Crows of a Feather

19. I make important phone calls

The room was just like in my dreams. Ewart's desk by a large window through which morning light shone, an ornate rug that magically had no evidence of Mercy the scorpion's feast the other day, and a leather couch that looked like the perfect place to nap after a long night of exploring the tower.

"He's not here," Charon said.

"Yeah. Watch out for the scorpion, though. It might be here," I whispered. Whatever type of venom Mercy's stinger emitted, I didn't want to experience it first hand.

"God, I forgot about that," Amelia said and grimaced. She stepped into the office and started looking around. Charon and I followed. "So, what now?"

"Let's look for anything that could tell us what he wants," I decided.

I headed for his desk. The drawers were all locked, but there were some papers scattered on the table. I sat down on his chair, which felt slightly wrong, and grabbed some of them. The first one was a handwritten letter by Ewart himself — I assumed so because it was still unfinished.

Jonah,

I am writing to you in hopes of rekindling our friendship. I am aware that your views have changed since we last saw, but I ask you to trust me on this. The flames of the prophecy have finally sparked to life, and you don't want to — I don't want you to — burn. You remember the plans we once had, the dreams. While they may be far away still, they are not ready to be abandoned. So please, consider giving me a call. If not to talk politics, then to reminisce our youth.

In other news, a storm is brewing in Chicago. A fight is coming my way. I think that may be the reason I am writing to you now. T—

The letter cut off abruptly, the top line of the T flicking off like Ewart's hand had jerked writing it. My eyes fell on an expensive-looking fountain pen that had been tossed aside carelessly. I touched the ink on the letter; it left black stains on my fingers.

"Guys. He's still here, somewhere," I said quietly.

Amelia and Charon, who had been inspecting some books on the coffee table, straightened up in alarm. We all stayed still and quiet, listening. Charon sniffed the air and frowned. "There shouldn't be anyone else here," he said.

"In that case he just left. The ink is still wet," I said and nodded towards the letter.

"We would've seen him," Amelia said.

"It's a trap," Charon muttered.

Before I could react, the door swung shut with a bang and the lock clicked. Amelia ran to it and started chanting her unlocking spell again, but it didn't work. Charon walked to one of the windows, opened it and looked out.

"It'd be too big of a fall, even with magic," he said.

The phone rang so loud it made all of us jump simultaneously. "What do we do?" I asked over the ringing.

"Answer it?" Amelia suggested.

I didn't think it was such a good idea, but the noise was making my head throb. I picked it up. No one said anything, so I greeted: "Hello?"

"I'm impressed. You're little detectives, all three of you." It was Ewart Kane. He sounded more amused than impressed.

"Where's Killian?" I asked.

"He'll be a couple of floors down, when he gets here. But it's not a... ah, child-friendly event, I'm afraid. You'll have to wait in my office. It's quite nice, isn't it? I'm sure you'll find something to amuse yourselves with."