"The only things the two murders have in common are location and this," George said as he flashed a photo on the viewing screen. Three white stones were lined up next to the body. The next frame was a close-up of the stones. The crude lines etched on them were more clearly visible. "They're called..."

"Jera, kano, raido," John said. "They're rune stones." He looked startled when the rest of the team turned to stare at him. "What?" he asked defensively. "There was this girl I knew who was into this stuff."

George looked at him in amusement. "Do you have any stories that don't start with 'there was this girl...'?"

John frowned for a moment then laughed. "No," he admitted. "Not many."

"Do you know what they mean?" Sam asked.

He shook his head. "Sorry. It's been a long time. I think kano means light, but that's about it." He looked back at the screen. "And I think it's upside-down, so it means the opposite of ... whatever it means," he shrugged. "Darkness, I guess."

"As I was saying," George gave John a pointed look, "they're rune stones. The New Orleans P.D. kindly sent a translation along with the snapshots. Jera means harvest. The reversed kano means closing or darkness…"

"Told you," John muttered.

"And raido means journey."

"Our first victim was Michael Seltzer, a retired naval officer," Bailey said. "Neighbors found the body."

George flashed another photo on the screen. The victim lay on his back, blocking the entrance gate to a courtyard, feet extending onto the public sidewalk. His throat had been cut. The next photo showed a close up of the wound. It was quickly replaced with another set of runes.

"These are the stones from the second murder," George said. "Laguz, hagalz, ansuz. Translation; flow, disruption, and signals."

"A grocery clerk, James Douglas," Bailey told them. "His body was found at a bus stop. He'd been stabbed through both eyes into the brain. Probably an ice pick."

Sam stared intently at the runes. "Could these runes mean anything else?" she asked John.

He shrugged. "Sure. There's a whole book of interpretations. Those translations are just the main meanings. But you know how this stuff goes. It's all vague enough that these guys can make it say anything they want."

"Do you have a copy of one of those books?" she persisted.

"Use to." He frowned as he tried to remember. "I can look."

"Thanks."

*****

"I turned my apartment upside down this afternoon. That stuff must be up at the cabin," John said as he handed Sam a package. "I bought you a new set. Have you seen Bailey?"

"It's late. I think he said something about dinner." She looked at the box curiously then back at John. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just need him to authorize my reimbursement. The Bureau owes me twenty bucks for that," he grinned. "You think he's down at the cafeteria?"

"Probably. If you do run into him tell him I've gone home. The first two murders were three days apart. If this turns into a pattern we have one more day until the next one. I want to spend some time with Chloe before we're called down to Louisiana."

"I hate this." John grimaced suddenly. "Somebody gets killed and we sit around waiting for it to happen again to see if there's a pattern."

"That's not what we do, John." She looked at him with concern. His frustration was plainly etched across his face.

"I know," he said without conviction. "But sometimes that's what it feels like. Why can't we ever get these guys after the first one?"

"We're already doing all we can. If it were an ordinary murderer," she ignored his derisive snort, "we wouldn't be working against a timetable."

"I know, Sam. One killer, one kill. We would run him down eventually and he wouldn't have killed anyone else in the meantime. But no," he threw his arms wide, "we had to go and volunteer for the serial nutcase division. It still takes us the same amount of time to track down every lead, but the psychos always seem to make better use of their time than we do. Sometimes I really hate this job."

"You'd hate not doing it even more," she told him. "You would hate watching this on the news, not being able to do anything about it. You are where you need to be, John."

"You sound more like Bailey every day. So, it's better to be doing something than just watching it happen." A flicker of his usual grin appeared. "I can think of a few other things that could apply to."

Sam rolled her eyes. "John…"

He laughed softly. "I know. I'm going. Say hi to Chloe for me. Enjoy the book."

Sam watched him walk away then looked down at the box he had handed her. The package contained a slim hardcover book and two dozen or so rune stones. She tucked it into her oversized purse and headed home. She knew that they would all be back here soon enough.

*****

It was a rather brief book. Sam finished it several hours before Bailey's pre-dawn phone call came. A third victim. A day early.

She sat beside John on the commercial flight. "Okay, let me see if I've got this now," she said. John winced as her tray table cracked against his knee. "Sorry. Draw three."

John frowned at her. "Think magic and mystery, Sam, not 'Go Fish'."

"This is an experiment," she said. "I'm not interviewing for the circus. Draw."

"That's the spirit," he said dryly. He obediently pulled three stones from the bag and laid them on the tray.

Sam studied the runes for a moment then began flipping through the book. She looked back up at John as a thought occurred to her. "Are they upside down for you or for me?"

He sighed. "I drew. My perspective."

She took a breath and released it slowly. "First stone," she said. "Othila." She noticed that John smiled oddly. "What?"

"The girl," he said, "the one who was into this… She decided that othila was the rune of my nature."

She could almost hear the quotation marks in his words. "Rune of your nature?"

"She said it was the rune that defined my entire personality." He shook his head. "I never agreed with her, but… every time she did that stupid reading… I always drew it." There was a weary look in his eyes. "Maybe she was right. All these years later and I'm still drawing it."

Sam studied his face. She could see that he wasn't happy with the implications of this particular rune. It occurred to her that his reaction to the runes was as important to the interpretation of them as anything in the book.

Othila. She tried to remember what it meant. Separation. The images of diverging pathways and abandoned relationships confronted Sam. Literal interpretation meant that the man who drew this rune would be required to leave something behind, to separate himself from something important in order to fulfill his potential.

It was easy for Sam to identify what John had been forced to abandon. His family. His home. His heritage. To become the man he was now he had given up everything that he had been. It frightened Sam to realize that had circumstances been otherwise it was entirely possible that John could have ended up on the suspect-side of one of her investigations. If his mother hadn't taken him from the O'Doyles he could have - no, *would* have ended up a very different person.

She wondered if John's friend had known how accurate the rune was or simply seen how it affected him and guessed.

"It represents your childhood," Sam said at last.

"I guess. Try the next one."

She wished she had the courage to ask him more about his past but it was clear that he had no intention of revealing anything to her. One day, she hoped, he would trust her enough to let her in. Today obviously wasn't that day.

"Nauthiz," she said. "Pain. Obstacles. The shadow within." The lines in John's face only grew deeper as she spoke. "This is what is to come. You're going to have obstacles. Maybe obstacles that you create for yourself."

"Typical prophecy. Everybody had obstacles. What else?"

Sam studied the last stone. "Berkana… Oh, reversed. That makes a difference, right?"

"Usually."

"Growth. Reversed." She frowned at the rune. She didn't have to look at John to know that this wasn't good. "Blocked growth?" she guessed.

"Failure," he said flatly. "I knew there was a reason I lost my set of these things. Too depressing." He shifted in his cramped seat and closed his eyes. "Wake me up when we get there."

"We'll be there in another fifteen minutes."

"Any sleep is better than no sleep."

Sam watched him for a moment. He was too tense to fall asleep but he stubbornly kept his eyes closed. Finally she looked back at the stones. It was a discouraging combination. Conflict rooted in childhood, doomed to failure. She swept the runes into their bag and dug out her case notes.

******

Sam stood on the sidewalk blinking against the glare of a New Orleans sunrise. She tucked an errant blonde lock behind her ear and looked down at the body. If she could judge by the strong odor of fish she would guess that he had worked on the docks. The cause of death wasn't immediately apparent. If the briefing report hadn't told her that he had been electrocuted she wouldn't have known.

"More runes," John said, kneeling by the body.

Sam moved to stand beside him. She looked down at the stones lined up beside the body. "Protection… Standstill… and Possessions," she translated.

"Doesn't make any sense," John said irritably. He stood and stretched as Sam walked around the body.

She tried to picture how the killer had moved the body to this location. It was a very public street corner. The man had obviously been murdered somewhere else. She was vaguely aware of John wandering behind her.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "I think we used to live near here."

Sam looked up at him sharply but he was distractedly studying the apartment building across the street. She knew that he and his mother had moved quite frequently when John was a child, but she had never known that they had lived in New Orleans. She was about to ask him how long they had stayed here when she noticed a woman walking slowly toward them.

Sam had seen her earlier talking with police and had assumed that she was a witness or neighbor. She wore jeans and an oversized shirt. Her long, dark hair fell in unruly waves around her face. She appeared to be approximately Sam's own age and she was currently staring at John. Now, that's unusual, Sam thought sarcastically. A woman staring at John. Something in her expression intrigued Sam though. She seemed to be puzzled.

"Johnny?"

John turned to face the woman. She beamed at his response.

"It is you! I heard them call you Grant. I knew there couldn't be two of you with those eyes."

John frowned at her. Sam could see that he was trying to place her in his memory.

"Lexi?" he asked hesitantly.

"You did grow up tall, didn't you?" She hugged him fiercely and after a brief, baffled instant John returned the embrace. When she stepped away from him Sam saw a rare, genuine smile on his face.

"It's been nearly fifteen years," Lexi said. "I wish I could say that I knew you'd be back, but to be honest, I never thought I'd see you again."

"It's been a while," he agreed. "You still in the neighborhood?"

"More or less. I have a place on Dauphin, now. I'm just over here today because I'm the local expert on rune stones. The NOPD is kind of annoyed about the rune bit," she said with a grin. "I think most of them would be happier if this guy would just kill his victims and not get cute about it with the stones."

"Oh, Lexi," John said suddenly. "This is Sam… Dr. Samantha Waters, forensic psychologist. She's the best profiler in the FBI. Sam, this is Lexi…" he frowned briefly. "Carson?"

Lexi smiled and offered Sam her hand. "FBI, huh?" she said. "Well, I always knew he'd either be the guy with the handcuffs or the guy in them."

"Lexi was going to be a professional scam artist when she grew up," John said. "What did you turn out to be?" he asked.

Lexi looked at him innocently. "Madame Alexandria." She smiled at his burst of laughter. "I run an occult bookshop a few doors up from Lafitte's. I do some rune-readings and tarot on the side. It's a good business in this city."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously." She shook her head as he laughed again. "So, how have you been, Johnny? How's your mom?"

Sam's heart jerked as John's face immediately darkened. His expression became guarded and she could see the muscles in his jaw tighten.

"She… died. About ten years ago," he said. "Car… wreck."

"I'm so sorry." Lexi reached out to him sympathetically. Sam knew that the other woman also noticed his almost imperceptible flinch.

John nodded once and threw a swift glance at Sam. For an instant she would have sworn that there was a silent plea to be rescued in his eyes. Over his shoulder she could see Bailey watching them.

"Looks like Bailey's trying to get your attention," she said. The look John gave her could have been interpreted as grateful.

He shook his finger at Lexi. "No stories," he said. "I'll be right back. Sam, don't believe anything she says."

Both women watched him walk away. Lexi sighed.

"He was a good-looking kid, but I never dreamed he'd grow up to look like that." She smiled at Sam. "You're a lucky woman."

"Excuse me?"

Lexi looked instantly apologetic at Sam's confusion. "I'm sorry. I thought you were… I mean he's… oh, merdi," she swore softly. "It's been a long time, but I assumed I could still read him."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Sam said, although she was afraid that she did.

"I think maybe I just made a snap judgement based on the boy I use to know. His mannerisms, his reactions. If he were still that boy…" Lexi shook her head. "Nevermind. It looks like he turned out okay," she said. "A Fed, though." She noticed Sam's expression and smiled hesitantly. "He was a bit of a wild child when I knew him. He could have gone either way." She grinned abruptly and Sam was reminded very much of John. "I bet he never told you that he and I use to run a rather successful scam on tourists over in the Square."

Sam smiled in return. She didn't doubt that this woman had many fascinating stories about John. There were a thousand things she wanted to ask her. What had he been like? What had his mother been like? How long had they lived here? How well did she know them? How much did she know? It suddenly occurred to her that this was the girl who had given John his defining rune. And she was the resident rune expert.

"I know you've probably already gone over all this with the local police," Sam said, "but would you mind going over it with me? John has tried to explain the runes, but I'd really like to get a professional perspective."

"Johnny never understood much about them," Lexi said. "He could identify the symbols and give you the down and dirty on them, but he never had any patience for it. I can't imagine him trying to explain it to anyone."

"He's been a little vague on parts," Sam admitted. "Anything you could tell me would be helpful."

"This isn't exactly a street corner discussion. If you want to seriously understand the runes I'd need a couple of hours. I know I'm just a civilian," Lexi said, "but I'd love to help you on this case. The local boys are use to the voodoo cases but this is a new one for them. They don't want to tell me anything but they want me to explain the runes. I can't help if I don't know the whole story. Tell me what's really going on and I'll teach you everything I know."

Sam hesitated. Officially she was unable to share any information about an ongoing investigation. But if she didn't she might never really understand what was going on in the killer's mind.

"Okay, you can stop talking about me now," John said as he returned.

Sam saw that his usual high spirit had apparently returned as well. Give him a little space, she thought, and he can repress with the best of us.

"I'm sorry, Lex," John said, "but duty calls. We've got a briefing at the station as soon as Sam is finished." He smiled ruefully. "I don't know how long we'll be here…"

"Here." Lexi reached into her purse and pulled out a couple of business cards. She handed one to each of them. "When you get a chance… The number's on there. You know the street." She smiled and shook her head. "I still can't believe it's you." She turned to Sam. "If you're serious about wanting to learn," she said, "give me a call."

"What was that all about?" John asked Sam as he watched Lexi walk away.

"We need her help. I need her help."

"I'm not a good teacher?"

Sam looked up at his woeful expression and sighed. "Stick with ice skating."

"Everybody's a critic," he laughed.

******