"You are Myrrh, the bitter, the difficult, who reconciles / combatants, who sears and who forces those to love who do not acknowledge Eros. Everyone calls you Myrrh, but I call you Flesh-eater and / Inflamer of the heart. I am not sending you to far-off Arabia; I am not sending you to Babylon, but I am sending you to her…so that you may serve me on the mission to her, so that / you may attract her to me."

-"Love spell of attraction", excerpt from The Greek Magical Papyri

The door to the antique shop chimed, it's echo reverberating through the stillness of the night.

"Bloody—" Henry's hand slipped while making an incision into the dead rat. Tossing the botched autopsy into a bin, Henry hustled upstairs, not wanting the sound to wake Abe. Who had the nerve to come by at this hour anyway? He strode across the antiques shop and jerked open the door, and froze.

"Hello, Henry."

"Nooooooo!"

HMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHM

"Henry. Henry, wake up!" A hand was shaking Henry's shoulder. The smell of coffee brought him to his senses. He peeled open his eyes to see Abe hunched over him with a worried expression. "You were dreaming about Adam again, weren't you?"

"Not dreaming!" Henry scoffed. "It was a nightmare. I just can't believe it. The bastard is bedridden and still manages to haunt me!"

Abe gave him a knowing look. "Have you given any more thought to—"

"No." Henry said with his don't-you-dare-go-there father voice. "Adam haunting me in my dreams is still better than Adam haunting me while I'm awake. Besides, the man was crazy enough as it was. I'd hate to see a vengeful Adam." Henry got out of bed and wrapped his robe around himself, tying the knot with a firmness that indicated the conversation was over.

Abe shook his head as he headed back to the kitchen. He set the morning paper down on the table. "Here, this'll take your mind off it."

As Henry sat down at the table his eyes caught the headline:

Third historian dead. Police yet to find plausible suspect.

Henry scanned the article. Multiple deaths…no known suspect…ancient Greek artifacts. He let out a sigh. If only Jo would enlist his help on her cases again. Nearly three months had gone by since he told her the truth - well, tried to. He had waited too long. By the time he got to telling her he was immortal, she had so little trust in him that his word held no credibility. He cringed as he remembered her barking laugh. Henry, if you're going to keep lying to me, you could at least try to make it believable! She'd requested the precinct work with another M.E. for the time being. She needed time to think, she said. But Henry wondered for how long.

"She wouldn't ignore me indefinitely….would she?"

"Just give her time." Abe's reply startled Henry, who hadn't realized he'd spoken his last thoughts aloud. He took a slow, brooding sip of coffee.

Rrrrring.

The coffee splashed as Henry jerked his hand. How he hated when the phone rang! He could only think of two calls that mattered at all to him - Jo or Adam. One call he craved, another he dreaded.

Rrrrrring.

Sensing Henry's reluctance, Abe got up and answered the phone. "Hel-lo?"

Henry tried to gauge who it was by the expression on Abe's face, but Abe kept his expression uncharacteristically neutral.

"It's for you." Abe extended the phone.

Henry raised his eyebrow in question.

It's a man, Abe mouthed.

What was that supposed to mean?

"Yes?" Henry said into the phone.

"Dr. Morgan!" came a voice that was most certainly not Adam's.

Henry's shoulders relaxed. "Yes, this is Dr. Morgan. How may I help you?"

"This is Aubrey Griffin. I'm not sure if you remember me, but I was—"

"From...the Roman dagger case?" Henry furrowed his brows at Abe, who shrugged his shoulders in return.

"Yes, that's right! Dr. Morgan, I was wondering," Mr. Griffin cleared his throat, "have you had a look at the paper yet today?"

"Ah, yes of course, the historian murder case," Henry said in understanding. "Did you know any of the victims?"

"Not personally, no."

"That's a relief. Nonetheless, I'm sorry to hear the news. That must be quite nerve-racking for someone in your field of work."

"Indeed. Which is why I am keen on solving the case. That and, well, I thought you might like to know a little tidbit about the victims. You see, they have something in common."

"Yes, it says here that they were all historians specializing in ancient Greece."

"We can be more precise, Dr. Morgan. They were all tracking down an ancient Greek artifact that I find quite interesting and think would be of interest to you, as well."

Henry was quite done with ancient artifacts, but decided to humor the man. "And what was that?"

"A lost page of the Papyri Graecae Magicae, said to have been once in the possession of a slave of Julius Caesar's. It is rumored to contain a love spell that can bring back dear ones from death, among other things."

"Indeed?" Then thinking his voice might contain a bit too much interest, Henry added, "But surely, no one believes those spells actually work."

"Oh you'd be surprised how many do, Dr. Morgan. And it looks like our killer might be one of them."

"Do you have any ideas of who the killer might be?"

"Well, I can't be certain, but..."

"Go on," Henry prompted.

"I was eating at this Greek restaurant the other day—Athanasia, do you know it? Hm, well I overheard the owner engaged in a heated debate on the phone. My Greek is a little rusty, to be honest, but I could pick out some key phrases. I am most certain that he mentioned "ancient", "papyrus" and "death".

"Did you get a chance to speak with him?" Henry asked.

"As you know, Doctor, my name is known in certain anthropology circles, so I'd like to keep a low profile on this case, at least until the culprit is caught. But if say, you were to gather some concrete evidence and share that with the police, they might be quite appreciative of that, wouldn't you say?"

Henry's mind darted to Jo. "I think you might be on to something, Mr. Griffin. What's the address?"

HMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHM

With a spring in his step that Henry hadn't had in months, he walked up to Athanasia Restaurant. It was a small hole in the wall really. He could see a lone customer seated by the window working on a kebab. Henry swung open the door determined to bring back any piece of evidence to prove himself to Jo. (And it wouldn't hurt to learn more about that ancient book of spells!)

"Welcome to Athanasia. Just one?" A young hostess of small stature greeted him in a thick accent.

"Yes, just one." Henry looked around.

"This way please." The young woman—a teenager, really—started to lead him to a window seat.

"Actually," Henry eyed the entrance to the kitchen, "would you mind if I sat at that table over there?"

The hostess looked puzzled and in the most polite tone possible said, "Noisy by kitchen, sir."

"I don't mind. I haven't been to Greece in a long time and enjoy the smells and sounds of an authentic Greek kitchen." He gave an enthusiastic smile.

The hostess nodded in feigned understanding. "As you like, sir."

As she wiped down the plastic tablecloth, Henry glanced at the kitchen. Fortunately, the doorway was door-less, and he could see a cook working industriously in the back, perhaps preparing for a catering order. Mid-40s, olive complexion, strong build, rather short. Could this be the man Mr. Griffin had overheard?

"…look over menu, sir?"

Henry's attention snapped back to hostess-turned-waitress.

"Sorry," Henry took the menu from her outstretched hand, "Could you recommend something?"

"Pork souvlaki is good," she suggested.

"I'll take that then, and a cup of coffee," he said handing her the menu. "Efharistó."

"Ah," her eyes sparkled. "You Greek?"

"No, no. But I spent some time there. Mills ellinká?"

"Me, Greek?"

Henry nodded.

"Not—"

"Zosime!" A voice barked from the kitchen. The waitress cringed. Henry looked up sharply. The cook had his head down and was engrossed in the food preparation. Henry scanned the kitchen for the origin of the voice, but didn't see anyone else.

"Sorry. I come back with your food." Zosime smiled, but her warm brown eyes held a sadness in them that told of difficult times.

When Zosime scuttled back to the kitchen, Henry then spotted the origin of the voice. A largish man with a mustache wiped his hands on a kitchen towel, which he then chucked in a bin. The man locked eyes with Henry, who quickly turned his gaze elsewhere. As he was waiting for his meal, he glanced around the restaurant for anything unusual. Other than the large, scenic photographs of Greece hanging on the walls, there wasn't much to look at.

Then the phone rang from inside the kitchen. The burly man picked it up and began chatting in Greek. Henry tried to make out the conversation. He got bits and pieces of the conversation—a few pleasantries, but was regretting not having dedicated more time to the language. Then the man started asking questions. Who?...An expert you say?...Where can I find him? Henry smiled to himself. What he heard should be enough to justify calling Jo.

Then came a loud crash from inside the kitchen. The man muttered something into the phone and slammed it on its receiver. He whipped around and stalked over to a part of the kitchen that Henry couldn't see from where he was sitting. The cook looked up from his work, eyes concerned.

What is the matter with you? Can't you do anything right? The man's voice traveled into the restaurant. Zosime must have dropped something. Henry heard some shuffling. The man had lowered his voice to a point where Henry couldn't make out the words, but by the tone it didn't sound pleasant. A minute later, Zosime came dashing out of the kitchen. The man stopped in the kitchen door frame, eyes narrowed as they followed the young woman as she left restaurant. Shaking his head, the man stepped over to Henry's table and removed any trace of anger from his face.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said to Henry. "I'll be serving you today."

Henry stood up and straightened his scarf. "That won't be necessary." He then hustled out the door to catch up with Zosime.

"Wait!" Henry shouted after her small form receding down the sidewalk. "Wait, Zosime, right?"

She stopped, turning to look back at him. Catching up to her, Henry said between breaths, "Are you alright?"

"I-," She looked distraught. "I'm fine. It's-"

"What is it? Did that man hurt you?"

Zosime shook her head. "No, it's my muskulos." She squeezed her left bicep with her right hand. "They no function sometimes. I—" she let out a sigh, "can't keep job, I fail again and again."

"Your muscles keep failing you," Henry stated. Zosime nodded. Henry studied her forearms since her upper arms were covered by her shirt. For someone her size, she looked unusually strong. He definitely wouldn't expect her to drop even a heavy tray of dishes. "I'm a doctor; maybe I can help," Henry explained. "Have you been experiencing muscle failure for a long time?"

"Tree month?"

"How often does it happen?"

"I don't know...a few time per week?"

Henry racked his brain for a number of possible causes, but given her robust physique, couldn't see any obvious causes. Her face showed signs of fatigue, and perhaps lack of a healthy diet, but nothing that would explain this spontaneous muscle failure.

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"No, no money."

"Oh you shouldn't have to pay. You can have your parents to take you to a clinic."

"No parents. I live in shelter."

"I'm sorry," Henry put a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you come to my home so I can examine you further?"

Zosime's eyes widened and she stepped back. Henry shook his head at himself, realizing that might not be the best way to offer help to a vulnerable teen.

"I'm sorry, how about we take the train to my friend's shop. I can give you a quick medical examination there. It's open to the public now and is a block away from the train so you can just hop back on when we're finished."

Zosime eyed him for a quiet moment, but then seeming to deem him trustworthy, the corner of her mouth turned up. "You help me?"

"Of course," Henry smiled at her. And maybe she could help him.

HMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHM

"Hi, Abe." Henry called as they stepped through the shop entrance.

"Hello!" While seated at his desk, Abe peered over his glasses. Noticing Henry's guest, he added, "And who is this lovely young lady?"

"She's from the Greek restaurant. I need to examine her muscular system. Would you mind if we sat over there?"

"Not at all." Abe got up and pulled a chair over to a corner of the store.

"I'll be right back with my med kit," Henry told Zosime. As he headed out the room, he noticed a package lying on the table. It was addressed to Dr. Henry Morgan.

"What's this?"

"Oh, that?" Abe gestured to the package. "It came in the mail for you."

Henry looked at his name on the package warily. No return address.

Rrrring.

Henry jumped, then cursed under his breath. Abe locked eyes with Henry. They stood like that for one moment. It can't be.

Rrrring. Henry picked up.

"Dr. Morgan!" Mr. Griffin's voice called through the other end. Henry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Did you receive my gift?"

"Yes," Henry eyed the package. "What is it?"

"You'll see. I noticed it sparked your interest when you visited my office, and wanted to offer it in thanks for your help on the case."

"That's…very kind of you," Henry said.

"It's nothing. I'm assuming you've already been to the restaurant? Did you hear or see anything useful?"

"Actually, I heard a conversation similar to the one you described. I'll make sure to share it with—" Henry remembered the girl was in the room. Not wanting to alarm her by mentioning the police, he finished, "—my colleagues."

"That's great. Keep me posted, if you will."

"Certainly, Mr. Griffin." Henry hung up the phone. Abe was giving him a strange look.

"Gifts and phone calls," Abe commented. "Sounds like you've found yourself a new stalker."

Thank you for reading! Your feedback is appreciated!