LOST

Wiz had been in America since before the second world war and of all the food he had tried here and elsewhere—Kasmiri Naan from India, Jerk Pork from Jamaica, and thousands of other strange and delicious things—his all-time favorite was French toast. So far, his favorite place to eat his favorite meal was the greasy spoon he had found… well, Regan found… in uptown Charlotte—Kristy’s.

The quaint greasy spoon had previously been a Denny’s and the owners had never changed the decorum inside. Pepto-pink and vomit-orange seats; tiles on the wall by the kitchen with the letter ‘D’ on them; the only three things that defined the establishment as Kristy’s were the name on the awning, the waitresses’ nametags and the menus.

Wiz was sitting in the corner booth, drinking coffee and waiting for his French toast. The wall beside him was adorned with rocks jutting out and Regan was sitting on the edge of one, swinging her legs. She jumped down onto the table beside Wiz’s coffee cup and looked up at him thoughtfully.

“Is Stew coming back to Charlotte?”

“I hope so,” Wiz whispered. “He’s got to heal first. Give him time.”

“I don’t think we can find and kill Zachary all on our own. We need Stew’s help.”

“I know. But I don’t think he has any magic yet. He would have found out on his own by now if he did. I’ll have to convince he’s immortal first, if he’s even immortal.”

“You don’t think he’s immortal?”

“I don’t know. He disappeared when the rest of us did not. But for some reason, I feel that he is immortal and I’m not sure what it is inside me that tells me that, but I can’t bring myself to just ignore it. I have to find out.”

“Well, he can see me. Only those in tune with the magic around them can see magical creatures. Right?”

“Yes. I thought about that, too, but he has no memory of his life in the eighth century. Either way, I think he’ll have a lot of work to do before being able to do any magic. And it’s not Stew who is immortal, but Xamn. His soul. At least that’s my theory. I don’t think Stew will become the immortal Xamn, until he truly realizes who he is. And all I can do is give him the pen and paper. He will have to draw his own map and he’ll have to take those first few steps alone. It has to be his choice and his design.”

“So, what will be the pen and paper?”

“I’ll give him the facts, but only what he needs to know right now.”

“Care if I join you?” Zachary interrupted, walking toward them from the door.

“Zachary. What are you doing here?”

“I thought it was time we talked,” Zachary said as he sat down opposite Wiz and flicked Regan off the table.

“Did you? About what?” Wiz replied as Regan brushed herself off and returned to the table with a “harrumph” eying Zachary wickedly.

“Yes. I have a feeling you have something that belongs to me.”

“If you’re talking about your dagger, I sold it to a pawn shop.”

“Ha! If you did sell it to a pawnshop, you got ripped off, my friend. One hundred pawnbrokers could not pay you what it’s worth.”

“Yeah? Well, a man’s got to have a roof over his head. And conjured food can only satisfy but so much. I’ll take whatever I can get. Even if I did still have it, I wouldn’t give it back to you—not after what your men did to Xamn.”

“Is he hurt? I’m terribly sorry,” Zachary replied with false sympathy. “I didn’t mean for him to be injured. I meant to kill him myself,” he sneered.

“You’re a bastard, Zachary.”

“Yes, I know.”

The waitress came by with Wiz’s French toast. “Would you like a menu?” she asked Zachary.

“No. Thank you. I was just leaving.”

“Okay,” she replied, turning to Wiz. “You need anything else, Hon?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

Zachary stood up as the waitress left to help other customers. “We’ll see each other again soon. Until then… Say ‘hello’ to Xamn for me, will you?” Zachary turned his back without waiting for a reply, knowing he would not get one and headed for the door.

“At least he didn’t turn into a bunch of damn birds this time,” Wiz commented snidely as he started on his French toast.

“I hate him. I really do,” Regan said, her arms now folded. “I can honestly say that he is the only creature—magical or otherwise—I truly despise.”

“I know. Me, too.”

“Can’t we get help from the Triskaideka?”

“The Triskaideka. Ha!” He covered his mouth to avoid launching soggy and chewed French toast across the room. “They barely acknowledge my status as an immortal. I don’t think they would offer any assistance.”

“Well, when will it ever be safe for Stew to come back to Charlotte?”

“I don’t know that it will ever be safe, really. And I don’t think it would be a good idea to go to Salisbury because he’s going to be a lot less accepting of what I have to say if he thinks I’m stalking him. All we can do at this point is wait and do our best to protect him when he gets here. What else can we do?”

Regan sat in morose silence and stared out the window as Wiz finished his breakfast, giving Goose the occasional bite.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Alex said warmly. Wiz looked up, surprised to see her, but he could not hide his turmoil. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Wiz said, sighing. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Where’ve you been?” She looked down at Goose, who was waiting for another bite, and gave him a pat on the head.

“I’ve been around.”

“Detective Alderman told me what was going on. It’s okay. You don’t have to be ashamed.”

“I’m not ashamed. I’m a little shocked that she told you… especially since I asked her not to.”

“Well, don’t be mad at her. She was just letting me know I could trust you.”

“Huh?” Wiz scrunched up his brow.

Paying no attention to Wiz’s bewilderment, Alex continued, “So, have you been staying in a shelter?”

“Um, no. In an abandoned lot off of Tremont. That’s what you’re talking about? My being homeless?”

“Yeah. What’d you think I was talking about?”

“Nothing,” Wiz said as he chuckled. “Did you want to sit down?”

“Sure. I have a little time before I have to be at work.”

“How’s Stew doing? Have you seen him recently?”

“I saw him this past weekend. He’s home now. He’s doing really well. I’m not so sure about his mom, though.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She’s just… Never mind. Actually, I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition? That’s a big word. Am I going to like this?”

“We’ll see in a second. I have a futon in my living room that I used to use as a couch. Now, I have a new couch and so… the futon’s yours if you want it.”

“What am I going to do with a futon?”

“Sleep on it, silly.”

“No. I mean, where? Where am I going to put a futon?”

“I meant you can sleep in my living room. You can stay in my apartment… until you can get back on your feet.”

“Wow. That’s really kind of you. I’m not sure what to say.”

“Hm. You could say, ‘Thank you, Alex. I will accept your offer.’”

“Can I think about it?”

“Yes. You can think about it.”

“I just haven’t lived with anyone in a while. The thought of it is making me a little nervous, to tell you the truth.”

“Well, think on it for a bit and let me know,” Alex said as she reached in her purse for a slip of paper. She saw the manila envelope and she remembered she was supposed to give it to him. “I almost forgot. Detective Alderman wanted me to give this to you. I’m going to write my phone number on the outside. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine. Thank you, Alex.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, giving Wiz the envelope. “Talk to you later. Bye, Goose.” She patted him on the head again and walked toward the door.

“I don’t know what to make of her, Regan. What do you think? Should I—”

“No,” Regan interrupted.

“Why not?”

“Females cannot be trusted.”

“You’re a female.”

“Human females. Human females can’t be trusted.”

“Are you not known to be a mischief-maker and a flirt?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you can’t trust me. I’m not devious.”

“You think Alex is devious?”

Regan’s eye slits got thinner as she stared at Alex through the window.

“Whatever,” Wiz retorted. “You’re just jealous. Do you want any of this French toast before I give the rest to Goose?”

Regan looked away without a word. Wiz could almost see smoke rise from her flame-red hair.

Wiz shook his head and put the plate on the floor. Goose couldn’t care less if Regan was in a sour mood other than it meant he got syrupy leftovers. And for that, he was happy. Wiz opened the envelope and pulled out a single piece of paper with a photocopy of the dagger on it. “Modern technology amazes me.” He looked at the lines and squiggles that were the runes on the blade of the dagger. He again shook his head, but this time, not at Regan’s misplaced jealousy. “What do they mean?”