Myth & Interpretation: Gwen Finnegan Mysteries, #1.5

CHAPTER 1

ANY MORE QUESTIONS? Jack Lemur asked. The auditorium at Cooper Union was packed. Gwen was grateful for the high attendance, and pleased at how naturally Justin fell into the rhythm of the program with her.

But something was out there, a watchful, restless energy. She couldn't see past the stage lights, and didn't like the sensation that something with power watched her. Out of her visual range.

As soon as she'd sensed it, she put up shields, to protect herself and Justin. She felt the push on the shield, testing, throughout the program. It wasn't an attack, more of a thoughtful probe. In her experience, often more dangerous.

A movement caught Jack's eye. Yes? Back there? Carrie, can you give him the mic?

This is for Dr. Finnegan. The voice was low and well-modulated, with a British inflection. Gwen shaded her eyes with her hands. She couldn't see the figure well, but it was tall, lean, male. She felt the push at her shield. This was the one testing her. Did you notice anything unusual in The Medusa case? Was it tied into any unusual events you previously encountered?

Gwen noticed Justin shift in his chair. He'd picked up on something odd from this guy, too. She smiled. There are so many ways to answer that, she said. I could ask you to define 'unusual’—

I believe, Dr. Finnegan, you know quite well what I mean. The man's tone combined ice and arrogance.

'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy’, Gwen quoted.

I seriously doubt that.

I'm sure you recognize that quote from your illustrious countryman.

That still doesn't answer my question.

Is your question sincere?

The questioner was taken aback. Y-yes, Dr. Finnegan. It is.

"In that case, I will give you a sincere answer. Many unusual things happened during the time we tracked The Medusa head. Some of it reached back many years, and through many years' worth of associations. All of it was quite out of the realm of what I consider 'ordinary'. "

There was a beat. Jack Lemur cleared his throat and began to say something, but the questioner cut him off. Mr. Yates, did you look into The Medusa's eyes?

Gwen felt Justin's wariness. The statue? I spent a lot of time staring at every inch of the statue. That's part of what we do—learn the artifacts we handle intimately.

'Intimately'—interesting choice of word. The questioner's tone made Justin wince, and Gwen bit back a smile. An uncomfortable titter ran through the audience.

That's all we have time for, Jack Lemur wrapped it up. Let's give Dr. Gwen Finnegan and her colleague, Justin Yates, a round of applause. Dr. Finnegan is teaching an intensive this fall on the connection between myth and reality at the Open Collective Institute on 15th Street. Mr. Yates will teach an Intro to Research at NYU.

Gwen and Justin smiled politely at the applause. The stage lights went down, the house lights went up, and they exited the stage as the rumble of the chatting, departing audience reached them.

He knew, Justin said in a low voice to Gwen. He knew you aspected Medusa.

He suspected, Gwen corrected. Probably because he has either magical talent or magical training.

A warlock?

No such thing as a warlock, Gwen responded. But possibly a witch. Or a magician. Or something else that requires training. Careful, now. Maybe he'll be waiting to talk to us and we can learn something.

They chatted with interested audience members for a few minutes. Gwen had a feeling she'd have some additional students try to sign up for her class in the fall. She looked forward to reading their entrance essays. She wanted to keep the class small. Intimate, she thought, biting back a smile. Their challenger wasn't among this group.

When the stragglers wandered off, Gwen and Justin exchanged thank yous with Jack Lemur and his assistant, Carrie, and exited into the humid August New York City air. How about Broome Street Bar? Justin asked, taking her hand. Or do you just want to get take-out?

She felt the energy again, and turned her head a fraction. Now, outside, in the early evening light, she got a good look at the guy leaning against the warm red stone of the Cooper Union building, watching them. He was younger than his voice indicated, a college student. Tall, lean, whipcord thin, all sinews and muscles. He wore black jeans, motorcycle boots, a faded green tee shirt covered by a faded gray hoodie covered by a sleeveless black vest that hung, boxlike, to his hips. Tattoos climbed up his neck, and his reddish-blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. His face was narrow and angled, with high cheekbones that gave him a quality that was both ethereal and dangerous. Gwen did not mistake it for weakness. He stared at Gwen, thoughtful, wary, questioning. Definitely magic.

Gwen?

Gwen pulled her attention back to Justin. Broome Street sounds fine.

THE PICTISH DIG IN Scotland’s been postponed for at least a year, said Gwen. She sat cross-legged and naked on the bed in her Gramercy Park apartment, checking email on her laptop. Jeremy Barnes just sent the email. ‘We’re so sorry, money fell through, blah, blah, blah.’ Whatever, Jer, so sorry, call us when it’s on again. She tucked a strand of red hair behind one ear.

Justin, rubbing his hair dry from the shower looked at her. You’re going to be a little nicer than that, aren’t you?

Yeah, I will. But between that and the treasure hunters deciding to go with someone else down in the Bahamas because we can’t drop everything and show up, she shrugged.

We still have to wind up the notes from Alaska, said Justin, dropping down next to her on the bed. They’d recently come back from a quick excursion to examine some Native American artifacts found near Hope, Alaska.

That’ll take what, two weeks? Gwen grimaced. She was restless, ready to get out in the field again.

"And finish the book on Medusa. It's due before the semester starts, or we'd probably never finish it. And prepare for our classes. I'm looking forward to teaching at NYU. Aren't you looking forward to your seminar at the Open Collective?"

Yeah, I guess, said Gwen. I love teaching when I'm actually teaching; not so much when I'm trying to gear up to teach.

Plus, we've got my new apartment to deal with, said Justin. I'm still mad that you wouldn't help me with the decision. Since you're going to be spending a lot of time there.

"It had to be your decision, said Gwen. It has to be where you feel happy."

I'm pretty sure I'll be happy there, said Justin. It felt right when I walked in.

Then you made the right decision, and I'll be happy there, too, said Gwen. All set for moving?

Picking up the truck with Greg at eight and we're going to my storage unit, said Justin. "If you meet us up at the apartment around ten, it's all good. I still want to leave some stuff here, from when I'm, you know, here."

Whatever you want, said Gwen. Anything you want Gus and I to bring up with us, put by the door. I made room in the closet and gave you drawers in the dresser for a reason.

I like that reason. Justin shut the laptop and pulled her on top of him.

OKAY, THIS IS MAJORLY cool, dude, said Greg. Justin's best friend stopped just inside the doorway, carrying a stack of boxes. That concert grand yours? He nodded to a large, black grand piano.

It came with the apartment, said Justin, putting down his stack of boxes in the empty living room. The place belonged to a concert pianist. His kids lived in Paris and Vienna; they didn't want to keep a place in New York, so they sold it.

Do you play? Gwen asked, stepping around Greg, who seemed transfixed, so she could add her stack of boxes to the group in the room.

I don't, said Justin. I can't even make 'Chopsticks' sound like it's not a bunch of cats being strangled.

Spare me that image, Justin, please. Felicia Hanover laughed, moving past them with a large box. Hey, you, she said, putting the box down and giving Gwen a hug. Sorry I missed you guys at Cooper Union. How'd it go?

It went well, said Gwen, hugging her back, feeling the sense of well-being she always felt when she was around Felicia. They had decades of shared history and friendship.

Except for that weird dude, said Justin.

What weird dude? Roxy, Greg's girlfriend, asked, coming in with an array of mismatched shopping bags. Greg, you're just about my favorite person in the world, but if you don't get out of the way, I'm going to build a fountain around you and call you a garden.

Hey, long as I'm your favorite person, he grinned at her and moved. I'm digging the piano.

It's beautiful, said Roxy. She put the bags down, and walked over to coax a few melodies out of the keys with one hand. It's even in tune. She added the other hand and began to play.

I didn't know you played piano, said Justin.

That's how I started in music, before I switched to bass guitar, she said, flipping a strand of black hair streaked with purple out of her face.

You play bass guitar? Gus Bellingham looked up from his perch on a stool at the breakfast bar, interested. I see the strength in your arms, he gestured to the well-muscled arms bared by her black tank top. I hope you don't think I'm being a dirty old man.

Nah, it's cool, she smiled at him. I'm with a band called Cougar Run. We play pretty regularly around the Village. You should come out and see us some night.

Watch out, young lady, I just might, Gus smiled.

He will, Gwen warned.

You tell me, and I'll reserve a table, Roxy  promised.

The upbeat banter continued as they got the boxes out of the rented truck, up the elevator, and to the second-floor apartment. It didn't take long; Justin didn't own furniture. Most of his belongings consisted of books, CDs, mis-matched lamps, and a few suitcases with clothes. Watching him, Gwen realized they'd bought more clothes for him as they tracked the Medusa than he'd accumulated during and post-college.

The space was a large, graceful two-bedroom in one of the older, pale stone Beaux-Arts buildings on Riverside Drive. The living room bowed out, into almost turret-style windows, and the grand piano dominated the room, with its offside galley kitchen with breakfast bar and three stools off to the side. The two bedrooms were average size for New York, which meant small for the rest of the world. The one Justin decided was his master had a tiny iron balcony just big enough for a bistro table and chairs—which Justin still had to buy. The bathroom was small, but had been renovated with sea glass-colored tile in the shower (it was too small for a bathtub), and a matching bowl for the small, pedestal sink. The second bedroom would have a sleeper sofa, a desk, and bookcases, making it serve double duty as office and guest room. Gwen could visualize Justin being happy here.

Gwen took you shopping for dishes, didn't she? Felicia teased, glancing at one of the glass-fronted cabinets. You're a guy; you would have bought plain white diner-style if it was up to you. These plates have color. Let me guess—she told you which pots and pans to buy, too.

It's not like I've done much cooking, said Justin. But maybe I'll learn.

Everyone laughed, and Justin blushed. He's adorable, Gwen thought.

The bed should be delivered soon, Justin continued. And the bookcases. And the couch. And the sleeper sofa for the other room. That's as far as I've gotten.

The bookcases are the most important, said Gus.

Nah-uh, said Greg. "Trust me, the bed is the most important." He and Roxy  looked at each other and cracked up.

Did you buy any sheets and towels, Justin? Felicia asked, her eyes dancing with laughter.

Justin looked so mortified that Gwen had to laugh. Don't worry, she said. Emily and Felicia and I conspired.

You guys got up to something with my sister? Justin looked from Gwen to Felicia and back.

Yup. Gwen pulled one of the boxes she and Gus had brought up from her apartment. Housewarming present. Three sets of sheets and pillowcases. Three sets of towels. Gets you started.

They're even washed, Felicia said.

Yoo-hoo! A voice called out from the hallway. "Yooo-hooooo!"

Justin looked at Gwen, who shrugged, with a smile. Not part of our surprise, she assured him.

Are you my new upstairs neighbors? The accent was heavy with the South. The woman who posed in the doorway holding an enormous bottle of champagne was a large woman, in her sixties, although she might have been in her seventies. Creole ancestry in there, thought Gwen, and proud of it. She wore flowing black palazzo pants with an iridescent purple and blue tunic, with a matching blue turban. Lots of chunky jewelry in gold, silver, and various stones, gold ballet flats, an enormous cocktail ring that Gwen would bet was a genuine diamond. Her makeup was careful, but strong, with arched eyebrows, false lashes, thick lining, and dark red lipstick.

Um, I am, said Justin, stepping forward and wiping his hand on his jeans before he offered it. I'm Justin Yates.

Odette Roncossian, said the woman. "I live in the ground floor apartment, just off the lobby. Welcome to our little slice of Manhattan paradise! We have the nicest people in the buildin', y'know."

I'm, uh, happy to be here, said Justin. He looked to Gwen for help. This is, um, is, well, my—

I'm his partner. Gwen decided to rescue him and moved forward, offering her hand. Gwen Finnegan.

Are yah livin' in sin? Odette batted her eyelashes. How delicious!

Um, uh, no, we're not living together, said Justin. But Gwen's, I mean, we're together, so she'll be here a lot.

"There is nothin wrong in livin' with the one you love, no matter what the church has ta say about it, said Odette. I've done it myself, now,