=O=-***-=O=-
Nest Freemark remained where she was until she could no longer see Findo Gask. Harper nestled against her breast, fast asleep. Pick sat on her shoulder, twiggy fingers wrapped in her parka collar, a silent presence.
Wraith had faded away into the ether, free to go where he wished, but never, she believed, to go too far from her.
“He did a fine job of convincing himself, didn’t he?” Pick said finally, gesturing after Findo Gask.
Nest nodded. “He believed what he saw in my eyes.”
“You didn’t lie.”
“I didn’t have to.”
“I guess he was looking hard enough that if he was ever going to find out, he would have found out now.”
“I guess.”
The flames from the burning house were growing hotter as the fire spread to the roof. On the front lawn, the firemen were scrambling to contain the blaze, their efforts directed primarily at protecting the surrounding homes. It was clear there was nothing they could do to save the Victorian or anyone in it.
“You think he was telling the truth about John Ross?” Pick asked suddenly.
She watched the activity out front without speaking for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”
“I could try to get back inside for a quick look.”
The entire front half of the house was engulfed in flames and the fire was spreading quickly. Any attempt at going back inside would be foolish. Her heart could not accept that John Ross was really dead, but she knew it was so. If he was still alive, he would have come for her by now.