On the evening of March 20th, an owl secures a package to the window sill of Kurby Bagnold's flat. It taps the window and quickly flies away.

The small box is wrapped in brown paper, with Bagnold's name and the building's address scrawled on it, but not the number of his flat. The owl had been watching the building for some time.

Plain parchment is attached to the box. When unfolded, it reads:

Hermes sends his regards

---

The handwriting is simple and blocky. The animated picture is a copy of an old photo taken in a pub near Calaveras.

Upon opening the box, a chill emanates from the inside. There, atop a bed of silvery leaves, rests a severed index finger, cut clean at the base of the finger. Once open, the box would return to normal temperature within a few hours.

The finger has been kept perfectly preserved, save for one detail.

A yellow petal is stuck to the nail bed, mimicking the shape of the missing fingernail. The flower petal matches the flower sent to Bagnold on Valentine's Day.[1]

1.	For the Defender

He was still messing around in the kitchen, cleaning up after a late dinner, when a tapping came at the window.

Kurby paused, glancing over just in time to catch the fluttering of a departing owl. He took one last sip of the firewhiskey that he'd been nursing as he finished the dishes, set the empty glass aside, and headed over to retrieve the delivery.

Outside the kitchen window, a small package rested on the windowsill. It was wrapped in brown paper, with a plain-looking white note attached to it.

Raising his eyebrows, Kurby cracked the window open, glancing up at the night sky as he slid the package inside with two fingers. Outside, the night was cold and crisp, with only the faintest sliver of a moon peeking through the clouds. Whatever owl had made the delivery, it was already long gone into the night.

Getting any sort of owl post this late was hardly usual. Rosheen, his mother, and occasionally Shivawn were the only ones who really wrote him at home. There was a handful of other friends and comrades who knew his home address -- Zelda and Rafe, Duncan McBoid, Genevieve Garcia, Nemo and the Reids -- but none of them were regular correspondents.  Most people simply owled him at work.

Feeling a little unjustly paranoid, he held out his hand to summon his wand from where he'd left it on the counter, and then used it to levitate the small, unassuming package onto the kitchen table.

A quick check for active spells revealed nothing malevolent. No hexes, no curses, though there was some sort of charm on the package that shone blue like a freezing charm. Frowning slightly, the werewolf hunter detached the note and unfolded it.

An animated photo of Nate Briggs awkwardly made faces back at him.

Hermes sends his regards.

Kurby stared at it.

What the hell was Hermes? Brows knitting, he turned the note over, but there was nothing written on the other side. And sends his regards...? That sounded like something out of the stupid Winter Thrones thing, the annoying Muggle whatever-it-was that Charlie Harris kept sounding off about nonstop. In fact, Kurby was nearly certain that it was from Winter Thrones, because the normally-quiet Sasaki had gotten vocally upset and started punching Harris in the arm the last time he'd started on about it, saying something about Harris making things go bad and spoil.[1]

Who the hell would send him a photo of Nate Briggs and reference Muggle pop culture?

There was a sinking feeling in his stomach, but there was also no way he wasn't going to go through with this. Working quickly and meticulously, Kurby unwrapped the package, taking care not to tear the brown paper. Then, carefully, he eased it open.

With a jolt, he dropped the entire box on the floor.

It took him a minute to catch his breath, to slow down his heart rate enough to convince himself that it wasn't going to jump out of his throat. Clenching his teeth tightly, he picked up the box between two fingers, and then used his wand to gather up the silver leaves that had tumbled all over the floor.

The other finger had rolled somewhere under the table. He used his wand to retrieve that, too.

What the hell was this supposed to mean? Kurby set the reassembled package back down on the table and crossed his arms tightly against his chest, staring aghast at it. Was Briggs dead? And the slightly-squashed flower that was attached in place of a nail... that looked hauntingly familiar.[2]

Blake had told him to let her know if he received any other strange packages. Kurby knew that if he sent her a patronus now, the Auror trainee would be at his flat almost instantly. She'd probably be ecstatic: another lead to follow up on, another mystery to report, she could take pride in the fact that he'd respected her enough to call her for help, and she could reassure him that the Aurors would make sure that everything would be fine.

The thought of having to listen to Fauna Blake as she tried to comfort him made the werewolf hunter feel even more queasy than the severed finger had. Besides, he thought with a sudden, sharp-edged clarity, someone had sent this to his flat. And what if Briggs was dead? And even if he wasn't, how the hell was Kurby supposed to explain how he knew Briggs to the entire bleeding Auror Corps once Blake reported this?

It only took him a moment to make his decision. Lid back on the box; box shoved in the freezer of his ice box, bloody finger and all. He pocketed the note, then went to fetch his cloak and silver chain.

If Briggs was dead, the first thing he could do was find out for sure.

Jaw set, Kurby checked his gear one last time, took a deep breath, and then headed for the roof.

1.	The ninth episode of the third season of Game of Thrones will not air until 2013.
2.	For the Defender