The Sage Stone Prophecy: The Arkana Mysteries, #7

By N. S. Wikarski

During the untold millennia before patriarchy was conceived, the world was a very different place…

THE ARKANA SERIES
A myth-shattering treasure hunt that spans continents, centuries, and lost civilizations, pitting a secret society against a ruthless fundamentalist cult. The prize is a cache of hidden artifacts that could rewrite history or end it completely. With the world hanging in the balance, only one faction can win. More importantly, only one can survive.

Volume 7 - The Sage Stone Prophecy
In the series finale, the Nephilim and the Arkana scour the farthest reaches of the planet for the hiding place of the legendary relic known as the Sage Stone. At the same time, mortal danger threatens friends and foes alike as the cult's leader pushes humanity to the brink of extinction. The fate of the world hinges on the outcome of a final confrontation with both factions pinning all their hopes on a prophecy that might not mean exactly what it says. If you've followed this saga from the beginning, THE SAGE STONE PROPHECY reveals at long last who will claim the most sought-after relic of all and how many others will lose their lives trying.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Northgate Press
• Release date: Jan 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223923633

N. S. Wikarski

Nancy Wikarski is a fugitive from academia. After earning her Ph.D. from the University of Chicago, she worked in corporate America for two decades before becoming a historical fiction author. Her books primarily highlight the unknown elements of women's history. In her Arkana series, she foregrounds the latest archaeological discoveries about pre-patriarchal cultures around the planet and weaves these facts into fictional treasure hunt mysteries. Her Gilded Age Chicago books depict the real issues of first-wave feminism while following the fictional adventures of two amateur sleuths. Both her series have been award-nominated and have ranked on Amazon's bestseller lists. The author is a member of ALLi, Mystery Writers of America, the Society of Midland Authors, and has served as vice president of Sisters in Crime-Twin Cities and on the programming board of the Chicago chapter. Her short stories have appeared in Futures Magazine and DIME Anthology, while her book reviews and essays have been featured in Murder: Past Tense, Deadly Pleasures, and Mystery Readers Journal. She is currently writing an Arkana spinoff series called The Trove Chronicles that will continue to feature discoveries about global pre-patriarchal cultures. More mysteries from the casebook of Gilded Age detectives Evangeline LeClair and Freddie Simpson are also in the works.

Book preview

The Sage Stone Prophecy

The Arkana Mysteries, Volume 7

N. S. Wikarski

Published by Northgate Press, 2024.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

THE SAGE STONE PROPHECY

First edition. January 25, 2024.

Copyright © 2024 N. S. Wikarski.

ISBN: 979-8223923633

Written by N. S. Wikarski.

Also by N. S. Wikarski

Gilded Age Chicago Mysteries

The Fall of White City

Shrouded in Thought

The Black Widow's Prey

The Arkana Mysteries

The Granite Key

The Mountain Mother Cipher

The Dragon's Wing Enigma

Riddle of the Diamond Dove

Into the Jaws of the Lion

Secrets of the Serpent's Heart

The Sage Stone Prophecy

The Trove Chronicles

Lucifer's Triangle

Watch for more at N. S. Wikarski’s site.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By N. S. Wikarski

Chapter 1—Past Perfect, Future Tense

Chapter 2—Truce or Dare

Chapter 3—Hear, Say

Chapter 4—Don’t Ask, Don’t Call

Chapter 5—Of Mies and Men (and One Woman)

Chapter 6—Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 7—Top End Down Under

Chapter 8—Dumb Plan

Chapter 9—On the Rocks

Chapter 10—Celestial Sex Trafficker

Chapter 11—Special Effects

Chapter 12—Island Time

Chapter 13—Character Assassination

Chapter 14—Survivor Immunity

Chapter 15—Punch Drunk and Disorderly

Chapter 16—Good Cop, Bad Cop, Cross Examiner

Chapter 17—Who Ya Gonna Call?

Chapter 18—River Dance

Chapter 19—Let It Ride

Chapter 20—Need to Know

Chapter 21—Mother and Sun

Chapter 22—Lend Me Your Ears

Chapter 23—Psychic Physics 101

Chapter 24—Sure as Shootin’

Chapter 25—Making Tracks

Chapter 26—Receiving Holy Orders

Chapter 27—Ritual Slaughter

Chapter 28—Fresh Targets

Chapter 29—Cut It Out

Chapter 30—Static Cling

Chapter 31—Making a Love Connection

Chapter 32—The Lady in the Lake

Chapter 33—Water, Water, Everywhere

Chapter 34—Queens of Denial and Other River Lore

Chapter 35—Do Not Open Till Doomsday

Chapter 36—The Polar Bear

Chapter 37—Global Warning

Chapter 38—Massif Obstacles

Chapter 39—Artifact Retrieval on a Large Scale

Chapter 40—The Devil Is in the Details

Chapter 41—Nailed

Chapter 42—Changing of the Guard

Chapter 43—Forced Retirement

Chapter 44—Prophet and Loss

Chapter 45—Do You Believe in Magic?

Chapter 46—Suicide Mission

Chapter 47—Waffles for Lunch

Chapter 48—Simply Revolting

Chapter 49—Cabin in the Sky

Chapter 50—A Verbis Ad Verbera

Chapter 51—Lives in the Balance

Chapter 52—Parting Shots

Chapter 53—The Last Detail

Chapter 54—Back to the Garden

Chapter 55—Réveille

Names You Should Know

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About the Author

Chapter 1—Past Perfect, Future Tense

Hyperborea – Circa 1000 BCE

THE PRIESTESS STOOD just outside the cave entrance and pensively surveyed the landscape around her. She drew her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. Her long gray hair was covered today by a voluminous woolen hood. Though it was high summer, she shivered. She doubted that her aged bones would ever adapt to this chill climate. She had been born on a sundrenched island surrounded by an azure sea—a homeland now stolen from her people.

A primitive race of men on horseback had pillaged all the great cities on the island, setting themselves up as rulers over people far wiser and more civilized than they. These ruffians were driven by a mania for conquest. They had honed the skills of warfare to the exclusion of all else. As a consequence, they possessed no system of writing, no art, no music, and the gods they worshipped were as greedy and bloodthirsty as they. Because they understood nothing, they had destroyed many sacred objects while ransacking the holy temples for treasure.

Six precious artifacts remained at great risk. They were the most revered symbols of the Mother of All: a golden bee, a dove carved from lapis lazuli, a bull’s head spangled with sapphires, a coiled serpent set with emeralds, a jewel-encrusted labrys, and the Voice of Heaven itself. If the barbarians were to lay hold of them, they would rip the artifacts apart—gouging the gems from their settings and melting the gold to make crowns for their vagabond kings.

The priestess and a dozen companions had left their native country on a mission to preserve these priceless relics before it was too late. They intended to hide them separately, a great distance apart, each one engraved with a cryptic message to lead to the next. Their journey had taken them across untold miles by sea and on land. Sometimes they rode, sometimes they walked. They had spent far too many nights sleeping on hard ground when no other shelter was to be had. They had bartered for food and survived on scraps from those who had little to give. They had dodged bandits and stray war parties. Finally, they had arrived here—the resting place of the final relic. Some of them had arrived, anyway. Most had succumbed to disease or mishap during their arduous trek to the farthest edge of the earth.

Only three of the original band still remained alive: the priestess, a metalworker, and a stonemason who happened to be his cousin. She had known both men from their youth when they’d been pledged to the service of the temple. They had since grown into master craftsmen with sinewy forearms and sanguine dispositions.  In spite of the hardships of the road, the two somehow retained enough jauntiness to play pranks on one another. The skills of both had been critical at each stage of the trip but never more so than here at its ultimate destination.

One of them poked his head out of the cave and addressed her. All is in readiness, lady.

Wordlessly, she turned and followed him back into the dark interior which was illuminated only by a pair of torches. The two men had labored ceaselessly for weeks to fashion a clever hiding place for the invaluable object she carried. Her clairvoyance had shown her this cave and unerringly guided them to its location. She glanced down briefly at the cloth-wrapped bundle in her arms. Despite every manner of disaster along the way, she had never wavered in her conviction that they would ultimately succeed in finding this precise spot. And so they had.

The little band had come to rely on her intuition as a mariner might rely on the constellations to steer his ship. She had led them through many strange lands, always knowing the exact place where each of the Bones of the Mother must be hidden.  She knew the wording which must be inscribed on every object—its coded message pointing to the next artifact long before any of them had laid eyes on the destination described in the clue. The stonemason and metalworker followed her instructions implicitly. Her second-sight had proven too accurate for them to doubt it anymore.

She emerged from her reverie to contemplate the cavern wall and the craftsmen’s handiwork which had transformed it into something far more complex than a flat sheet of rock.

The two men looked at her expectantly.

Well, the stonemason ventured. What do you think?

She surveyed the results and smiled. You have both done exceedingly well.

All the calculations and measurements are precise, the metalworker assured her. Every condition must be met to open the lock. If not... He trailed off.

The priestess nodded. If not, our greatest treasure will remain buried for all time.

Better that than letting it fall into the hands of cutthroats, the stonemason growled.

I fear before this age is past, the whole world will fall into their hands, she remarked sadly.

The two men stepped aside as the priestess knelt on the ground. After unwrapping the object, she held it between her hands and studied it intently. It was an oblong slab of rock, flat as a loaf of unleavened bread. As treasures went, it appeared utterly unremarkable.  According to legend, it had fallen in flames from the sky at the beginning of time. Some called it the Voice of Heaven because it could speak to those sensitive enough to hear it. The wisdom of the Oracle Stone had guided her people for millennia until the barbarian hordes cast the whole world into darkness. Then the voice fell silent and guided them no more.

Anything? the metalworker asked.

She sighed regretfully. It has long since stopped speaking to me. The earth is now ruled by madmen who spurn the Mother of All and shun her gifts of good counsel. Perhaps when the times have changed once more, the stone will regain its voice. She deposited the baetyl reverently into the hiding place prepared for it. Then she rose to her feet and allowed the men to finish their work.

Once they were done, the metalworker held out a stone cylinder. What should we do about this?

The priestess took the object. It was a solid piece of granite, about a foot long and five-sided. Each of the five surfaces was intricately carved with symbols—the translation key to the clues inscribed on the Bones of the Mother.

The granite key, she murmured. I’d completely forgotten. She slipped it inside the folds of her sleeve. I will find a trustworthy guardian who can keep it safe until the world grows sane again.

The three fell silent as they studied the cave wall which now concealed the Voice of Heaven, each remembering the heartbreaking sacrifices required to bring them to this moment.

Do you think the grey-eyed seer will find this place?  The stonemason peered at the priestess hopefully in the flickering torchlight.

Only someone guided by unseen forces would have the power to unearth what we have hidden so well from the unworthy, she equivocated. And that is as it should be. The priestess paused as a troubling vision of the future formed in her mind. I see the grey-eyed one standing in this very cave, but she is not alone. There is also an aged man. In spirit, he is much like the brutes who robbed us of our homeland. His hands, like theirs, are soaked in blood. The elder and the seer vie for the stone but... She broke off, passing her hand across her forehead. The outcome of their struggle is hidden even from me.

The two men appeared crestfallen at the news.

The priestess patted them both on the back consolingly. This is not a day for sadness. You should rejoice that we have completed our sacred charge at long last. Come, take the torches and let us leave this place.

The three emerged from the cave and collected their scattered belongings, preparing to depart.

We can’t return home.  The metalworker’s tone was resigned. Those savages from the north will have overrun all of Minoa by now.

Yes, I imagine that is true, the priestess agreed.

Then where are we to go? the stonemason asked plaintively.

There remain a few corners of this world which have not forsaken the old ways and the Mother of All. We shall live out our days in exile among such folk.

I don’t suppose these folk you mention know how to make wine, do they? the metalworker asked testily. I haven’t had a drop in months.

Indeed, they do, the priestess countered slyly. For I see both wine and women in your future.

The metalworker chuckled, nudging his cousin in the ribs. I knew there was a reason why I volunteered for this mission.

The stonemason regarded the priestess glumly. That’s all well and good for him, but I want to settle down.

Fear not. I foresee that your wish shall be granted as well.

The stonemason perked up immediately. In that case, what are we waiting for? He hoisted his bundle of tools to his shoulder.  Lead us to our new home, lady.

The metalworker glanced back toward the cave entrance and shrugged. We’ve done all we can to protect it. I suppose the future of the Oracle Stone is up to chance now.

No, my son, the priestess murmured softly. Not chance. Its future now rests in the hands of destiny.

Chapter 2—Truce or Dare

The Arkana Vault – Chicago Suburbs – Present Day

THIRTY-TWO SHADOWY forms sat in council at the great round table in the schoolhouse. The dim pendant lamp suspended above them cast a pall over their features. The governing body of the Arkana had just reached a momentous decision which would determine the future course of the secret society for years to come. Not surprisingly, no one felt like talking anymore.

Zhang Jun, the Hongshan trove keeper, eventually broke the silence. It would appear that the Circle has unanimously defeated the chatelaine’s proposal to declare a blackout for the Arkana. With a slight smile, he turned toward the pythia and the scrivener. Now what?

You’re asking us? Cassie retorted in a shocked tone.

You just gave this assembly some very compelling reasons for battling the Nephilim rather than going into hiding, Michel Khatabi, the Berber trove keeper, remarked. How do you propose we do that?

Ummm, the pythia hedged.

You said it was our duty to rescue the diviner’s runaway bride, recover the Sage Stone, and shut the Nephilim down for good. This helpful reminder came from Grace Littlefield, the Haudenosaunee trove keeper.  And we agreed. So, let’s hear your next steps.

Ummm, Cassie repeated, glancing imploringly at Griffin to bail her out.

Well, obviously it will take us some time to map out a strategy, the scrivener equivocated.

The key! the pythia blurted out.

Everyone, including Griffin, looked at her in surprise.

She popped out of her chair and began to pace around the table—her mind rapidly forging connections.

Craning his neck to track her movements, Aydin Ozgur, the Anatolian trove keeper, asked, Do you mean the granite key?

No. Cassie frowned. Deep in concentration, she never broke stride. I mean the fifth artifact. The one we just nabbed in China.

Oh, I see, Griffin said, though his tone hardly indicated that he understood his partner’s thought process. Addressing the group at large he explained, We collected a golden labrys overseas. Cassie was able to discern that the base was a key of some sort. We speculated that it might unlock the Sage Stone’s hiding place.

The pythia paused and wheeled about triumphantly. And the Nephilim don’t have it!

The other members of the Circle continued to regard her with skepticism.

I’ll go out on a limb and say it’s a good thing that they don’t have it, Grace observed.

But we can offer to give it to them, Cassie concluded brightly.

The expressions on her listeners’ faces turned from doubt to disbelief.

Cassie, perhaps we should discuss the specifics of our strategy at another time, Griffin suggested tactfully. He obviously wanted her to stop digging them both a deeper grave with her tongue.

Don’t you get it? She stamped her foot. That key is our best chance of rescuing Hannah. We tried tackling the problem head-on by breaking into the compound. You all know how well that turned out. She eyed her listeners briefly. Maybe we should start our war against the Nephilim with a truce. We can negotiate an exchange—Hannah for the key.

If you do that, you’re basically offering the Sage Stone to Abraham Metcalf on a silver platter, Grace objected.

Everybody started talking at once—mostly to protest the insanity of the pythia’s suggestion.

Hold on! Cassie objected above the general uproar. That came out wrong. I meant we should dangle the key as bait. Metcalf and his crew will have to cooperate once they know they’re missing part of the puzzle.

Yes, it just might work. Griffin smiled with relief, at last understanding the pythia’s strategy. In fact, it might serve two purposes if we were to offer to find the Sage Stone in exchange for Hannah.

What? Now it was Cassie’s turn to look askance at her partner.

As the old adage says, ‘Keep your friends close but your enemies closer,’ Griffin hinted.

Ah, of course. Jun nodded sagely. The Nephilim will not interfere with your quest if they think you are searching for the Sage Stone on their behalf.

Exactly so, the scrivener agreed. In addition, such an offer would provide the added benefit of ensuring Hannah’s safety in the interval. The Nephilim must produce her unharmed if they wish to claim their coveted prize.

There is another advantage you haven’t mentioned. All eyes turned toward Stefan Kasprzyk, the Kurgan trove keeper. The Nephilim want to destroy the Arkana, but they won’t dare to raise a hand against us until after the treasure has been found. He chuckled sardonically. That will give us time to prepare a defense since we can be sure they will attack us immediately afterward.

Just to be clear, Grace piped up, directing her comment to Cassie. You are planning on double-crossing the Nephilim after you find the Sage Stone, right?

Oh, absolutely. Cassie nodded vigorously, returning to her seat.

The Circle grew still as its members individually evaluated the proposal.

Does anyone have any objections? Jun asked. He waited a few moments, but no one spoke up. Very well then. He shifted slightly in his chair to address Cassie and Griffin. It would appear that you have the full support of the Arkana in implementing this plan. What can we do to help?

We’ll need to get Maddie onboard to make this work, Cassie suggested tentatively.

"At the moment, Cassie and I are personae non gratae in her eyes, Griffin added dryly. I doubt our chatelaine is in a mood to hear us out."

The Circle will intercede on your behalf, Michel offered. We will convince her of the necessity of cooperation.

As daunting as Maddie may be, I believe you have a bigger obstacle to consider, Aydin cautioned. How will you offer your flag of truce to the enemy? Surely you don’t intend to march up to the Nephilim compound and ask to speak to their diviner.

Oh, that part’s easy, Cassie waved her hand airily. We know somebody who has Metcalf’s ear.

He can usually be found at the Chicago Public Library, Griffin said. Sundays excepted, of course.

Chapter 3—Hear, Say

HANNAH TWISTED THE edge of her apron anxiously around her fingers as she studied her new surroundings. Earlier that day, without any advance warning, she’d been moved to a different room in a neglected corridor at the back of the compound. The wing had originally been designed to house visiting archwardens and other important dignitaries. Since guests rarely came to the Nephilim world headquarters and almost never stayed overnight, this suite of rooms remained vacant. Ironically, the chamber which she now occupied was bigger than her old quarters and included a more spacious private bath.

While Hannah’s living area had expanded, her view had diminished. There were no windows. Half a dozen rectangular slits near the ceiling let in feeble shafts of sunlight. They were barred, but their dimensions were too small to allow escape even without the grillwork. The girl’s attention wandered to the door. Below the doorknob was an old-fashioned keyhole which was presumably fitted with an old-fashioned key.  This room had never been intended to house a prisoner, so the lock was hardly state-of-the-art. Whether low-tech or high-tech, the lock was irrelevant. Hannah didn’t possess the means to open it.

The girl couldn’t help but speculate about the reason for her relocation. She was sure it had to do with her attempted escape a week earlier. She flashed back to that horrible night. She and Daniel had dodged the surveillance cameras inside the building and made their way clear to the outer entrance. There they waited for a man named Erik to guide Hannah through the camera blind spots along the fence line and onward to safety. While she watched anxiously for Erik’s arrival, she’d glimpsed her boyfriend Zach perched on a ladder peering over the top of the fence. Without thinking, she’d taken one step toward him. A single step but it was enough to destroy all their hopes. Hannah had been caught on the security cameras. It took only moments for sentries to come charging down the stairs from the guard shack. Daniel immediately dragged her back inside before anyone realized she was missing.

For the past seven days, Hannah hadn’t drawn a free breath as she waited for the axe to fall. Even though she’d been disguised on the night of her escape, she feared that someone had recognized her. She listened avidly for snippets of conversation from the women who brought her meals. They made their usual mind-numbing small talk without any hint that something out of the ordinary had transpired. The diviner too paid his periodic calls, coaxing her to speak, but otherwise giving no indication that anything was amiss. When Daniel made his daily visits, Hannah pressed him eagerly for news, but there was nothing to report—no gossip about an escape attempt or rumors of intruders on the grounds. The pair speculated endlessly about what had become of Erik and Zach. Had they been captured? Killed? The uncertainty was excruciating.

Hannah broke out of her reverie and walked toward the dresser. She pulled open a drawer and began to rearrange her clothes in an attempt to distract herself. With no books or access to information from the outside world, there was absolutely nothing else to do. At that moment, she heard a key slide into the lock. She spun around and braced herself for what was coming next. Per the diviner’s recent instructions, all her usual visitors now knocked before entering. The only person who refused Hannah the courtesy of announcing his presence was Joshua. No doubt he hoped to unnerve her with his unexpected intrusions. While the rest of the congregation attributed the girl’s muteness to trauma, Joshua gave her silence a darker interpretation. He rightly suspected she had something to hide and he was determined to ferret out her secrets. As she always did before an encounter with Daniel’s brother, Hannah assumed an attitude of bland indifference.

The spymaster entered, treating her to a thin smile. Hello, Sister Hannah. You look well today. He seemed unnaturally cheerful. As usual, he drew up a chair and sat without being invited to do so.

Hannah continued to stand with her back leaning slightly against the dresser.

And how do you like your new quarters? he ventured in a chatty tone. Pausing only briefly to await a reply he knew would never come, he forged ahead. Moving you here was my father’s idea, of course. He felt there was too much hustle and bustle near your old chamber. He seems to be of the opinion that you need complete peace and quiet if you are to recover your voice.

Joshua paused as a new thought struck him. Of course, I can think of an entirely different reason to sequester you here though I doubt my father would admit it. It may have been something of an embarrassment that one of the diviner’s own wives needed to be restrained under lock and key. Every time the faithful walked past your door, they must have been reminded of your captivity. Not to mention the issue of your stubborn silence. Personally, I prefer a woman to hold her tongue but a wife who will not speak when her husband wishes it... He trailed off with a soft tsk, tsk of disapproval. Such muteness hints of mulishness.

Hannah raised her chin defiantly but otherwise refused to respond.

Joshua’s soliloquy continued. Your obstinacy sets a bad example for the other consecrated brides. They can plainly see that your sulkiness is rewarded with special privileges. You have been exempted from communal chores, are not required to share your husband’s bed or submit to his lawful advances, and receive your meals on a tray like some Fallen queen.

The spymaster shook his head in disbelief. How long will it be before the rest of the women follow your bad example? I tried to persuade my father to quash this trend by sending you away to an asylum.

The girl stifled a gasp. Such a frightening alternative had never occurred to her.

Sadly, he wouldn’t hear of it though I have hopes of convincing him in time. For the moment, he has decided that the wisest policy is ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ Joshua’s eyes swept the room appraisingly. A bit too far out of sight, if you ask me. Nobody has any reason to travel down this dead-end corridor. It would be impossible for anyone to hear you call out even if you did recover your voice. Why, I imagine that even if you were to scream, there would be nobody within earshot to help you.

Hannah flinched involuntarily at the thought of her complete isolation. She recovered her composure, but it wasn’t soon enough to escape Joshua’s notice.

He gave a fleeting smirk of triumph, knowing he had succeeded in unnerving her. Still not in the mood to converse? Oh well. No matter. His gossipy tone persisted. All I require are your ears. I have some news which concerns you.

She gripped the edge of the dresser, steeling herself to hear an accusation about her attempted escape.

You might be interested to learn that an intruder was discovered on the grounds about a week ago.

Her features hardened into a mask of bored apathy.

I don’t suppose you’d care to speculate about why he might have come? Joshua paused for dramatic effect. No theories, eh? Folding his arms across his chest, he tilted his head to consider. I have one. Would you like to hear it?

Hannah kept still, her fingers pressed hard against the lip of the dresser.

I believe this man came to rescue you. It’s unfortunate my sentries killed him before we could extract a confession.

The girl felt herself growing dizzy from the shock of Joshua’s announcement. A dozen questions were screaming inside her head. Did he mean Zach or Erik? Had Zach climbed inside the enclosure to help his friend and been shot?

I must say you wasted no time among the Fallen reverting to the corrupt nature of your sex. First, you practiced your wiles on the dark-haired youth in the photos I saw. Then you seduced the blond man who came here to rescue you.

Blond man? He must mean Erik. So, Zach had escaped unharmed. Hannah felt a flood of relief that the boy she loved wasn’t dead. Her relief was quickly followed by a wave of guilt that a man she’d never met had lost his life attempting to save her. Hannah reined in her thoughts and focused on the present conversation.

Joshua was studying her face intently, analyzing the most infinitesimal change of expression. What? No tears? He affected mock surprise. I should think a scheming creature like you would show a little regret at the loss of such a useful tool.

Hannah drew herself up and walked toward the door. She stood beside it and glared at Joshua, clearly signaling that their conversation was over.

Her visitor chose to take the hint. He brushed past her on his way out and murmured, Too bad my father can’t see your deviousness as clearly as I do. He will. Once I’ve made you talk, I will surely make him listen.

Chapter 4—Don’t Ask, Don’t Call

DANIEL TRIED TO CONTROL his nervousness as he entered the reference department reading room of the downtown Chicago library. He hadn’t seen Chris since the librarian had kissed him, causing Daniel to flee in panic. So much had happened in the few weeks they’d been apart: Daniel’s unexpected alliance with the crew of relic thieves, the abortive plot to rescue Hannah, and then its tragic aftermath. The scion found he needed his friend’s advice but wasn’t sure how to leap the awkward chasm that Chris’s attempt at intimacy had created.

Even now, Daniel recoiled at the memory of it. Being party to an act which his faith condemned as an abomination bothered him less than his own fleeting, and quickly suppressed, desire to reciprocate. He shook these troubling notions out of his head and timorously approached the counter. Chris was immersed in a computer search and didn’t notice his arrival.

Daniel cleared his throat self-consciously. H... hello.

The librarian looked up sharply. He gave a relieved smile. Danny Boy! It’s so good to see you. I’m sorry I freaked you out the last time we were together. You must have kept running till you hit the Indiana border. Just give me a chance to explain—

The scion raised his hand in protest. Let’s not talk about that right now. I’m here for a different reason. In spite of the urgency of the meeting, Daniel found himself distracted by Chris’s new haircut. He was glad the style was long. Now that he knew a little more about art, the librarian’s tousled blond curls reminded Daniel of a Pre-Raphaelite angel. He forced his attention back to the reason he’d come. Stepping back a few paces, he asked abruptly, Are you still my friend?

The librarian got off his stool and leaned over the desk.  In a low voice, he replied, Of course. How can you ask me that?

Ignoring the questions, Daniel forged ahead. I need your help. There’s nobody else I can talk to.

I’ll always be here for you, Chris murmured. You know that.

Daniel’s gaze slid away. Can you get away for a few minutes?

Without a word, Chris came around the counter and led Daniel toward the elevator.

It was unnecessary for the scion to ask where they were headed—the Rare Book Room on the top floor. It was their usual spot.

The librarian didn’t try to reopen the topic of his feelings for Daniel as they rode the elevator together in silence. Nor did the scion speak while he waited for Chris to unlock the exhibit door. Without needing to consult one another, they took their customary places on the circular bench in the center of the room.

Once they were settled, Daniel slumped forward and clasped his hands. A lot has occurred since the last time we were here. He launched into the story of his encounter with Erik in the parking garage, his enlistment as an accomplice to free Hannah, and the ensuing disastrous rescue