“Him?” She laughed, which was nice after the earlier animosity. “No, but he laid it on kind of thick. He could be you in thirty years. Started waxing poetic about how my beauty will live forever in thought and memory and how these were a paltry offering.” She pulled the star-shaped white flowers out of her hair and examined them. “They smell good.”
“Stephanotis,” he said, pulling up his mental encyclopedia without thinking. “From the Greek word for ‘crown.’…”
Her eyebrows rose. “Stephanotis? Wasn’t that the flower you told me about in Windsor?”
Justin nearly dropped his glass. He scanned the room frantically, searching for the man. No luck. “Be right back.” He hurried up to the bar and waved to get the cute young bartender’s attention. She was knocking back what looked like aspirin, something Justin wouldn’t have minded since his own headache still pulsed at the back of his skull.
“You probably can’t tell me this…but do you know that guy’s name? When he scanned his ego?”
She hesitated about the breach of privacy and then groaned. “He didn’t scan it. I asked him, but he started asking me if I played chess, and I forgot. My boss’ll kill me. That was our most expensive wine!”
But Justin was already walking away. “I have to leave,” he told Mae.
“Why?” She looked him over, and her concern for him was real. “What’s wrong?”
Justin swallowed. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just…well, the bartender’s getting off her shift soon and asked me to go out. I can’t turn that down.” He put on what he hoped was a smug, bastardly smile.
This time, Mae’s thoughts were perfectly obvious. She was floored that after asking her for another drink, he was about to ditch her for a woman he’d just met.
“I see. Well, far be it from me to stand in your way.” She stood up, rigid and formal. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll meet you at SCI tomorrow.” And without a backward glance, she strode out of the bar, the air freezing around her.
Justin stared after her, feeling forlorn.
Wallow later, said Horatio. Do you want your answers or not?
Justin did. He had to know. He had to finally know. He scooped up the flowers and headed out. Back at the house, he found the usual buzz of activity as his family welcomed him home. He ignored them all and went straight to his office, slamming the door behind him.
“I need a search,” Justin said to his screen before he even reached his chair. “I need all references to the phrase ‘thought and memory.’”
The screen complied with frustrating detail, far too many hits to begin to parse. He drummed his fingers against the desk.
“Filter the search by religious and mythological contexts.”
That narrowed the list considerably. In fact, the only results left pertained to one subject. He brought up the first hit, which was a basic encyclopedic entry:
In Norse mythology, the god Odin (Wodan in German contexts) is accompanied by two ravens, Huginn (Thought) and Muninn (Memory), who advise him and report what they learn about the world.
Justin felt mildly ill. He was familiar with stories of Odin, who frequently appeared with other Norse gods when Nordic and Scandinavian castes decided to attempt some revivalist religion. Odin was a major enough god that every servitor had a working knowledge of him. Justin had always thought he did as well, but apparently, he’d been lacking a particularly important detail about the god’s choice of companions, a detail that certain invisible birds could’ve helpfully enlightened him about.
“Give me a full compilation about the Norse god Odin,” ordered Justin. “Attributes, primary sources, and general folklore.”
The screen complied, and with every line he read, Justin felt as though the world was starting to crumble beneath him.
Odin, or “All Father,” is a Norse god of the ?sir associated with wisdom, cunning, knowledge, war and battle, magic, and death. He is usually accepted as the king of the Norse gods.
Odin made many sacrifices for his wisdom. He gave up his eye in order to drink from Mimisbrunnr, the well of wisdom. He also hung himself from the world tree Yggdrasil in order to master the runes, which impart insight into the present and future.
“I need an image of the runes.” Justin already knew what he’d see.
The screen displayed a set of symbols, each labeled with a name. Most were nonsensical, save for one he knew very well since he saw it on his own skin every day. He asked the screen to identify it: Ansuz—a rune with disputed meanings that is generally associated with the ?sir gods, particularly Odin. Near it, Justin saw algiz, the protective rune the ravens had taught him.
On and on it went, and Justin saw pieces of his life play out before him. He read everything he could find, and after a while, he started reading the same information over and over. His eyesight grew bleary, and he was about to finally call it a day when one line caught his eye:
Odin is also accompanied by two wolves, Geri and Freki.
“Clear the search,” he told the screen. “And call Demetrius Devereaux.”