LOST

Wiz sat on a stool at the breakfast bar in Alex’s kitchen. Goose lay beside him on the floor. Alex walked down the hallway from her bedroom, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and carrying a backpack.

“I poured you a cup of coffee. Cream and sugar, right?” Wiz asked.

“Yes. Thank you. You didn’t have to do that,” she replied. “Good morning, Goose.” She reached down and patted him on the head as she walked into the kitchen. Goose glanced up to acknowledge her but was content to remain with his head on his paws for the moment. She placed her backpack on the counter while she opened the refrigerator and got a yogurt.

“Oh, it was no trouble,” he replied. Wiz appreciated the act of brewing coffee over conjuring it. It made him feel some sense of normalcy. Normal was a trait rarely enjoyed by immortals.

“I usually just grab breakfast from McDonald’s,” she said as she opened a drawer and retrieved a spoon. “This early class is a headache. I hate getting up this early to go to school.”

“Do you have classes all day?”

“No, just two this morning—Visual C++ and Color Theory. Then, I have to go to the tattoo shop for a few hours this afternoon. You can come by and hang out if you get bored. We aren’t usually that busy on Wednesdays.”

“No, I have some work to do today.”

“Yeah? What kind of work?”

“Research.”

“Cool. Anything interesting?”

“Not really. Just something for a friend.”

“Oh, speaking of friends, Stew has an appointment here in Charlotte tomorrow. His friend, Marc, is taking him. Maybe afterwards we can all have lunch. You haven’t seen him since the attack, right?”

“No, I haven’t. It’s been so long since I’ve talked to him.” Wiz was no longer looking at Alex as he thought about the bizarre coincidence that she would mention Stew merely a moment after Wiz had referred to his friend without revealing who he was talking about.

“It’s settled then. I’ll talk to him this afternoon and make sure he doesn’t have anywhere else he needs to be.”

Wiz turned to Alex, after taking a second to remind himself what they were talking about, “Okay. Do you know where Kristy’s Diner is?”

“Yeah. Just down the street. Noon okay with you?”

“Sure.”

“All right. I need to get going or I won’t be able to find a parking spot. Are you going to be here this evening?”

“I should be.”

“I’ll see you tonight, then. Good luck with your research.”

As soon as she closed the door behind her, Regan landed on the bar next to Wiz’s coffee mug.

“Lunch with Xamn, huh?” Regan noted.

“Yes. Tomorrow. Do you think you can refrain from joining us?”

“Why?”

“Because he’ll be able to see you and I don’t want him to be uncomfortable.”

“Fine. I’ll be good and stay away.”

“Thank you. Would you like to help me today?”

“With your research?”

“Yes. We’re going to figure out what those markings on the dagger mean.”

“Cool. How are we going to do that?”

“We’ll try the library first. If that doesn’t work out, perhaps there’s a metaphysical shop around here where we can find out something. I’d rather not have to go to a big bookstore if we can avoid it. There are never any unoccupied chairs.”

Later that day at the library in Uptown Charlotte, Wiz made his way through a stack of books on ancient alphabets. Goose hid himself as a shadow and sat at his feet. Wiz found that Regan was of less help than he anticipated. Several times, he was the target of half a dozen sets of eyes after the pile of books sitting in front of him mysteriously kept toppling over. Regan had made herself at home on top of the towering mountain of books and each time she spotted something of interest in whatever Wiz was reading, she’d lean over and down would come Mount Tome. Wiz patiently restacked the books twice but after third tumble, he had had enough.

“Okay, Regan,” he whispered, “you can either find someplace else to sit or you can go see if you can figure out where Zachary’s hiding.”

“Fine. It’s no fun in here anyway. Everyone’s too quiet.” And with that, she stood up and flew away, pushing off with her foot and knocking over the stack one last time. Frustrated huffs and puffs rained down on Wiz, forcing him to escape to another part of the library.

He took with him only the book he’d been reading just before Regan left—Peltripper’s Book on Mystical Alphabets. He had only skimmed through it so far but remembered seeing one of the symbols from the dagger. He found a quiet and secluded corner with a large leather chair, empty and waiting for him.

It had been quite some time since he was in a library last. He stopped going when the government started keeping a close eye on what people were reading. Not that he had much to hide; he just didn’t like the concept. He looked at the photocopy of the dagger Detective Alderman had left with Alex to give to him, comparing the markings to hundreds of alphabets. He had no idea there were so many.

“That’s it,” he whispered, proud of himself after finding one that was an exact fit. “The Theban Alphabet. Also known as the Honorian Alphabet or the Runes of Honorius.”

“Who’s Honorius?” a voice asked.

Wiz looked up to see Detective Alderman standing in front of him. “Detective,” Wiz said, a bit surprised to see her, “were you looking for me or did you just happen to fancy a book today?”

“I just had a feeling I should stop by the library for some reason. My gut’s usually right, so…”

“Well, to answer your question, Honorius is a very mysterious man. He might not even have existed.”

“That sounds a little weird, considering you just said he created an alphabet.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Did you figure out what the symbols mean?”

“I was just getting to that. Let’s see—D—I—V—I—N—U—S. That’s the first word, ‘divinus,’ which is Latin for ‘divine.’ L—E—T—U—M. ‘Letum.’ Latin for ‘death.’ Divine Death.”

“Like a beautiful death?”

“Hm, no. I’m thinking, by what he was planning to do with it, it has the power to kill a god… or an immortal, to be more precise. At least he thinks it does. I wonder…” Wiz said as he looked beyond her and chewed on his bottom lip.

“What?”

“Well… there was this story… legend, myth, whatever… going around, sixteenth century or so, mostly in the Mediterranean countries, about a dagger. The Raven’s Kris, it was called. No one knows where it came from but it was said to have the power to kill a god. Now, most people, in that region at that time, worshipped either Allah or Christ, and out of fear, neither Muslim nor Christian would dare raise a weapon against his god, given the extraordinary opportunity. So, the story got buried and forgotten.”

“What happened to the dagger?”

“The Triskaideka was looking for it for awhile. I’m not sure if they ever found it.”

“What is the… Triska… deika?”

“It’s the Council of Forgotten Gods. I’ll explain it to you some other time.”

Marie shook her head, filing that little piece of information for later. “You think this is that dagger—the Raven’s Kris?”

“I know it’s a bit far-fetched, but there was a song that went with the story… written by some minstrel… sixteenth century or so.”

“How does it go?”

“Oh, I can’t sing it. I don’t—”

“Please?”

After looking around to make sure no one else was paying attention, Wiz hesitantly began to sing very softly and without much of a melody. “In the black of night, a blade was made. Some fools would say, the Devil’s Spade. But lend me thy ear, and I’ll say this—it’s true name is the Raven’s Kris. Not king’s champion, nor gangly squire can resist its pow’r, nor dowse its fire. Of blood and magic, shadow and steel. Hold the grip one time, thy fate is sealed. Circle of darkness blots out the sun. If a god be dead, the battle’s won. If blood is shed whilst the sun doth shine, the death so remains, a death divine.”

“That does match with the engravings. And a lovely singing voice, by the way. It’s too bad you’re a few centuries too old for ‘American Star’.”

“Shut up. Not one more word about my singing. To anyone.”

“Deal. But couldn’t Zachary have gotten a replica or something? I mean, isn’t there a picture of it anywhere?”

“That’s what I was about to look for. But I don’t think Zachary would make such a bold attempt on someone’s life if he thought he had a replica.”

“You think he might have a replica and not know it?”

“It’s a possibility. Quite a coincidence that it’s named the Raven’s Kris and he calls himself the Raven. Do you have time to help me find a book that mentions it?”

“Not much, but I’ll help as long as I can. I have to ask a question, though. What are you going to do once you find what you’re looking for?”

“I’m hoping it belongs to a museum somewhere. We could call them and find out if they’re missing—” Wiz turned his head as if he’d heard something.

“What is it?”

“Can you excuse me for a few minutes? I have to use the restroom.”

Wiz, with the shadow of Goose in tow, made his way toward somewhere more private as Regan flew behind him.

“Do you really have to use the toilet or have you not yet told her about me?” she queried.

“Are you still jealous?”

“Jealous?” she asked, sitting on a bookshelf in a space between 293.13 and 293.131. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true. Is it not?”

Her arms crossed, she looked down and huffed. “Maybe. But as I said before—females can’t be trusted, whether they’re the police or not.”

“You’re just going to have to get over it. Now… did you have anything substantial to tell me?”

“I don’t know whether I should tell you or not now,” Regan said, clenching her jaw and casually looking at the fluorescent lights above them.

“I’m sorry that me talking to Detective Alderman makes you jealous or upset or whatever, but she’s a good person, and right now, we need her help.”

A few moments of awkward silence passed before she finally looked at Wiz again, “Fine. But you can’t make me like her.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Giving in, she rolled her eyes, pursed her lips and cocked a grin to the side. “He’s hanging out in an old warehouse off of North Davidson Street. I think he’s trying to pass himself off as some kind of artist. He’s got paintings and photographs hanging all over the place. He hasn’t killed his other doofus in a suit yet.”

“He didn’t see you, did he?”

“No. I don’t think he’s of that sort.”

“What about Zachary?”

“No. He didn’t see me.”

“Do you think you can hang out there some tomorrow and if they go anywhere, go in and check things out?”

“Sure. That sounds awfully exciting.”

“I’m sorry. I’d go with you but I’m supposed to have lunch with Alex and Stew tomorrow.”

“No. It’s no problem. You have your lunch. I’ll wait around outside an old warehouse all day. That’s fine.”

“Regan…”

“It’s fine. I promise. So, what about the symbols?”

“You want me to cancel lunch?”

“It’s fine,” she said, her eyes wide and fiery. “Tell me about the symbols.”

“Okay, okay. Sheesh. Well… I think it’s a dagger called the Raven’s Kris. I believe Zachary thinks it’s imbued with the power to kill an immortal.”

“You mean, you don’t think it is?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know if what he has is even the original. Now, if you come with me to continue researching this with Ms. Alderman, do you think you can behave?”

“Of course, I can,” she said with a wide, forced smile.

As Wiz walked towards the chair where he had been doing his research, he saw that Marie was not there and the book they were looking at was gone. A brief moment of panic washed across his face as he looked around the library. He breathed a hefty sigh of relief as he saw the top of Marie’s head and her hand waving wildly above a computer.

“You scared me a little there,” Wiz said as he joined her. Regan sat on his shoulder facing away from them with her arms crossed.

“Did you think I’d turned on you?”

“Well, I was more concerned that you’d been taken. Any luck?”

“Yes, actually. Look at this,” she pointed to a picture on the screen. It was the Raven’s Kris.

“That’s it,” exclaimed Wiz.

“Sh. Yes. It was in this Swiss museum in Geneva… Musée d’art et d’histoire… until about five years ago. They had just hired a new curator, Jürgen Dresdner. A week later, he disappeared along with the dagger.”

“Interesting. Well, I think it’s obvious who Jürgen Dresdner is. How long has the museum been there?”

“That’s a whole different search. Hold on. Um, established in 1982… but it’s located in a cloister of the order of Carmelites.”

“That makes sense. The Council had many dealings with them and, in fact, trusted them very highly. They must have sent the dagger there before it was even a museum, which means they did find it, which raises the question… why didn’t they destroy it when they had the chance?”

“I don’t know. But it is strange.”

“Who’s the curator now?” Wiz asked, leaning closer to the computer.

“Mmm, I’m not finding that anywhere. All I can see is a contact name with a number and email.”

“Well, write those down, if you will. We might need to talk to them. Was there a picture of Dresdner? I didn’t think to ask before.”

“If it’s online, I’ll find it,” Marie said as she jotted down the information and entered the name in the search bar. “If I don’t find it here, I might be able to find it in the inter-agency database. Yeah,” she said, pointing to the search results, or lack thereof. “It’s not online. Are we done here?”

Wiz was still staring at the screen. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re done,” he said, standing up. “Just keep it safe. Okay? We cannot let him have it. I don’t know what his intentions are at this point.”

“It’s in safe hands. Trust me.”

“I do.”

“I’ll call you if I find a photo of Dresdner.”

“I’ll be at the diner after a while. Just leave me a message there.”

“Okay.”

Wiz watched her walk all the way toward the exit and out the door, a jumbled mess of emotions brewing inside him, the strongest of which was—

“So…,” Regan blurted out, “why didn’t you tell her we found… or I found, rather, Zachary’s hideout?”

“Because I knew that if I told her that, things would get out of control very quickly. I want to be as informed and prepared as we can be before we take him on. Let’s get some dinner. Shall we? I’m starving.”