It had been a week since they returned from Hogwarts.
Thrilling battles and dragon riding had done nothing but excite the heart of a man edging into middle age.
His wife, Mrs. Wick, had so opinions about that.
"What do you think about riding Kiki to work?"
The middle-aged Watson Wick wrapped an arm around his wife's slender waist and whispered this terrible idea into her ear.
He completely ignored Mrs. Wick's eye-roll.
"That would definitely be cool, right?" Watson smacked his lips and muttered to himself. "I just wonder how fast Kiki can fly."
He kept rambling in her ear until Mrs. Wick, unable to bear it any longer, brought her hand down and gave him the kind of sleep a baby would envy.
When he woke the next day, he was full of energy.
Mrs. Wick was brewing the magical tea sent by one of their son's classmates. As soone who had been through it before, Watson knew that beautiful little girl was definitely interested in their son.
"Do you think John is so popular that lots of people are after him?"
As a cool father, Watson was quite open-minded.
In his view, his son was almost seventeen. Having a girlfriend was perfectly normal.
Mrs. Wick was reading the letter the girl had sent. Every word on it had clearly been written with the utmost care, without a single correction or smudge.
"The post has arrived."
Watson saw a letter dropped into their mailbox. He set down the bread he was about to eat and went outside.
When he ca back and sat down, he saw his son coming downstairs.
He placed the envelope aside for the mont and said to John with a hint of regret, "I had twenty n stationed at the school gates, all carrying Chicago Typewriters, plus three Gatling guns and a tank I acquired."
He secretly took a bite of bread. It was a bit dry, so he drank so milk and smacked his lips. "There was also an ard helicopter. Your grandfather borrowed it from the Soviets. Didn't even get a chance to use it."
John looked at his father in silence.
"Setting aside how the helicopter would even get in, where exactly did you buy a tank?"
Clearly, John had doubts about the origins of Watson's equipnt.
"There's an Arican immigrant nad Yuri Orlov. They call him the Lord of War. There's nothing he can't get," Watson said casually, holding bread in one hand and glancing at the envelope in the other. "I have so business dealings with him."
He noticed an emblem on the envelope, an ouroboros shaped like the number eight, and frowned slightly.
Among the people he knew, none used such a mark as a seal.
John smiled, sat down across from him and said in surprise, "Aren't you in the hotel business now?"
It seed his precious son knew nothing about his father's real dealings.
If one was going to do business, one might as well go all the way.
Watson was a businessman, and he understood that whether they were underground kingpins or hidden investors, the sa rules applied.
They all needed order, a place like a financial exchange to unify them.
At the sa ti, what Watson was doing earned him governnt support.
Those underground forces could never be completely eradicated. New ones would always erge.
Watson's role was to establish rules where chaos once reigned, forcing them to follow order.
That was exactly what the authorities wanted to see.
As a result, the hotel's establishnt, permits, and approvals faced no obstacles. Those who failed to recognize the situation could also serve as examples, building his influence after its founding.
Since he intended to make examples of others, having his own ard force was essential.
"A hotel needs so security asures," Watson said, though it was far more than that.
He had set up legitimate rcenary and security companies.
Unlike the underground bosses, most of his recruits were veterans who had retired from the military.
There was also an elent of goodwill toward the military. This plan helped solve employnt and retirent issues for forr soldiers.
Thinking of the hotel he had spent so long planning and building, Watson sighed. "Magic really is incredible. I thought the house was blown up, but it turned out perfectly fine."
If only constructing his hotel could be as simple as waving a wand.
John paid no attention to his father's daydreaming and went to have breakfast.
Only then did Watson have ti to take a closer look at the envelope.
To his surprise, the ouroboros shaped like the number eight on it seed to stretch and move.
"1997, Little Whinging, Surrey, 6 Privet Drive. To Watson Wick."
"Sender: 1927, John Wick."
Watson froze when he saw the words appear.
Then the handwriting changed.
"Do not let discover it."
He hesitated. He rembered his son saying that magical items of unknown origin were often dangerous.
What if this was so kind of trap? That could be a serious problem.
As he wavered, the words shifted again.
"Ask for strawberry jam, and I will give you blueberry jam."
Watson glanced at the blueberry and strawberry jam on the table.
"John, pass the strawberry jam," he said casually.
A few seconds later, he stared at the envelope, wondering whose prank this was.
His son was not an idiot. He must have passed the strawberry jam.
Treating it as a prank, Watson did not even bother to check. He opened the jar, scooped up a spoonful, and spread it on his bread.
Just as he was about to tell John about it, he realized sothing was wrong the mont he took a bite.
He lowered his head and saw the blue jam. Staring at John's expression, which did not seem like a joke, he probed, "Did you do that on purpose, or by accident?"
"By accident."
John's answer only made Watson more suspicious.
At that mont, the writing on the letter shifted again.
"Open it after I leave."
Wanting to get to the bottom of it, Watson looked at his son, who was eating bread with plain water, and asked, "Are you going to that… magic company today?"
Even saying "magic company" made Watson feel conflicted.
He had worked so hard to build his own business, only to find that his son had already gotten ahead years ago.
Holding the envelope, Watson examined it repeatedly, occasionally glancing at his son.
That brief breakfast felt unusually long.
At last, John finished eating and headed down to the basent.
Mrs. Wick brought over a cup of freshly brewed jasmine tea and set it down beside Watson.
Watson tiptoed to the basent door and pressed his ear against it to listen.
After confirming that John had left, he hurried back upstairs. Instead of opening the envelope, he locked all the doors and windows and drew the curtains.
He looked extrely secretive.
"What's wrong with you?" Mrs. Wick asked, amused by her husband's behavior.
At his age, he was still acting like a child who had not grown up.
Watson took a deep breath and opened the envelope.
If this was real, how could his son have sent him a letter from 1927?
It sounded absurd, but what had just happened made him take it seriously.
Even Mrs. Wick was drawn in by his actions, curious about what could make him act this way.
Watson opened the envelope. Inside was a sheet of parchnt.
And a beetle, a golden beetle.
The beetle fluttered its wings. When it opened, a black octahedral stone was revealed inside.
The first line he saw made Watson's heart sink.
"Take the stone and confirm whether I am dead."
"This is the Resurrection Stone. If I am dead, you will be able to see my soul."
Watson felt dizzy. He had to grip the table to steady himself.
If the Resurrection Stone could reveal the souls of the dead, then if John had died, the Wick family, as those closest to him, would see his spirit.
"What's wrong?" Mrs. Wick noticed sothing was off with her husband.
She moved to co over.
"Don't co any closer!" Watson shouted.
Mrs. Wick stopped in her tracks, staring at him in shock.
Watson's fingers trembled as he slowly reached out to touch the Resurrection Stone.
He did not dare let his wife co closer. If this was real, the shock would be enough to break a mother.
He picked it up and slowly raised his head.
Seeing no sign of any soul, Watson let out a long breath of relief and continued reading.
"If I am alive, follow the beetle's guidance and find my sword."
"This sword was forged with my blood. Only those closest to can locate it."
"Bring Basil and Riddle. The owls possess guiding magic. They can lead you to my house in the magical world."
After Watson read the final word, the parchnt began to fold itself, shrinking into a card the size of a business card.
An ouroboros symbol glowed faintly with a golden light upon it.
The golden beetle flew into Watson's palm.
A sharp pain followed as the beetle bit into his finger, drawing his blood.
After taking enough, it lifted off again.
"Quick, follow it!" Watson urged.
Mrs. Wick set down her cup and hurried out with him.
They got into the car and chased after the golden beetle.
The beetle moved incredibly fast.
___
Déjà vu ? (^_-) Heheh~
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