Spoiler! :
Without his sister’s immediate presence, the weight of the conversation began to fully set in. He ran a nimble hand through his hair, rearranging strands of golden silk. A worried urgency slowly crept across his eyes; cause the usual electric blue to become more subdued and sullen. After a few moments, he pulled a cell phone from the top drawer in his vanity and began to dial the number of an old friend.
“Hey! You’ve reached Alfie. I’m not here right now. Please leave your name and number at the-” Zander ended the call and tried yet another number that he knew would pick up.
“Hello? Yes. I am at the Glenwood Theatre. I need a taxi as soon as possible. Thank you.”
He walked over to the small closet the theatre provided and grabbed a medium sized suitcase. He blindly selected a change of clothes and quickly extricated himself from his formal attire. “Now I just need to figure out what to do. I can’t go back to Thomas. It’s far too soon for that,” he paced back and forth in the room, shooting down one idea after the next. “Maybe I should just go talk to Jasmine. She’ll know what to do.”
He gathered his belongings, taking extra care not to forget his piccolo, and walked outside to wait for the taxi. Thankfully the taxi was the one waiting for him. “To the library. The quicker, the better.”
“Uh, Sir?” the balding Indian man said, “You do realize that the library is going to be closed at this hour, right?”
“I don’t care. Take me to the library.”
The older man let out a sigh but eventually said, “Whatever you want.” He looked to be in his mid-forties. What once might have been a full head of hair had fallen to the test of time and was now replaced by some sad excuse for follicles that were more scares than grass in the desert.
They finally arrived at the library. Zander paid the man and made his way up the library steps as the taxi sped away. He allowed a quick glance to make sure that he was alone. “There’s no plaque, no extra knocker, not even a flower pot for crying out lo- oh, that would be what I’m looking for.” Just to the right of the door, there was a small inconspicuous hole. He jabbed his hand into his pants pocket until his fingers brushed against cool metal. He produced a very thin metallic cylinder. Strange markings where etched into its body. He inserted the cylinder into the hole and turned it once.
“State thy name,” an ethereal voice demanded. If it were possible for a voice to embody the very essence of thunder, then this voice came scarily close.
“Alexander Wraithborne.”
“What is thy purpose?”
“I seek entrance into the Guild.”
“What House dost thou represent?”
“The House of Apollo.”
Seeming satisfied with his answers, the voice finally boomed, “Enter into the Guild.” A shimmer of light erupted from the keyhole as the outline of a door appeared. Zander put the cylinder away and stepped through the doorway. The soft crackle of a fire filled the long corridor he now faced. There were suits of armor spaced at precise intervals down the hallway. Above them, paintings of men and women adorned with what appeared to be regal attire. There was a distinctly archaic feeling to this place that Zander had missed. He continued down the hallways until it opened into a vast sitting room. ON the edges of the room, a library could be seen but it was blurred almost as if he were looking through water. The carpet was a rich scarlet color that looked as if it had been plucked from the very halls of Versailles. Although it was clear that this room was not connected to the library but by some ethereal bridge, the walls were lined with heavy oak bookcases filled to the brim with books. In many areas the books had been piled waist-high on the floor. At the center of the room a large circular desk stood as a waypoint of sorts. An older man sat behind the desk, his nose buried in an original manuscript of the Scarlet Letter.
Zander tried to get the man’s attention. “Ahem.”
“We’re closed for the evening. I’m very sorry. Come back again in the morning,” the man never looked up from his book.
“Come on now, Archy. You wouldn’t consider helping a friend?”
A pair of aged grey eyes, framed in hornbill glasses, peeked over the edge of the book much like a small child peeks out from under the sheets during a scary movie. “My god, is it really you?”
“As far as I know, it is.” A smile parted Zander’s lips, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth.
“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you for quite some time.”
“Well, certain…circumstances called for a shortened vacation.”
“Ah! Say no more. I completely understand. I would love to continue talking but I’d wager that you’re in a hurry. Tell me, how can I help you?”
I believe that I shall let Zander tell you this part of the story. He has always adored history and nothing quite brought him the same joy as when he was telling others of history. Whenever you’re ready, take it away, Zander.
Archy, short for Archimedes, had been the Guild Librarian for as long as anyone could remember and as far back as the history books recorded. He never got involved with Guild politics, which was growing to become a rare trait these days.
I suppose you are wondering what in heaven’s name this elusive Guild is. Before I tell you that, I believe it would be easier for me to start from the beginning. After all, it’s a very nice place to start. Many years ago, back when the continents were still one, the world lived in peace. It was not a world that any of us would recognize. In this world there was no such thing as fantasy, for what we call fantasy is based on the things that lived in that era. Mythical creatures existed alongside humans. Everyone was happy and the world flourished. No one knows when, but at some point the humans began to feel threatened by the mythical beings. After all, they could do the same jobs the humans could and many times they could do them quicker and more efficiently. The humans began to tell their children horror stories to scare them into hating the creatures. Merchants stopped selling to them, lords stopped employing them, and courts throughout the land refused to hear their cases. The world had effectively shut them out. Driven by a need to survive, the creatures banded together. It was decided that was to be a convening in what is now known at the Black Forest. Each race sent two of its kind, one male and one female, to discuss what was to become of the creatures. This appointed committee was given the name The Council, a name that has mutated from evoking a sense of comfort to a feeling of dread.
The Council, deciding that its members were higher than the rest of the creatures, ruled that it would be considered the ruling body for the mythical beings. As you can easily imagine, this caused great uproar in the mythical world. All that opposed the Council were either slaughtered or went into hiding. The Council reigned unopposed for countless years. Around the beginning of the Renaissance, a group of runaways found each other and agreed to look out for each other. Their numbers grew until they formally declared themselves The Guild. As membership grew, the Guild was split into several Houses, each named for a Greek deity.
Archy was one of the founding members of the Guild, but his case is a strange one. He doesn’t belong to any house because he is not of any known mythical descent. How then is he in the Guild? We call his kind the Scholars, able to remember whatever they hear or read. His skills have made him invaluable to the Guild.
I was hoping that I could put this off as long as possible, but I guess its best that you know now. I was born to Evangeline Wraithborne. I have never known my father, and I prefer to keep it that way. It would only endanger him. My mother was a superstar, you see. Okay, maybe that is a bit extravagant, but she is widely known. There have been many tales of beautiful women that possessed such ethereal voices that they could hypnotize sailors and lure them to their death. A Greek poet dubbed them as Sirens. Yes, my mother was a siren, but the whole part-avian thing was completely made up. The Council, of course, had their silly rules and regulations for each race. The only stipulation for Sirens is that only the females may live. The males were to be sacrificed. When my sister and I were born, my mother fled into hiding. She was soon taken in by the Guild, but in the eyes of the Council she had committed a cardinal sin. She raised my sister and me in the shelter of the Guild, and taught us everything she knew. We learn how to mesmerize audiences with sound by blending music and Charm, an ancient magic known only to the sirens. When my mother died, Archy took us under his wing until we were old enough to fend for ourselves. Des joined the ranks of the Guild spies, her hypnotic allure providing the Guild with a huge advantage over the Council. She uses her intel to warn me when the Council is getting too close to finding me. If she is caught, then she will be forced to work for the council; however, if I am caught I will be murdered.
I have always been a performer. I used to be more public that I am now. Of course, that was until some mayor learned of my “gift” and decided to slight me when I got rid of a few rats in is city. It’s okay, though. I’m over it. Besides, I got him back, but I won’t bore you with the details. That particular story seems to get passed down through the ages.
Alrighty, I’ve done quite enough talking for a while. I’ll let my narrator take it over from here.
“Tell me, how can I help you?”
“Well, you can start by telling me where Jasmine is. I need a safe house.”
“Of course, of course. Here, let me write down the address,” the old man took a steno pad and pencil from his shirt pocket and scribbled an address onto it. “This is the last address she registered with. Oh, and I have something else for you. Stay right here.” Archy scurried to a back room. From the sound of things he was disassembling a NASA rocket. When he returned he held a book close to his chest, as if it were a newborn babe. “This should prove to be quite useful in the days to come. You would do well to memorize its contents.” The book was leather bound, its cover cracking from age. The pages had forsaken their pure color many years ago. Inscribed on the pages were what appeared to be musical notation, but the lyrics were in a language Zander had never seen before.
“Thank you, old friend. I’m sure it’s relevance will become apparent. Until next time…”
“Until next time. Be safe, Zander. It’s a harsh world out there for us.”
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