Word & Void 02 - A Knight of the Word (26 page)

Something huge tore through the woods. Thick masses of brush shivered suddenly, shedding water and scattering shadows. Boot wheeled toward the movement in frightened recognition, his voice faltering and his dark eyes blinking in shock. Ariel gasped sharply and screamed at Nest.

Then the brush exploded in a shower of branches and leaves, and a massive black shape hurtled out of the night.

On the advice of Simon Lawrence, Andrew Wren enjoyed a leisurely dinner at Roy’s, topping it off with the chocolate soufflé because everyone around him seemed to be doing the same. He was not disappointed. Then he went back out into the lobby for a nightcap. He drank a glass of port and engaged in conversation with a computer-software salesman from California who was in town to do a little business with Microsoft, picking up a few new tidbits of information on Bill Gates in the process (he never knew what was going to prove useful in his business). So it was nearing nine o’clock when he went up to his room to turn in.

He saw the manila envelope as soon as he opened the door, a pale square packet lying on the dark carpet. Wary of strange deliveries and having known more than one investigative journalist who had been the recipient of a letter bomb, he switched on the light and knelt to examine it. After a careful check, and noting how thin it was, he decided it was safe and picked it up. No writing on it anywhere. He carried it over to the small table by the window and set it down. Then he walked to the closet and hung his coat, turned on a few more lights, called the message service to retrieve a call that had come in over the dinner hour from his editor, and finally went back to the table, sat down in the straight-backed chair tucked under it, and picked up the envelope once more.

He knew what it was before he opened it. His intuition told him in a loud, clear voice. It was the material he had been looking for on Simon Lawrence. It was the evidence he had come to find. Maybe it was from his mysterious source. Maybe it was from someone else. Whoever it was from, it was either going to propel the stalled investigation of the Wiz to a new level or it was going to end it once and for all.

Wren separated the flap from the envelope and slipped out the sheaf of papers nestled inside. He set the envelope aside and began to read. It took him a long time because the material consisted mostly of photocopies of bank accounts, transfer slips, records of deposits and withdrawals, and ledger pages, and it was difficult to follow. Besides, he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. After a while, he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. His glasses slid down his nose, and his face assumed an intense, professorial look that accompanied deep thought. His burly body slouched heavily in the hard-backed chair, but he paid no attention to his discomfort. Outside, on the rain-slicked streets below, a stream of traffic crawled by, and every so often someone would forget what city they were in and honk their horn in irritation.

When he was done reading, he picked up the phone and called down for a bottle of scotch, a bottle of Evian, and some ice. He was treating himself, but he was fortifying himself as well. He knew what he had here, but it was going to take him half the night to sort it out. He wanted everything in order when he went to see Simon Lawrence in the morning. He wanted it all clear in his own head as well as on paper, so that he could analyze quickly any explanations that the Wiz chose to give. Not that he was likely to give any, if Wren was reading this right. Not that he was likely to want ever to see Andrew Wren again.

Because what someone had uncovered was evidence of a systematic siphoning of funds from the accounts of Fresh Start and Pass/Go, an elaborate and intricate series of transfers from accounts set up to receive charitable donations that dispersed them to other accounts within the corporations, applied them to payments of charges that didn’t actually exist, and eventually deposited them in noncorporate accounts. The corporate books he had reviewed yesterday, and which presumably the corporate auditors reviewed as well, disguised the transfers in various ways, none of which could be uncovered readily in the absence of a comprehensive audit, the kind you didn’t usually get unless the IRS came calling.

That hadn’t happened as yet, and there was no reason to think it would happen anytime soon. The embezzling had been going on for less than a year, and from what Andrew Wren could tell, it involved only two people.

Or maybe only one.

Wren paused, rethinking the matter. Two, if they were both participating. One, if the second was being used as a front. Wren couldn’t tell which from the photocopies alone. It would require an analysis of the signatures on the deposits and withdrawals. It would require an extensive investigation.

He shook his head. The photocopies showed the stolen funds being deposited into the private accounts of two people. One was Simon Lawrence. But why would the Wiz steal from his own foundation? Stranger things had happened, sure. But Simon Lawrence was so committed to his work, and his work had brought him nationwide recognition. If all he wanted out of this was more money, he could quit tomorrow and go to work as a CEO for any number of corporations. The thefts were recent. Why would the Wiz decide now, after achieving so much, to start stealing from his company? The thefts were clever, but they weren’t perfect. Sooner or later, someone would find out what was happening in any event, and the Wiz would be exposed. He had to know that.

Wren poured two fingers of scotch into a glass of ice and sipped at it thoughtfully. The alcohol burned pleasantly as it slipped down his throat Something wasn’t right about this. The Wiz wouldn’t steal from himself without a very strong reason, and then he would steal more than this because he had to know he wouldn’t be able to get away with it for very long, so he had to make his killing early.

Wren stared out the window into the night. It was more likely the second man was the one doing all the stealing, and he had siphoned some of the funds into Simon’s account so that if he were discovered, he could always claim he was just a flunky acting on orders. The public outcry would pass right over him and settle directly on the Wiz, a high-profile figure just ripe for lynching.

Andrew Wren nodded slowly. Yes, that made better sense. The second man was doing all the real stealing, and the Wiz was guilty merely of bad judgment in hiring him That was what he believed. That was what his instincts told him was the truth. Of course, he would write the article based on the facts and let the chips fall where they may, because that was his job. So it might be the end of Simon Lawrence in any event. In the wake of a scandal like this, the Wiz would be hard-pressed to escape the fallout.

He sighed. Sometimes he hated being right so often, having those infallible instincts that prodded him on and on until he uncovered the harsh truth of things. Of course, it hadn’t been so difficult this time. He wondered who his source was. It had to be someone inside the organization, someone who resented Simon and wanted to see him brought down.

Or possibly, he acknowledged with a lifting of his glass and a small sip of the scotch, someone who wanted to see John Ross brought down as well.

N
est Freemark sprang aside at the sound of Ariel’s warning, skidding headfirst across a slick of mud and dead needles as the dark shape hurtled past. In a rain-streaked blur she watched it catapult into Boot and Audrey. The sylvan was back astride the owl, and the owl was lifting away into the night. Both disappeared in a shower of blood and feathers and bits of wood, there one second and gone the next. The dark shape went right through them, bearing them away like a strong wind, the force of its momentum carrying it back into the night.

“Demon!” Ariel was screaming as she fled. “Demon! Demon!”

Nest scrambled to her feet and began to run after the tatterdemalion. She had no idea where she was going, only that she had to get away. She tore down the dirt path that paralleled the cliffs, tennis shoes slipping and sliding on the muddied track. She was nearly blind in the darkness and rain, and she was riddled with fear. Boot and Audrey were gone, dead in one terrible second, and the image of them exploding apart burned in the air before her as she ran, raw and terrible.

“Faster, Nest!” Ariel cried frantically.

Nest could hear the demon behind her, pursuing them. She could hear the wet sound of its paws on the muddy path over the steady thrum of the rain. What sort of creature had it made itself into? She had only caught a glimpse, and she had never seen anything like it before. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her breath was fiery in her throat. She was deep in the woods and there was nowhere to hide, but if she didn’t reach a place of safety in the next few seconds, the demon would have her.

Her eyes flicked left and right, and a new well of fear opened within. Running with her were dozens of feeders, come out of nowhere in the rainy gloom, faceless squat shapes keeping pace as they darted through the trees, eyes filled with excitement and anticipation.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw the demon closing fast, its black shape stretched out low to the ground and hurtling forward. A surge of adrenaline propelled her ahead, and for a few seconds she managed to increase her speed enough to put a little more distance between them. But then the beast was closing on her again, and she could see the gleam of its teeth and eyes in the misty gloom.

Ahead and to her left, there were only more trees and darkness. To her right, beyond the low rail fence, the cliff fell away into a void. There were lights from houses and streets, but they were distant pinpricks through the woods, still far, far away.

She knew she was not going to escape. She was fit and strong; she was a world-class distance runner. But the thing pursuing her was too much for any human. She faltered slightly, preparing to turn and fight. The demon burst out of the night, a silent black predator, gathering itself to strike. She saw it clearly, revealed for just an instant in a patch of gray light, some sort of monstrous hyena, all neck and blunt muzzle, with huge jaws and rows of teeth. She swerved through the trees and out again, scattering feeders everywhere, trying to throw the demon off, but it was quick and agile, and it followed her easily.

“Nest, no!” she heard Ariel scream a final time, turning.

The demon caught up to her at a wide spot where the trail took a slow bend to the left, away from the cliff. She looked back and saw that it was right on top of her. She watched it gather itself, preparing to bear her struggling and helpless to the ground. Her fear enveloped her like a death shroud, choking off her breath, suffocating her. Something wild and fierce blossomed inside her in response, and for just an instant she thought it was her magic, trying to break free. But her mind was frozen by the demon’s closeness, by the gleam of its yellow eyes and the certainty of what was going to happen next, and she could not find a way to help it.

Feeders streamed through the trees, leaping wildly, shadows with eyes, gathered for the kill.

But as the demon lunged for Nest, rising up against the night, Ariel threw herself into its path, a white blur against the dark, and collapsed around its head like a child’s bedsheet. Demon and tatterdemalion went down in a tangled heap, rolling over and over on the muddied earth. Nest backed away, staring in horror at the thrashing dark knot. In seconds all that remained of Ariel was a silken white shroud that clung tenaciously to the momentarily blinded demon.

Then even that was gone, and the demon was clawing its way back to its feet, snarling in fury.

Nest, momentarily transfixed by the struggle taking place before her, wheeled to flee once more. But she had lost her sense of direction entirely, forgetting the bend in the trail and the low rail fence at her back. She took one quick stride and toppled right over the fence. She was up again instantly, thrashing at the heavy brush, trying to escape its clinging embrace. Then the ground disappeared beneath her feet, and she was falling head over heels down a rain-slicked slope. She groped futilely for something to hang on to, skidding and sliding along slick bare earth and through long grass, careening off bushes and exposed tree roots, the darkness whirling about her in a kaleidoscope of distant lights and falling rain. Her stomach lurched with each sudden change of direction, and she tucked in her arms and legs and covered her head with her hands, waiting for something to slow her.

When she hit the base of the precipice, the breath was knocked from her lungs and her head was left spinning. She lay where she was for an instant, listening to the sound of the rain. Then she was back on her feet and running, dazed and battered, but otherwise unhurt. A wide, grassy embankment stretched along the base of the cliffs, fronting the dark, choppy waters of Puget Sound, and a concrete path paralleled the water’s edge. She wheeled left down the path, heading for the lights of the residences that lay closest.

Already she could hear the sounds of the demon’s pursuit. It was coming down the cliff face after her, scrambling through the brush and grasses, branches and roots snapping as it tore through them. She gritted her teeth against her fear and rage. Feeders ran at her side, an unshakable presence. Her windbreaker was muddied and torn, pieces of it flapping wildly against her body. If she could reach the houses outside the park, she would have a chance. Her lungs burned as she forced herself to run faster. Again she thought to turn and face the thing that chased her, to summon up the magic that had protected her so often before. But she had no way of knowing if she still had the use of it, and no time to find out.

Her feet splashed loudly through the rain that puddled on the concrete, spraying surface water everywhere. Her clothing was soaked through, and her curly hair was plastered to her head. She could no longer see or hear the demon, but she knew it was back there. She thought of Ariel, and tears filled her eyes. Dead because of her. All of them—Boot, Audrey, and Ariel—dead because of her. She ran faster, sweeping past grassy picnic areas with tables and iron cookers, swing sets and benches, and a small pavilion with a wooden roof and a concrete floor. To her right, the sound lapped against the shoreline, driven by the wind. The world about her was a vast, empty, rain-swept void.