by J. R. Rain
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. "
Chapter Seventeen
After my meeting with Max - and after a mad dash through the parking lot - I was back in my minivan, gasping.
Now, as I sat there shaking violently, watching college students strolling past with their backpacks and cell phones and serious faces, I knew that I was losing my humanity.
I hate when that happens.
I sucked in air because sucking in air seemed to help me fight off the excruciating pain caused by the sun. I had to fight off the pain because I had to pick my kids up from school. But I couldn't get my hands to stop shaking. Couldn't get them to form around the key and insert it into the ignition.
So I breathed and shook and tried to calm down.
And as I sat there, I recalled Max's words spoken to me just a few minutes earlier: "I have some very good news for you, Samantha," he'd said. "The emerald medallion is reputed to reverse the effects of. . . the sun. "
"What, exactly, does that mean?" I had asked, not daring to believe what I thought it might mean.
"Once you unlock the medallion, Samantha Moon, the sun will no longer have power over you. "
But his words were just not sinking in. It was just too much to hope for. Too much to believe. "I. . . I don't understand. "
He had reached across the counter and gently took my hand. "It means, Sam, that you will be able to live in daylight again. "
"But. . . how?"
He smiled mischievously. A mischievous smile in this situation was, in fact, maddening. He said, "Unlocking the secret to the medallion is easy enough, Sam, for those of great faith. "
"Great faith? What does that mean?"
"You will know what to do, Sam. "
Except I didn't know what to do. And, hell, when did I ever know what to do?
Now, as I continued to shake and breathe and burn in my van, I whispered his words again: "To live in daylight again. "
I nearly wept at the thought.
Nearly. After all, I had my kids to pick up, and I wasn't going to be late again, dammit.
So, when the shaking had subsided enough to control the smaller movements of my fingers, I started the minivan, and as I drove, I saw myself at the beach with my kids, swimming with my kids, hiking with my kids. And watching my son play soccer in the bleachers with all the other parents.
Okay, now the tears found me.
And in my mind's eye, I saw myself sitting quietly high upon a faraway mountain and watching the sun rise for the first time in nearly seven years.
At the next red light, I buried my face in my hands and wept until the light turned green.
* * *
Damn.
I was a little late picking up the kids, which netted me a scowling look from the principal, whom I'm sure didn't like me much. I knew he saw me as an unfit mother, especially after the bogus ideas Danny had planted last year.
Bastard.
Bogus or not, I was now on the principal's radar. I hate being on anyone's radar, let alone a principal's. Sigh.
On the way home, we stopped for some burgers at Burger King. Anthony had branched out a little and discovered that he now liked mayonnaise. But just a little mayonnaise. My little boy was growing up.
At home, while the kids ate and I made yet another excuse for why I wasn't hungry, I found myself in my office and working when my cell phone rang. I glanced at the faceplate, saw that it was a local number.
"Moon Investigations," I said cheerily enough, although I was hearing the grumblings of a fight brewing in the living room.
"Ms. Moon?" said an oddly familiar voice.
"Go for Moon," I said. I've always wanted to say that.
"Ms. Moon, my name's Robert Mason. I own the Fullerton Playhouse. "
"And starred in One Life to Live. "
"I wouldn't say 'starred,' but, yes, I had a recurring role until a few years ago. "
"When they killed you off with a brain tumor. "
"It saddens the heart. Were you a fan?"
"It happened to come on after Judge Judy. "
He laughed a little. A deep, rich laugh. A deep, rich, fake laugh. "Judge Judy was a great lead-in. "
It was at that moment that a full-fledged fight broke out in the next room. I even heard something break. Something glass. Shit.
"Hang on, Rob," I said.
I left the phone on the desk, dashed into the living room and saw Anthony sitting on Tammy. Now that was a first. Tammy was always the bigger and stronger one. Granted, she was still bigger, but clearly not stronger. Her struggling seemed to be in vain. Indeed, she was looking at her brother oddly. No doubt marveling at what I was seeing, too.
I plucked him off his sister and deposited him on the new couch. I spent the next thirty-three seconds listening to "He said and she said and did that she started," and decided I'd heard enough. I turned the TV off and banished them both to their bedrooms. As they moped off, I couldn't help but notice the red mark around Tammy's arms where Anthony had pinned her to the floor.
Jesus.
Back in my office, I wasn't very surprised that Robert Mason hadn't hung up. After all, I suspected there was a very good reason why Robert Mason had called me.
After I apologized for the disruption, he said that was quite all right and that he wanted to meet me ASAP.
Yeah, that was the reason.
Chapter Eighteen
I was waiting at Starbucks.
It was evening and the sun still had not set. By my internal vampire clock, I knew it was about twenty minutes away. My internal vampire clock also told me that I should be asleep, to awaken just as the sun set. I think, maybe, that's happened only two or three times. And that was when the whole family was sick.
Now, of course, only I was sick. Eternally sick.
The Starbucks was near the junior college, which meant there were a lot of young people inside with longish hair, random tattoos, squarish glasses, fuzzy beards, and cut-off jean shorts, all working importantly on their laptops. These were hipsters feeding and drinking in their natural habitat.
As I sat with my bottle of water, keenly aware that the two young men sitting at the table next to me were not only barefoot but one of them had tattoos of sandals on his feet, a handsome older gentleman stepped through the door, blinked, and scanned the coffee shop.
I waved. He spotted me and nodded. I think my stomach might have done a backflip. Someone might have gasped. Actually, that someone was me, never mind. The closer he got, the bluer his eyes got and the deeper the cleft in his chin seemed to get, too.
Not to mention, the darker his aura got.
I'm familiar with dark auras. The aura of the fallen angel who had visited me last Christmas had progressively gotten darker. Robert Mason's aura wasn't quite as foul, but the thick black cords that wove around and through him were disconcerting at best. What it meant, I didn't really know, but it couldn't be good.
Especially since my inner alarm began ringing.
He stood over me and reached out a hand, but now my warning bells were ringing so damn loud that I automatically recoiled. Women stared. Men stared. Hipsters glanced ironically. It was surely an odd scene. A renowned soap actor and a skittish woman afraid to make contact with him.
After another second or two, he retracted his hand and sat without me saying a word. As he made himself comfortable, I noted that the black snakes now moved over and under the table, slithering like living things. I shivered. No, shuddered.
He watched me closely. "Some would be insulted that you didn't shake my hand. "
"And you?" I asked, noting that my voice sounded higher than normal. I verified the mental wall around my thoughts was impenetrable.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me. "I find it curious. You seem to be having a sort of. . . reaction to my presence. Why is that?"
&n
bsp; "Well, you are the great Robert Mason, famous for playing the evil Dr. Conch on One Life To Live. "
He continued studying me as he adjusted the drape of his slacks. He was, I noted, the only man in Starbucks wearing slacks. Maybe the only man ever. His jawline, I noticed, was impossibly straight. The women all checked him out, but he paid them no mind. Indeed, he only looked at me. No, stared at me. So intently that he was giving me the willies.
After a moment, he said, "Or perhaps you didn't want me to touch you, Ms. Moon. Is there something about me that repels you?"
"Your jawline," I said.
"What about my jawline?"
"It's impossibly straight. "
His right hand, which was laying flat on the smooth table, twitched slightly. The black snakes that wove through his aura seemed to pick up their pace a little. The jawline in question rippled a little as he unconsciously bit down. He said, "I think you see things, Ms. Moon. Perhaps things around me. Tell me what you see. "
"I thought we were here to discuss Brian Meeks. "
His lips thinned into a weak smile. "Of course, Ms. Moon. What would you like to ask?"
Except that before I could open my mouth to speak, I felt something push against my mind, against the protective mental wall, and it kept on pushing, searching, feeling.
It was Robert Mason, who was staring at me intently. The man was extremely psychic.
My thoughts were not closed to those who were psychic. Only to other immortals and often to my own family members. Someone like Robert Mason could gain entry. . . if I wasn't vigilant.
I knew this wasn't really a meeting, but a feeling out of sorts. He wanted to know who he was up against. By not gaining entry into my thoughts, he might have gotten his answer. What that answer was, or how close to the truth he got, I didn't know.
So, I decided to ask him the only question that mattered. "Did you kill Brian Meeks?"
The coiling, smoky black snakes that wove in and out of his aura seemed to pick up in intensity. They appeared and disappeared. Robert Mason didn't react to my question. He sat calmly, hands resting on the table, blue eyes shining. Although I think the dimple in his chin might have quivered a little.
After a moment, he said, "Ah, but that wouldn't be any fun, would it? Taking away all the mystery?"
His own thoughts, of course, were closed to me, which I was eternally thankful for. I was honestly afraid to know what was lurking inside that handsome head of his. Hard to believe that one of America's favorite daytime soap opera stars was so damn. . . creepy.