Ptolemy's Tablet Excerpt

I.

"You're leaving?  Already?"

Reverend Emil Stone clapped his fedora back onto his head and aimed a fond look down at the petite woman in front of him.  The sad tone in her voice tugged at him.  Lena Alan was high on the increasingly short list of people who genuinely enjoyed his company.  He'd let most of his earthly attachments fall away long ago; yet another cost of his chosen career.

He'd almost convinced himself he didn't miss them.

There was a knot in his throat when he clasped her in a hug.  "I'm afraid so.  This is the first real lead we've had so far, and it gives me an idea.  It might be nothing, but Puzzle and I need to check it out.  You never know."

Lena held him at arms' length.  Her vivid blue eyes bored into his.  "You promise you'll keep me posted."

As if the tone of her voice left him another option.  Emil grinned and dusted a kiss over her cheek.  "You know I will."

Beside him, his partner cleared his throat and stepped out onto the porch.  Emil pretended he hadn't heard.  Down time always set Misha Kaslov on edge.  Jesus, the man could be exhausting.  But then, Peers weren't exactly known for their patience.

Emil rolled his eyes and turned to the man hovering behind Lena in classic older-brother fashion.  "Cyrus." He gripped the man's hand.  "Look after things."

The newest addition to their motley group stood behind them, one hand behind his back, the other wrapped around the curved head of his cane.  Detective MacMillian.  Emil studied him.  Even though they'd just met, the man struck him as above average for a human.

And he was baro, whatever that meant.

The detective met his gaze, eyes sharp.  Emil resisted the urge to squirm.  Then he bit back a laugh.  When was the last time a mundane had set him on his toes?  Perhaps Jesper MacMillian wasn't such an odd fit in their world, after all.

Maybe, just maybe, he would survive.

He stepped forward and extended his hand.  It was a calculated risk.  MacMillian's eyebrows went up.  He hesitated, finally grasped it in a brief but firm shake.

Emil nodded and stepped back.  "Again, thank you.  Jimmy would have spoken to us eventually, but I don't mind saying the idea of applying more pressure was... unattractive."

MacMillian's jaw ticked.  "To both of us, believe me."

Emil inclined his chin.  Torture was a nasty, messy business, even if the unfortunate mark already happened to be dead.  He turned on his heel and strode to where Misha stood waiting.  He paused, and looked back over his shoulder.  "Watch after each other.  All of you."

Misha shifted back and forth, itching to go.  Emil finally followed him down to the sidewalk, didn't turn when the door of The Wayfare Hotel clicked shut.

He scarcely noticed their surroundings as they walked.  Over the last decade, the mundane realm had become incidental, almost inconvenient.  Had he really lived in it for so long?  Really expended energy learning to drive, tracking down the best restaurants, stressing over gas prices?  Looking back, it all seemed so pointless.

Now he had bigger things to worry about.

"So.  Any ideas?"

Emil jerked out of his thoughts to find Misha looking at him.  "Sorry.  What?"

Misha's lips twitched.  "Ideas.  You know.  About what's going on around here."

"Right.  Of course." Emil hesitated.  Something was nagging at him.  He couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.  Hell, it was scarcely anything at all, just a small prickle at the outermost edges of his mind.

Misha was still looking at him.  The feel of the man's eyes made something quicken in his belly.  Emil took a deep breath.  "What if it's not just one thing?"

Misha's eyebrows drew together.  "What do you mean?"

Emil blew the breath back out.  "I don't... hell, I'm not sure.  Haven't things felt off to you lately?  I mean, more than usual?"

The crease in Misha's forehead deepened.  "Off...?"

"Yeah, you know.  Off.  Remember Basque, a few weeks ago?  And Marrakech, last August?  I'm telling you, something's not right."

"Marrakech is never right in August," Misha muttered.  He fell silent.  Finally, he nodded slowly.  "Let's say you're right.  One problem at a time.  Your Wayfare Hotel.  What do you make of their newest guest?"

"I'm not sure.  That detective may have gotten him to talk, but that doesn't mean he was telling us the truth."  Emil stopped walking.

Misha stopped too.  "You told the Alans you had an idea."

Emil hesitated.  "I do.  Well, sort of."

"Sort of?"

Emil shifted.  "It's thin, but I think it merits running down, just in case.  How's your Masri?"

"Terrible." Misha arched an eyebrow.  "But yours isn't."

Emil allowed himself a tiny smile, and started walking again.  "Ha'ee'i."

###

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