Chapter Text
You couldn't stop staring at the foreign newspaper in front of you, having actually stopped short in the street on your way to work. The newspaper vendor was looking at you, puzzled; you were the only person who ever lingered to look at the foreign newspapers, since most people usually wanted to see their own New Orleans ones. But you kept looking, for once disregarding subtlety. She was there, on the cover...you could see her tattoos, over her arms...and blood.
She'd died, then. It was all over. You were the only one left. The thought made your breath hitch for a second, and you actually felt the entirety of your swallow in your throat. Your fingers twitched. If Lucy was dead, then you really were alone.
You glanced at the description under the photograph, written in Russian; "The unidentified woman was found two days ago in Minsk, having been raped and presumably murdered by an unknown assailant. Any potential witnesses are asked to come forward if they have relevant information regarding the attack."
You looked at the paper for a second longer, at Lucy's bloody arm--then shuddered, and kept on walking, your mouth tight and your heels clicking.
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One Day Ago
Sam and his friends were all sitting in their studio-style office in New Orleans, going over the puzzles again and again.
"So wait, did you try this combination...?" his brother tentatively asked him, gesturing with his hands, before Sam shook his head to cut him off. "Yes, and that second one too," he groaned, then suddenly sat back in a swivel chair with an even bigger groan and reached for a cigarette. Victor did the same with his cigar, and shook his head.
"This seems like a whole lotta bad news, kids," he said to Nathan, Elena, Chloe, and Sam, who had all been poring over manuscripts and texts unsuccessfully, the puzzles and the clues and the codes meaning nothing to them. "We're really screwed unless we can get someone from Conniptia to talk."
"Why is everyone from there so goddamn secretive?" Chloe grumbled, exasperated. They'd been at this for weeks with no luck, and nobody would tell them anything. Not even a little SHRED of anything.
"Guys, it might be time to put an ad in the paper," Elena said tentatively, knowing their response. They were all reluctant to formally put the word out that they were looking for this particular treasure; it was an obscure find, but potentially a huge one, and they didn't want to attract any competitors. Especially the kind who would swoop in at the last second, like Nadine and Rafe, who were already keeping tabs on them.
Elena kept speaking. "We're not having any other luck, and we've tried all our contacts. Come on, it's worth a shot," she said gamely. She looked between them; Nathan and Victor nodded, Chloe shrugged and said "Okay. Competition might make it more fun, after all" with a smirk, and they all looked at Sam. His eyes flicked up to them, his mouth tense on his cigarette--then his eyes squinted a little, darkly, and he stood up with a groan, shrugging on his denim jacket. "All right, all right, FINE," he grumbled, hands going up in annoyance. "But Chloe, try saying that again AFTER Nadine and Rafe have kicked our asses and stolen our treasure."
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It had only been a day since you'd seen the paper with Lucy's body on it, and you were trying desperately to distract yourself; you worked in a particularly high-end museum, giving tours, and you had maintained your fancy little formal dresses and high heels and friendly smiles despite your stress--but you could still feel how much you were nervously swallowing, and you had only been able to sleep last night after taking sleeping pills. You didn't care much for the local news, but you read it when there was nothing else--like now. Skimming through the pages, sitting on a bench and steadfastly ignoring your food, you suddenly felt grateful that you weren't chewing--because the ad you'd just seen had made your heart nearly settle in your throat.
"Historians and archaeologists seeking experts on Conniptia, and/or citizens of said country, for assistance regarding
research and intelligence gathering. Experience with riddles a plus. Reward being offered if applicable. Walk-ins very
welcome at Sullivan & Associates, 4 Westpark Lane, New Orleans. 561 243 7246. Ask for Elena."
You stared at the ad for a moment, then abruptly stared off to your right in thought. Lucy was dead...there was no reason not to...
With a firm little shake of your head you gathered your resolve, standing up briskly and heading off down the street. At the very least, you'd finally have someone to talk to...someone to tell...
And there was no way you could let a Conniptian man get that treasure.
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The office building was clean, but sparse, and you might have been sketched out if you weren't the type who didn't get sketched out easily. According to the discreet little office list on the entrance wall, your targeted office was up two small flights of stairs. You arrived at a nondescript door at the left of the stairs when you reached the top, and knocked with two polite, but solid, little knocks.
You could hear talking going on in there--sounded like both male and female voices--but they didn't stop when you knocked, implying that there was some kind of party or something going on and they were expecting more people at the door. Odd, you thought. It was 3 o'clock on a Tuesday...
Footsteps suddenly neared the door, firm ones, and then the door abruptly opened. The man wasn't looking at you; he was turned back to say something to someone else, laughingly saying "All right, calm down, hold your horses Victor! I'll get your damn hot sauce! For god fucking sakes--" Then he turned to the front to face you and visibly jolted. His eyebrows went up comically slowly, and you saw his mouth drop. There was a full six seconds of silence before he said, slowly and in a deep, low, subtly gravelled voice, "You're not delivery."
A little unnerved by his reaction--he'd gone from looking shocked and embarrassed to looking like a weasel about to pounce on a treat, so seamlessly and confidently and with such a disarmingly charming and lazily worn smirk--you smiled at him, using your real and genuine smile. That seemed to freak him out more, since his smile vanished and the big wide eyes and the open mouth came back a little. You decided that talking to THIS man was clearly a waste of time, and decided to get things moving.
"I'm looking for Elena?"