Maybe that was the cause that John Ross had taken up in joining forces with Simon Lawrence. Maybe that was his passion now that he was no longer a Knight of the Word. The thought appealed to her.

She walked on, doing her best to turn away from the gusts of cold wind that blew at her. Winter was coming; she didn’t like to think of her world turning to ice and snow and temperature drops and wind-chill factors. She didn’t like thinking of everything turning white and gray and mud-streaked. She glanced back at the people begging. How much worse it would be for them.

At the corner of Main, she turned east and walked through a broad open space that was marked on her map as Occidental Park. It wasn’t much of a park, she thought. Cobblestones and concrete steps, with a few shade trees planted in squares of open earth, a scattering of bushes, a few scary totem poles, some benches, and a strange steel and Plexiglas pavilion. Clusters of what looked to be homeless were gathered here, many of them Native Americans, and a couple of police officers on bicycles. She followed the sidewalk east and found herself at the entrance to an odd little enclosure formed of brick walls and iron fencing with a sign that identified it as Waterfall Park. The space was filled with small trees, vines, and tables and chairs, and was backed by a thunderous manmade waterfall that cascaded into a narrow catchment over massive rocks stacked up against the wall of the building it attached to.

She glanced back at Occidental Park, then into Waterfall Park once again. The parks here weren’t much like the parks she was familiar with, and nothing like Sinnissippi Park, but she supposed you made do with what you had.

She crossed Second Avenue and began to read the numbers on the buildings. There was no sign identifying Fresh Start, but she found the building number easily enough and went through the front door.

Once inside, she found herself in a lobby that was mostly empty. A heavyset black woman sat at a desk facing the door, engaged in writing something on a clipboard, and a Hispanic woman sat holding her baby on one of a cluster of folding chairs that lined the windowless walls of the room. Behind the black woman and her desk, a hallway led to what looked like an elevator.

Almost immediately, Nest experienced an odd feeling of uneasiness. She glanced around automatically in an effort to locate its source, but there was nothing to see.

Shrugging it off, she walked up to the desk and stopped. The black woman didn’t look up. “Can I help you, young lady?”

“I’m looking for John Ross,” Nest told her. “Does he work here?”

The black lady’s eyes lifted, and she gave Nest a careful once-over. “He does, but he’s not here right now. Would you like to wait for him? He shouldn’t be gone long.”