Page 18 of The Deeper Game
I nodded.Right. They still had a friend or two deep inside the web of government agencies.
“And most of the people we know happen to be in that database, which is convenient at times like these,” Odin added.
“We can’t tell Zeus about this until he’s home with us,” Thor said. “He’ll go ballistic. No good to have him finding out while he’s inside those HVAC ducts.”
“Fuck,” Odin said, emphatically.
Thor examined the shoebox. “No price tag anywhere. This is a pretty common style, I think. But let me check it out.” He grabbed his iPad from his pack.
“No prints on the baggie,” Odin said. He opened it up and pulled out the bloody feather with tweezers and set it into a smaller baggie, sealing it up. “Get online, Isis, and see if you can determine the type of bird this comes from.”
“How do I do that?” I asked.
“Figure it out,” Odin barked. “I’d think if a person is able to find entire cartoon porn websites devoted to fetishes about being taken captive and forcibly ravished by woodsmen, then you could identify a simple feather, right?”
I snatched the baggie. They weren’t supposed to tease me about my taste in cartoon porn anymore. Being taken prisoner while walking in the forest and ravished by hunky hooded woodsmen in tights wasn’t a fun thought now, in light of this horrible package. If there were no fingerprints, how were they supposed to figure out who sent the box?
“Who cares what bird it’s from?” I asked.
“It all matters,” Odin said.
“Are you sure you’re not just trying to give me something to do so I’m not freaking out?”
“This is an investigation. We glean all the information we possibly can, and then and only then do we assess whether it is worthwhile to know,” Odin said.
I sat down at the far end of the table with my laptop and started on my task, trying not to focus too hard on the horror of the darkened blood marring the white feather. Or that somebody would send that to me. I looked up ornithology sites.
It turned out that feathers looked similar from one bird to another, but there were differences. The little feathery strands were called barbs and they had really tiny parts coming off of them called barbules, which is how the barbs stuck together. It was lucky the thing was only half-coated in dried blood.
“Can I borrow the magnifying glass?” I looked up to see Odin using it. “After you’re done?” I added.
“Have it now, goddess.” Odin came around and set it next to the keyboard. Then he leaned in to kiss my hair. “Whoever did this,” he whispered into my hair, “we will run him down to the ends of hell and pull his guts from his belly like fishing rope. Because nobodyfucking-gthreatens you.”
Shivers came over me. “Thank you, baby,” I whispered, loving him so much. I felt so wonderfully loved and held and protected by these men. My family.
Odin went to a drawer and pulled out a leather case that contained another magnifying glass.
I went back to studying diagrams. I had a feeling we were looking at a pigeon feather, but I hadn’t found an exact match. Odin and Thor were discussing everybody who knew where this particular hideout was, who had also met me, creating a list of suspects. They ruled a few people out, like Matteo, who had been with us all day.
Thor set down the iPad. “So apparently every athletic store and discount store in the known world carries this model.”
Odin turned the shoebox all around, blowing gently on the dust. “Fucker’s full of prints.”
“Could be from the shoe store.”
Odin set it on the plastic and grabbed a magnifying glass. He examined the top of the box, then dusted the rest of it. “Four different individuals at least. It looks like somebody tried to wipe them—poorly. Good.” He took out his smartphone and made a few scans, then hit some keys, sending them, presumably, to their guy in intelligence.
“How long?” I asked.
“We’ll see,” Odin said. “Our guy can’t be obvious about it. He has to put them in a batch already running.”
Odin got on the phone with Matteo and asked him to sit on the bank a little longer, explaining the situation and asking if Matteo had fielded any questions about Isis. He nodded, grunted, and hung up.
I will confess that I was a little bit wary of robbing the Prime Royale with this new development. Especially in light of the last note we got.
“What’d he say?” Thor asked.
“That a shitload of people ask about Isis,” Odin said. “They all knew Venus. They’re curious.”
