Lykaia: Book One in the Sophia Katsaros Series Read online

  Other then that, I found very little that would help. Hopefully, the laptops would give me more than the apartment had. I sighed and blew my hair out of my face, taking one last look around. Just then a piece of paper drifted off a table, onto the floor

  I walked over and saw that it was a menu for the restaurant down the street. As I bent to retrieve it, I felt a draft and looked up. The window above the table was cracked just a bit, and there on the tile floor was a footprint.

  Just like Locard said, whenever two things touch, there is always a transfer. I took out a plastic film and collected the dirty foot print on the sticky side and then carefully put it back in my case. I took photos of all the rooms with my phone and then went back to the window.

  Being careful not to touch the footprint, I slid open the window and stepped out onto the fire escape. An alley down below was scattered with litter and floating papers. A dilapidated dumpster was crowned with a yellow cat sleeping the day away in a random sun beam. Other than that, nothing.

  I had almost missed the footprint; I didn’t want to miss more. Whoever had broken into my brothers’ apartment had presumably entered and exited through this fire escape. So, I dusted it for prints and checked the seal of the window. In the corner, I found a handful of black hairs. I collected them and put them into a baggie.

  It was possible they belonged to my brothers, but it was also possible they didn’t. I wasn’t going to take the chance. Stepping back into the room, I closed and locked the windows, all of them, and pulled the blinds. I then grabbed the suitcase and locked the door.

  As I was leaving, I saw the landlord in the lobby. “Excuse me, sir,” I said addressing him in English. He seemed proud that he could speak it. I didn’t want to insult him.

  He stopped, removed his hat and acknowledged me with a look.

  “Have you seen anyone go into my brothers’ apartment recently?” I asked.

  “Just you.”

  “Has anyone come by asking questions or looking for them? Have the police come by, anything like that?”

  “No, no,” he said meeting my eyes directly.

  I frowned. I could almost swear that he was trying to tell me something, but I was missing what it was, and so I asked. “Should I know anything, Mr. Andreas?”

  “There are things you may need to know, but whether you should, that remains to be seen.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked confused

  “This is not America, Miss. Katsaros. This is Arcadia. Not everything that is lost should be found.”

  “But they are my brothers. I have to look for them.”

  “I understand this,” he said patting my shoulder. “How well do you know the history of this place?”

  “Arcadia? A passing amount. I am a doctor,” I said shrugging.

  “Well, I would suggest you start there. The answers to the future lie in the past.” And with that he turned and left. No farewell, no wave, just gone.

  Shaking my head, I stepped out into the blinding sunlight, lugging Ciro’s suitcase. It was now midday. If Greece was anything like the U.S., the best place for local information would be at a diner. People liked to talk when they ate.

  I reached into my pocket and took out the menu that I had found. If my brothers had eaten there, I was willing to bet someone remembered them. After dropping the suitcase and my evidence kit off at the hotel, I decided to go out for lunch.

  They did not go home that night. Instead he and his father stayed at the big house. He had been given a room and told that it was his. The boy had so few things that he could call his own. To be given a room that he was not required to share awed him.

  When the door closed, he stood still, listening, waiting for the bolt to drop, the scrape of metal that told him this is where he would stay. It never came. Cautiously, he inched towards the door, the pine planks smooth beneath his feet.

  His small hand turned the knob and slowly opened the door. The flickering light of the hall sconces crept into the room he had been given and chased the shadows back to the corners.

  He let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding and, leaving the door ajar, he walked back toward the bedroom window. The moon horded her light like a miser with his gold. The forest was black. With the mountain to his back, he had a view of the city that lay below like a twinkling earthbound constellation.

  He yawned, covering his mouth with a grubby hand, and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool glass pane of the window. He must have dozed, for he woke with a start when the bedroom door creaked further open.

  A denial of guilt died upon his lips when he turned and saw the shadow that stood at the threshold. The black wolf, the one that had sat between him and his father, and bared his teeth.

  Orchomenus, the youngest of the brothers, the man had called him. It was a big name for a small boy to manage. “Come here, boy,” he whispered coaxing the wolf into the room. “Can I call you, Orcho?”

  The black wolf whined and inched forward. Stavros imagined that the wolf was as frightened as he was. That thought instantly calmed him, and so with a stronger voice he called the wolf again, this time while walking over to the bed.

  “Do you want to sleep in here with me?” the boy asked, patting the big bed draped with a colorful quilt.

  The wolf’s ears perked up, and cautiously, his tail began to wag.

  The boy laughed. “You are just a silly doggy after all. Aren’t you?” The wolf cocked his head in inquiry, seeming to understand the dog reference and finding it wanting.

  “Oh, sorry,” the boy said hiding a smile. “You aren’t a dog. No, you are a wolf. A wolf prince, I bet!”

  The wolf regarded him intently, as if considering if his elevation to prince was one he would accept. After a moment his mouth fell open, flashing white canines that gleamed in the dark.

  The boy swallowed, suddenly reminded that this was most definitely not a dog. He had been foolish to think so. A spurt of fear caught him like a rabbit in a snare, speeding his heart and making his palms sweat.

  The wolf sensed the change and whimpered, lowering his head. His tail drooped. Slowly he padded over to the boy, his nails tapping on the wood floor. His nose was on level with the boy’s chest.

  Carefully, he nudged the boy. When the boy did not respond, he nudged him again, this time rubbing his flank along the boy, as if to reassure him that he did not mean to harm him.

  Once again the boy felt foolish for doubting his new friend. His moment of fear quickly passed. As he had in the basement, he wrapped his arms around the wolf’s neck, enjoying the silken feel of his fur and the warmth that clung to him.

  Grabbing a handful of fur he led the wolf over to the bed. The boy climbed in under the covers and patted the spot next to him in invitation.

  The wolf wagged his tail in imitation of his domestic cousin and gave a cheerful bark that had the boy laughing joyously. In a graceful bound the wolf jumped on the bed, nearly dislodging the boy in his exuberance.

  Stavros laughed again and hugged the wolf once more. Finally, the beast settled himself, after turning around three times and curling his tail over his nose. The boy snuggled under the covers, getting as close to the wolf as he could.

  And so, boy and wolf slept in a little room, in a big sprawling house, under the dark of the moon, with the golden light of the hallway lamps trickling in around the door.

  The Greek Isles Restaurant lured the tourist in with classic Corinthian columns and grand arches that separated the interior rooms, reminiscent of an ancient temple. Deep blue drapes floated in the breeze coming in off the portico, where diners could eat al fresco.

  But it was the food that lured the locals in and enticed them to stay. It was just the sort of place my brothers would have loved. And, I will admit, I did too.

  Along the back wall was a long bar made from colorful tiles that were cool to the touch. The shelves that held the alcohol were backed by a window. Golden sunlight streamed in, diffused by the colo
rs of the liquors, which caused prisms to dance across the room. ‘Yes, this is a wonderful place,’ I thought, ‘and one that the owners obviously take pride in.’

  I took a seat at the bar, ordered tea, and sat back with the menu, to observe the room. I saw her flitting about, taking orders and chatting with the customers. She laughed and pulled her dark curling hair behind her ears. White teeth flashed, contrasted with tan skin and cherry lipstick. She was just the kind of girl Ciro would have been attracted to.

  I wanted to talk to her, to show her the photos of my brothers and see if she knew them. The bartender took my order of a gyro with baklava and went about his business. I let my mind wander as I gazed through the sparkling blue liquid of some unknown spirits. I could see the mountains beyond and wondered if my brothers were out there even now.

  I’m a forensic pathologist. The dead are my province. It’s my job to wrest the secrets of their lives from them when they can no longer reveal them for themselves. I am always aware that they were once living people who had others who loved them. Even the humblest of beggars had once been someone’s child, friend, lover. I make an effort to never forget that, but while I work, the mystery of their deaths holds me, allowing me to suspend my emotions and do my job.

  I had been detached as I searched my brothers’ apartment. Any cop, fireman or ER doctor will tell you that if you are going to be effective at your job you have to set your emotions aside. I was finding it hard to maintain that detachment. I was searching for my brothers. Babies that I had held, cared for, and protected.

  I exhaled and took a drink of my tea. If I was going to be effective in discovering what happened to my brothers, I’d have to get myself under control.

  I swiped a curl out of my face. The waitress that I saw had perfect raven ringlets. My curls were dark, but they never behaved. I often scraped my hair back in a tight ponytail in an effort to tame it. When the humidity rose, I ended up with a black nimbus around my head that defied gravity and darkened my mood.

  Like Ciro, I had inherited my mother’s blue eyes. I had not inherited her gossamer blond hair. My food arrived, distracting me from my thoughts. Authentic Greek food…there was truly nothing like it.

  The bartender wandered back by, an older man who I suspected might be the owner, and asked in English if everything was to my satisfaction.

  “It is wonderful,” I said answering in Greek.

  He raised an eyebrow and switched to Greek as well. My accent would give me away as American, but aside from that I spoke it fluently. “I wonder if I can ask you a few questions?” I said, taking out my phone. When he nodded, I pulled up the photos of my brothers.

  “Have you seen either of these two men?”

  He frowned, “Illyanna,” he called, summoning the waitress. “My daughter knows them.”

  “Yes, Papa?” she asked as she walked over.

  “This woman is looking for…”

  “My brothers,” I supplied.

  “Ah, her brothers. I believe you know them. If you could help her.” And then he walked away to tend to his other customers.

  I showed her the photos, watching her expression as I did so. She blanched and sat down heavily on the stool next to me. “You have not heard from him either?” she asked, looking intently at Ciro’s photo.

  “I have not heard from either of them,” I answered softly. “My mother is very worried, as it’s not like them. I came here to find out what happened.”

  “He and Dimitri came here almost every day. Papa says we aren’t supposed to fraternize with the customers, especially the tourist, but…well,” she paused then, her shoulders drooping as a slight flush crept up her neck under her tan. “We hit it off.”

  “I understand. Ciro is very personable,” I said trying to comfort her. It was obvious that she really liked my brother. I let her sit there for a moment feeling the grief that I would not allow myself to feel. “When was the last time you saw either of them?”

  “Me and a few of my girlfriends met up with them after the Lykaia games. That was the end of August.”

  “What are the Lykaia games?” I asked scribbling the name on a napkin.

  “They are similar to the Olympic games. Smaller, but just as old.”

  “Where are they held?”

  “At the peak of Mt. Lykaion. The games were the public rites that were supposed to take place before the private rites. Do you know the story of King Lykaonas?”

  “Yes,” I said, accidentally switching to English. There seemed to be a theme here that was puzzling me. “The king that was turned into a wolf. The term ‘lycanthropy’ comes from his name.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” she said, also in English. “Well, the games were for the people. The private rights were held by the temple of Zeus that used to be there. Supposedly there was cannibalism. They believed the ceremony could turn you into a werewolf.”

  “Do they still have the private rites?” I asked

  She glanced over at her father, before lowering her voice. “I can’t say anymore here. Can we talk somewhere else? My shift ends at 8 p.m.”

  I frowned, following her look over to her dad, who glanced at her, shaking his head, just once. But it was enough. She nodded and rose. “I need to get back to work. Where can I reach you?”

  I wrote my cell phone number and then my hotel information on another napkin and gave it to her. “Illyanna…” I began but she shushed me.

  “Not here. I’ll call you tonight. We will talk then.”

  I paid my bill, took my dessert to go, and left. I had hoped that I would find some answers, but what I had were more questions. Questions and wolves.

  “Hello, Dr. Kat.”

  “How did you know it was me?” I asked

  “Caller ID,” Arthur said, noisily chewing his food.

  “You aren’t eating around the patients are you?” I asked frowning.

  “No. Why? Do think that would be rude?”

  “Very funny, Arthur,” I said smiling. I tended to take things very seriously. Arthur was the polar opposite. In the year that we had worked together I had come to enjoy his sense of humor, letting it compensate for what I lacked.

  “So, what’s up? Have you found anything?” he asked, all traces of joking gone.

  “A whole lot of nothing, to be honest,” I said, sighing. “Listen, I am sending you some hair samples via Fed Ex. Can you see to it that they get down to the lab? Have them expedite it for me. Just make sure they set up a separate docket so it gets billed to me, not the city.” I was not above calling in a few favors, but I drew the line at what I deemed to be stealing from the city.

  “Sure thing, Doc. I’ll watch for them.”

  “How is everything going? Anything I should know about?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s fine. We have routed things to the other hospitals. As for if there is anything you should know about ...”

  “Arthur…” I warned.

  “Oh, don’t worry. You haven’t missed the zombie apocalypse or anything.”

  I rolled my eyes before I remembered he couldn’t see me. “Just watch for the delivery and call me when you find out the results, ok?” He said he would, and we hung up. I had not expected there to be a problem back home. I was the medical examiner for the county, but in my absence there were others that could fill in. Like Arthur said, barring the zombie apocalypse, it wasn’t like the dead couldn’t, or wouldn’t, wait for me to return.

  I sat back in the overstuffed sofa and pondered the cryptic conversation I had had with Illyanna. I wondered what she had to tell me that she wouldn’t say around her father. I had seen the barest shake of his head that silenced our conversation. So far my list of questions was much longer than my list of answers.

  My brother’s suitcase sat where I left had it. I stared at it, willing it to tell me something. “I just wish someone would tell me something, anything,” I said, frustrated.

  I had several hours before Illyanna’s shift ended. I decided to spend them search
ing my brothers’ laptops. I grabbed Ciro’s first. It was covered in stickers from his favorite bands and one from the pediatrician’s office that said “I’m not afraid of shots.” I snorted. Knowing the way my brother thought, I doubted that vaccinations were the type of shots he meant.

  I flipped the laptop open, powered it on and was immediately challenged by the password page. I had practically raised my brothers. It did not take me long to figure out the password. In the end it was the name of his favorite band and the year he was born.

  I checked his e-mails. I deleted all the ones that were spam, leaving me with over fifty that were from friends. Several were from my mom. I couldn’t read those. I found a few from Illyanna. They started off flirty, grew concerned, and then hostile when she continued not to hear from him. And then eventually they swung back to concern, with her pleading with him just to let her know if he was ok.

  I sighed as I read them. I knew my brother could check his e-mail on his phone. The fact that he hadn’t responded was just another drop in my worry pool. I pulled up his browser and checked his Facebook and Twitter pages. They had the same number of messages waiting. Both showed a last date of login as September 1st.

  I found pictures of Ciro and Illyanna, smiling and happy. My heart clenched, and I rubbed at my eyes, which had started to puddle with tears.

  Taking a deep breath, I set the machine aside and looked at Dimitri’s computer. It was a big laptop with a 17 inch screen and full keyboard. He used it for school. It was meant to work.

  There were seven, single subject, 100 page notebooks that I had also taken from my brothers’ apartment. Each was covered with meticulous notes. I decided to read those before I looked through Dimitri’s computer.

  My brother was as organized as I was. The notebooks were numbered. I started with the first one. A heading of “Sons of Lykaonas” was at the top of the page in red ink. The myth of King Lykaonas was written, along with reference notations and alternate versions. Under that were the names of the fifty sons.

  I flipped through the pages. Each son was detailed. His lineage was traced. Each one had a city named after him. Details about the cities were included, along with every myth that was relevant.