Odin's Murder

“Yes. The daughter of the Warrior erected this stone for her father’s sister, the Wisewoman, who died without children of her own. Kind of odd that they use titles like this, not actual names.” Faye turns to me. “Is the author postulating that this stone was erected to the original human that escaped her crow form? I’ve never seen this particular stone before. Is this a work of fiction?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. What do you guys think?” I ask. “Is this a viable direction for the project?”

Julian looks up from his laptop. “The author seems legitimate. He was on faculty here from 1880-1910. His information is limited but he’s well referenced by others in the same field. And if Dr. Anders gave you his book to use, I guess it’s reputable.”

“Plus, it sounds pretty cool,” Ethan says, flipping through the book. He stops at an etching of a bare breasted tribal witch holding a raven on her arm. His eyes widen, and he blinks twice at the drawing.

“Pervert.” I snatch the book from his fingers. “Jules and I will read up on these extra chapters. I’ll make notes and bring them in tomorrow. The sections aren’t long.”

“I’ll dig up anything that seems similar to this in the more established Norse myths,” Faye says. “It reminds me of one, in particular.”

“So we really want to use this?” my brother asks.

“Why not?” I ask. “We use this ancient myth as a basis for comparison to local folktales? It can be a statement of our project thesis.”

The heads around the table nod in agreement.

*

“Did you put that there?” I ask Faye as we enter our room after dinner.

“Did I put what where?”

I point to Sonja’s untouched bed. “That package.” Propped against the headboard is a lumpy yellow envelope.

“Yes, it was here this morning, when I came back after class.” She hands it to me. “Someone must have slid it under the door.”

“There’s no return address. I wonder what we should do with it.”

“Didn’t you tell me she lives really close by?” Faye asks.

I nod. “Her house is just off campus. Last year she’d walk home to have Sunday dinner with her mother. Only girl allowed past security.”

“Do you think any of her roommates from last summer would know where it is?” Faye asks. ?

?Danielle was in her group, wasn’t she?”

“They weren’t as good friends as she’d have you believe,” I say, snarky.

“We could look it up—” Faye eyes my laptop, screen saver flickering with a silhouette of a flying raven.

“Ha! JFGI! Some kind of Exceptionals we are!” I giggle and tap at the keys.

“JFGI?”

“Just Fucking Google It.”

Faye chuckles, the sound muffled by yet another sweater pulled over her head. I pound the laptop for fifteen seconds.

“There’s an M. Williams on 680 Briar Hollow Road. It’s like, half a block away from the gate by the president’s house. I wonder—” I rummage through my desk drawer, find the map they gave us at orientation. Faye peers over my shoulder. “It’s right off the north drive.”

She leans out the window. “I bet if we lived on the third floor we could see it from here.”

“I really want to know why she decided not to come this year. I hope she’s not sick.”

“I’d love to meet her. Everyone says the most wonderful things about her.” Faye takes the little pamphlet, looks at the computer screen. The package has a little weight to it, and something inside rattles. I look up, to see my roommate staring back, eyes wide.

“Put your boots on, Faye. We’re going for a walk.”