"Hey Joy," I heard Pete's voice on the phone. "What would you do if you shared the heart of a dragon and had to solve a case jumping in shadows."

I lower my head with a sigh.

"Pete," I said. "That does not sound like a mystery novel."

"But there is a mystery to it," Pete insists. "Her partner, John Hancock, was killed in a building where he was to question a eyewitness alone. He was a temporary partner because the other guy had shot at a ice-cream clown machine and he needed to be cleared by a shrink to be on the job again."

In that time Pete was talking; I take out a bowl, dip some cereal in, pour milk in, and began eating using a spoon at a table.

"Boring," I said. "Sounds like a Bones episode."

"Well, what would you do?" Pete asks.

"Call myself the shadow woman and use the shadows to surprise my victims," I said. "Yesterday Loki came back and you just happened to call."

Today is Monday, May 4th.

In New Jersey.

"I have been going off that previous adventure you took me on," Pete said.

"Which was wild," I said.

"Really wild," Pete said. "And very inspiring."

I pause.

"So Bryan is not just a novelist but a shooter?" I ask.

"...Oh damn it," Pete said.

I have a short laugh.

"You have a lot to rewrite," I said.

"It is not a problem, I will copy and paste the whole novel into 'deleted novels' and rework from scratch," Pete said. "Now I have to put myself in his shoes."

"Bye Pete," I said, hanging up.

I put the phone into my pocket. I look over to the paper on the counter being a letter from Jacob Steel. Apparently Jacob is still hunting down demons capable of appearing at will and he is really having more fun because of a gate way to another world. Thanks to that gate way Jacob has met someone he considered to be the one. Not a woman, but a man! Hahaha. Anyhow the two men have been going over their differences for a common cause.

This demon of interest Jacob has fallen for is named Foryer Jenkins. A rather short man by Jacob's descriptions.

"You silly man," I said, shaking my head dipping in cereal into my mouth.

I have a smile reading the part where Foryer and Jacob were fleeing from hyena like wolves because they intruded into a man's house. These animals were not of 'Midgard' but another realm. A demon realm. It is not mentioned in the Norse God Mythology so it may not be considered important to the gods.

I shake my head with a sigh.

Jacob is having more fun than I.

I look forwards seeing the kitchen wall is decorated in Jurassic Park fan decorations and not a picture of me on it. Sad how someone can make a mistake like mine and try not to get close to anyone. That's what I have been doing. I had long came to a headcanon that if I kiss a well known person then Bob would essentially kill them and take over their bodies. Do I want to be responsible for the death of an innocent person?

No, I do not.

I have a fine line between killing innocent people and killing not-so-innocent people.

I turn my head away from the paper.

"Hey!" Bob said. "I have not finished reading the letter."

"Too bad," I said, swallowing a bite of cereal.

"Finish reading the letter," Bob said.

"What?" I ask. "Are you gonna replay a horrible movie in my mind again?"

"I will replay a song you hate," Bob said. "For a hundred years."

I sigh turning my head towards the letter.

"Slow poke," I grumble.

"Your mortal friend has adventures Asgardians like I would envy," Bob said.

"Isn't mine that envy?" I ask.

"No," Bob said. "Yours is just laughable."

"If I stabbed a fork into my hand would you be in pain?" I ask.

"No," Bob said. "Don't think about that. It would render your hand out of work."

"It is the thought that counts," I said, then take another bite out of the cereal.

Pete is writing about a fictional character named Elizabeth Sweets a con artist working for the FBI with a novelist named Bryan Skyler. In the Sweets books (That I have read) Bryan has little to no experience shooting on target and loves clowns while Elizabeth does not share the same feelings toward clowns.

Knock,knock,knock.

"Can't read while I open a door," I said, getting up from the table with a grin on my face.

"But you can finish reading it!" Bob declares.

I laugh headed towards the door.

A paper slips under the door landing on the rug.

"Impatient mailman," I said, picking up the envelope.

I open the door and look both ways.

No mailman in sight.

"That is a little...Weird," I said,shutting the door.

"First the demon hunter's letter and then this new one," Bob said. "I want to read this new addition to his adventures."

"Fanboy," I said, walking over to the table.

"I prefer to call myself a fangirl," Bob said.

No return address, no stamps, just my address.

"Loki must have figured where I stay," I said, sliding my finger under the fold.

"Or he has no idea where you live," Bob said. "Finish that letter!"

"Little OCD much?" I ask.

"Just finish the letter, please," Bob said.

I put the envelope down on the table, use my power to make the letter float up in my view, and eat cereal using a spoon. Apparently Bob can only read slower than I do than most Asgardians since 'It has been awhile since I read novels on paper back' as he claimed. I finish the cereal in the time that it took for Bob to finish reading the letter.

"Okay, I am done," Bob said.

I put down the bowl placing it on the table then rip the envelope open.

"By Odin's beard, you are vicious opening envelopes!" Bob said. "Careful with the letter!"

I roll a eye.

"You have been living with me for 2 years," I said. "You should be used to this."

"But I am not when there's a inked stamp on the back," Bob said.

I slip the letter out of the torn envelope.

"You have been invited by The Great Painting to stay," I read out loud.

"YOU HAVE BEEN INVITED!" Bob booms.

"Bob, no need to boom," I said. "I know what it says."

"You should be honored," Bob said.

"Uh no, I am not," I said.

"Not every day does a Demigod receive a letter from a Great Painting," Bob said.

"That sounds silly when you say it," I said.

"That's because mortals usually get it," Bob said. "The ones without anyone to care about them and no where to go." His voice lowers. "When a Demigod has been invited there is a chance something left behind from the era of kings is in that painting."

"Uh, you know that is vandalism," I said.

"Entering a painting is honorable for mortal gods," Bob said.

"Tearing open a painting is not," I said, shaking my head.

"You have no idea how to enter a Great Painting," Bob said. "How typical."

I turn the letter over.

"No instructions on where to go," I said, turning the letter back over. "How cheap."

"No instructions!" Bob booms, again, like a fangirl.

"Bob, stop repeating me," I said. "You are hurting my ears."

"I am not repeating you, Joy," Bob said. "This means you will be guided by your gut or they will bring the ride to you."

Simply unbelievable.

I continue reading the letter.

"You will be greeted by the former resident and then enter," I read out loud.

"...You lied," Bob said. "That should count as a instruction."

"You do not need any baggage, luggage, or anything of your realm," I continue reading feeling a creepy feeling traveling up my skin. "The Great House will take care of it. If you stay for 24 hours within the Great House and it likes you; you can become the owner of it and share the painting to others. But if things go awry you might not be able to get out as you please."

I notice the words appear in golden text as it were being read.

"When you meet the former resident you will be marked," I read. "Message ends here."

"...That is not a letter a Great Painting would normally send," Bob said. "Rare for a painting to end a message so..."

"Cold," I finish.

"Yes," Bob said, in a low voice.

"How many Great Paintings are there?" I ask.

"Many of them, of course," Bob said. "Most of them are good lads and take care of their families."

"Wouldn't it get lonely for the families?" I ask.

"You see, child, great paintings share a connection," Bob said. "They are like a neighborhood where time is largely different to this realm. Though there are some paintings considered so dark they are outcasted from the rest and given to people who seem fit. I believe this letter comes from a Great Painting somewhere between the good and the bad."

"What about if the families had children?" I ask.

"When the children are at a age to attend High School; The Great Paintings send them to orphanages," Bob explains. "The children can never come back to The Great Paintings. But it is difficult for the children to adjust into the new age they never grew up in."

"Aww," I said. "Tell me you are lying."

"I will never lie about the Great Paintings," Bob said.

"So when they are old and all," I said. "What happens to the previous tenants?"

"Thrown out and the new owners get a letter," Bob said. "No one knows where the Great Paintings are really held at."

I put down the letter.

"Well," I said. "That makes two of us."