At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(16)

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should begin with an overview of the Anglo-Saxon rune-row.”

“You don’t know how to interpret them.”

“I could use a refresher. And you, my brilliant but not wholly educated assistant, no doubt need a brief introduction.”

Diana remained silent, which was as close as she ever got to letting Evan know he was right about something.

Evan went to the large wheeled blackboard and, ignoring the stepladder, clambered up to stand on a chair. He wrote six runes on the left side of the board.



“Just as our alphabet is named after the first two characters, alpha and beta,” he said, “the Anglo-Saxon alphabet is named after its first six letters—f, u, th, o, r, and c, where the th sound is represented by a single letter. Thus this particular alphabet is called futhorc.”

Diana rarely looked puzzled, but now her brow furrowed endearingly. “But aren’t there several runic alphabets? How do you know which one the killer is using?”

He hopped down. “Through the process of elimination. When the Vikings brought their alphabet to England, they had to expand it to allow for sounds found only in the English language. Thus, the English rune-row has seven additional runes. Which our killer has used.”

Diana tapped her pencil lightly against her bottom lip. “I’m impressed. You aren’t exactly known for your expertise in all things Viking.”

“Semioticians have very large brains. Among other things.”

She arched an eyebrow.

He looked away as his face caught fire. “At least in relation to the rest of our—” He cleared his throat. “Never mind.”

“Indeed,” Diana said with mock sternness. “With thirty-one letters in this runic alphabet, then, it means we can’t do a one-to-one mapping between the futhorc and our own Latin alphabet.”

“Which has only twenty-six letters. That’s right. Runes have characters for sounds that we don’t use. That’s one of the ways in which things get tricky.”

“One of the ways?”

“Runic writing has no punctuation or capitalization. And no spaces between words. There’s also some disagreement about the order of the letters in the futhorc and their meanings.”

“A challenge.” Her smile was that of a cat with a saucer of milk.

Evan’s smile echoed hers. What a pair of nerds we are, he thought.

“Then let’s get to it,” he said.





CHAPTER 7


Addie pushed her way through the glass door and into the damp-wool, sizzling-bacon warmth of a crowded Mach’s Deli. Gabe waved to her from a table in the back and held up a ticket slip showing he’d already ordered for them. She squeezed past the jostling breakfast line and into the booth across the table from him.

“Two eggs over easy with sausage links and hash browns?” He raised his voice above the roar of the lunch crowd. “And wheat toast, although I don’t know why you bother.”

“You know me like we’re family. Thanks.” She shrugged out of her coat and pulled off her earmuffs while Gabe poured coffee from the urn on the table. “You sure you can spare an hour away from your constituents?”

He gave his usual sleepy grin. “It’ll be close to two hours with the traffic. But that’s okay. My staff thinks I’m meeting with someone from the mayor’s office to discuss light pollution.”

“Instead of having breakfast with your cop sister. Light pollution, though? That’s the best you could do?”

“Light pollution is a real issue if you care about observing the stars and planets. Or getting a good night’s sleep.”

“What does that look like, exactly? A good night’s sleep? And stars?”

“Precisely.” He tilted his head and scrutinized her in the utterly charming manner that had let him get away with metaphorical murder as a kid. “And I’m lying. I’m damn proud to have breakfast with my cop sister. Light pollution be damned.”

“And I’m cool being seen schmoozing with a politician. Even from your party.”

“Good. Now we’ve gotten the sentimental stuff out of the way, we can start prying into each other’s lives.”

She laughed and smiled at her handsome brother in his elegantly tailored suit. Gabe was an alderman for one of the West Side wards, the only one of the five Bisset children who’d chosen politics over policing—not that there was always the distinction between the two that one might wish for. Gabe had the jawline of a superhero and earnest, wide-set eyes that promised he’d always have your back. And it was true—Gabe knew most of her darkest secrets and had never breathed a word about them to their father or brothers. Just as she’d kept his secrets.

No question. Gabe was her favorite.

“Forty-nine!” hollered a woman behind the line.

Gabe grabbed the ticket and pushed out of the booth. “Be right back.”

When he returned, they focused on the food. Gabe, always pickier than Addie about what went into his body, had chosen oatmeal with fruit and nuts, hold the brown sugar.

He ate slowly, seeming to relish every bit of walnut and apple.

She went through her meal like a lawn mower—a skill she’d learned at a young age when lunch and dinner had been battlegrounds for survival.