It was early afternoon and I was at the Cal State Fullerton library.
I waved to my cute friend working behind the help desk. He smiled brightly and rose from his chair, but I breezed past, blew him a kiss, and hurried into one of the elevators going up. At the third floor, I wound my way through a maze of book aisles until I came upon the special collections room.
Cal State Fullerton had many special collections. In the science fiction wing, there was a room devoted solely to local science fiction authors. One could find original Dune manuscripts by Frank Herbert along with his personal notes. My favorite was the Philip K. Dick room. The world at large thought the man had a screw loose, and maybe he did. But I happened to think he was onto something. Or something was onto him.
Anyway, this was the Occult Reading Room, which consisted of extremely rare manuscripts. Like with the science fiction room, these books couldn't be checked out. Only admired. Or feared. And, yes, there were one or two books in here that definitely aroused some fear. Okay, a lot of fear.
Except today I wasn't here to read books, or even to peruse the shelves. I was here to meet a young man. A young man who, I suspected, wasn't so young.
I hung a right into the Occult Reading Room and wasn't too surprised to see that it was empty. Well, empty of anything living, that is. A very old man in spirit form sat in one of the chairs and appeared to be deep in thought. Then again, most ghosts appeared to be in deep thought. As I came in, he looked up at me, startled, frowned grumpily, and promptly disappeared into the nether-sphere.
Well, excuse me.
The reading room was really a library unto itself. It had its own shelves, its own filing system, its own desks and reading chairs. Even its own help desk, where I rang the little bell.
As I waited, I could hear something scratching from deeper within the reading room, followed by some whispering and even the occasional moan. I shivered. Creepy as hell.
A young man soon appeared from the back offices. What he did back there, I didn't know. Who he was, exactly, I didn't know that either. For all the world, he appeared as just another handsome college student with a bright smile.
His name was Archibald Maximus, and I suspected that Cal State Fullerton, unbeknownst to the students and faculty, housed perhaps one of the world's most dangerous collections of arcane and rare books, books full of dark power. Books that could do great harm in the hands of the wrong person.
I suspected young Archibald Maximus, or Max, was a gatekeeper of sorts. A watcher. A protector.
His particularly bright aura suggested I might be onto something. Although not as bright as the angel I'd met last month, Max's aura was damn bright. So much so, that it suggested he wasn't entirely of this world.
Or I could be as crazy as a loon.
"Hello, Samantha," he said, smiling, reaching across the counter and taking both of my hands in his, as a grandfather might do with his grandchild.
"You remembered my name," I said, looking from his slightly pale, but quite warm, hands. I briefly reveled in the warmth.
His eyes twinkled. "How could I forget?"
His name was Archibald Maximus, and, yes, he sounded more like a Greek god than a young librarian. Somehow, I suspected it was closer to the former than the latter.
Anyway, this was one of the rare times that I didn't worry about my cold flesh. Archibald, after all, was very aware of who I really was.
When I was done acting like a bashful schoolgirl, I opened the box I'd been carrying with me and presented the contents to Archibald. He silently held up my newest medallion and let some of the muted light play off its golden surface. The three emerald roses sparkled with what I was certain was supernatural intensity. As he studied it, I heard something call my name from deeper within the reading room, near where I knew some of the darker books were shelved. I gasped.
"Ssssister," the voices whispered, melding into one slithering, slippery sound.
"Ignore them," said Maximus, as he continued to study the medallion.
"Ssssister Moon...come to us."
The hair on my arms stood on end. "They know my name," I said.
"Yes."
"Who are they?"
"Bound spirits."
"Bound in the books?"
He nodded without looking at me. "Yes. Waiting for someone to release them."
I shivered again. "They sound...evil."
He looked at me sharply and the merriment in his bright eyes briefly faded. Then he gave me a lopsided grin. "It's why I'm here, Sister Moon," he said. But before I could respond to that, he plunged forward, somewhat excitedly, waving the medallion. "You seem to have a penchant for attracting rare artifacts."
"How rare?"
"The rarest. Hang on..."
He moved lithely around the center help desk, swept past me, and headed deeper into the reading room. I noted that the whisperings stopped in his presence. While I watched from the help desk, he used a step stool to fetch a thick book along the upper shelves. No, not the upper shelves...it was resting on top of the shelf. No one would have known it was there. No one but him.
He came back a moment later, blowing dust off what appeared to be leather skin, but with an odd yellow tint to it. "Is that leather?" I asked.
He set the heavy book down in front of me and, as more dust billowed up, looked deep into me. "Not quite, Samantha. This is human skin."
"Eww."
"Eww is right," he said, but that didn't stop him from eagerly cracking open the oversized book. "Human skin makes a surprisingly suitable book cover, as you can see. Pliable without breaking."
"Eww again."
Fighting back a dry heave or two, I did my best to ignore the yellowish edges of the book and watched as Max carefully turned what I knew to be a different kind of skin. Vellum, or lamb skin. I had, after all, read The Historian. You can't help come out of that book a minor expert on ancient bookbinding.
Anyway, Max was working his way slowly through what appeared to be a very old book filled with wonderfully ornate and colorful drawings. Page after page of strange-looking creatures, symbols and coded drawings. Finally, he stopped at a page containing four drawings, two of which looked very familiar.
"My medallions," I said.
"Yes," he said. "Two of them."
Indeed, there were the medallions with the ruby and emerald inlaid roses. Also pictured were medallions inlaid with sapphire and diamond roses.
"Who wrote this book?" I asked.
He looked up at me and a very strange grin appeared on his handsome face. "Me."
"But it's centuries old."
"I do good work."
"But...who are you?"
He held my gaze for a heartbeat longer, and his bright green eyes, I knew, somehow looked deeply into my soul. What it found there - or who it found there - I may never know. But after a moment, he said simply, "Hey, I'm just a simple librarian."
"Bullshit. That's like saying I'm just another mom."
"But isn't that also true, Samantha? Do not many things define you?"
"So, you really are a librarian?"
"In part." He reached over and patted my hand warmly, then turned his attention back to the ancient text. I noted that his nail, unlike mine, was round and smooth and very human-looking. He said, "There are four known medallions in the world, Sam. You have now possessed two."
"Who made the medallions?"
"We're not sure, but we suspect whoever initiated your race."
"You mean whoever created vampires."
"Yes."
"And who's we?"
Archibald Maximus smiled at me from behind the counter. Our faces, I noted, were a mere eight inches apart as we both hovered over the old book. He could have been just another college student working his way through school. Could have been. But wasn't.
"Others like me, Samantha."
"Other...librarians?"
He dipped his head a little. "Yes, something like that."
I suddenly had an impression in my thoughts of various old souls positioned around the world, fighting a fight that few knew existed, and fewer still would ever believe in. I relayed my impression to Maximus.
He dipped his head. "Your impression is correct, Sam."
I next had an impression of the Asian philosophical yin and yang symbol, the white and black teardrop interconnected, and I understood that Archibald Maximus, and others like him, were here to balance a darkness that had taken root.
He said, "Do you understand, Samantha?"
"I think so, yes, but - "
"Good, good. Now, the medallions were created for specific purposes."
I blinked, got the hint. He didn't want to talk about it. At least, not now. I said, "And why's that?"
"The reason, Samantha, is hidden even from me."
"But why?"
"The same reason why all the secrets of the universe are hidden from all humans, Samantha. Life on earth is our chance to grow, to learn, to observe, to interact, to trust, to give and to receive." He smiled sweetly at me. For someone who was centuries old, he was sure a cute little bugger. He said, "Now, much of what I just described would not be possible if we had all the answers."
"So, you're as much in the dark as me."
Now he gave me a slightly crooked smile. "Well, perhaps a little more in the light, Sam. Remember, I've been at this a lot longer than you."
"And you are an immortal, too?"
"In my own way."
"And what way is that?"
"One does not need to be a vampire, Samantha, or even a werewolf to be immortal."
In that moment, I saw a man working feverishly in an old-style laboratory. Something Benjamin Franklin might have worked in. Or even Leonardo da Vinci. I saw many concoctions being attempted. Many concoctions being tossed out. And one concoction in particular that gave eternal life.
"Alchemy," I said, breathing the word.
He grinned again...and tapped the book again. "Shall we get back to your medallion, Sam?"
I nodded.
"Good," he said. "Because I've some very good news for you."
