The First Stone by Mark Anthony Page B

manuscripts, or decoding hieroglyphics. However, if there were any otherworldly forces lurking out there, waiting to be discovered, then they were studiously avoiding her, because she hadn’t worked on an interesting case in over a year, and the last several leads of any promise she had found had all run into dead ends.
    Eyes aching from staring at the computer, Deirdre had just decided to call it a night when the machine chimed. On screen, a message appeared.
    Do be sure to take this call.
    That was all. There was no indication of the sender, no box in which she could type a reply. She was still staring at the message when the phone rang, causing her to jump out of her seat.
    If the call had come a minute before, she would have been tempted to let the answering machine get it, to soak in a bath before going to bed. After all, what could be so important she couldn’t deal with it tomorrow? Deirdre didn’t know, but the message on the computer screen changed everything. She lunged for the phone, unsure who it would be on the other end, though somehow not surprised when it was Travis Wilder.
    “Deirdre, I’m so glad you’re home,” he had said, his words clipped. “Can you . . . can you come over right away?”
    “Of course,” she had said. “I’ll be there in half an hour.” She hung up and glanced at the computer. The message was gone, but she knew now who had sent it.
    It was
he
. There was no other possibility, even though he hadn’t contacted her in over three years. The last time had been just a few weeks after the events in Denver, when the Steel Cathedral was destroyed, and the truth about Duratek’s involvement in the illegal trade of the drug Electria was revealed. After that, for a time, she had hoped. Every phone call, every e-mail message, had caused a jolt of excitement.
    Only they were never from him. Whoever the mysterious Philosopher was who had helped her in the past, he had fallen silent. But hadn’t he said it would be like that?
It may be some
time until we speak again
, he had told her at the end of their first and only telephone conversation.
But when the time comes, I’ll
be in touch.
    That time was now. Yet what did it mean? Something had happened—something had changed—but what?
    You know what it is, Deirdre. Perihelion is coming. Earth
and Eldh are drawing near. That’s what he told you three years
ago. Maybe it’s close now. Maybe that’s why everything is
changing. . . .
    She turned down a deserted side street, half jogged the last block to their building, and started up the steps. Just as she reached the door, the short hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Again she gripped her bear claw necklace—a gift from her shaman grandfather—and turned around.
    The black silhouette of a figure stood on the edge of a circle of light cast by a streetlamp. A thrill of dread and wonder sizzled through Deirdre. Was it him? Surely he was keeping watch on Beltan and Travis. How else would he have known Travis was about to call her?
    The figure reached out a beckoning hand. As if compelled by a will not her own, she started back down the steps.
    “Deirdre!” a voice called from above. “Up here.”
    She turned and looked up. Beltan leaned out of a window two floors above her.
    “I’ll let you in,” the blond man said, then his head ducked inside. A second later the building’s front door buzzed, and the lock clicked.
    Deirdre glanced over her shoulder, but the circle of light across the street was empty. She pulled on the door before the buzzing stopped, then bounded up two flights of stairs. The door of their flat opened before she could knock on it, and she was hauled inside by strong hands.
    “It’s been too long since we’ve seen you,” Beltan said as he lifted her off the floor in an embrace.
    “So you’re going to crush me as punishment?” she managed to squeak.
    Beltan set her down and straightened her leather jacket. “Sorry. For me, hugs only come in one