ResearchOpportunitiesIt’s been a long Saturday for Izzy. Certainly, the joy of her job makes the long hours worth it. Today, however, with students streaming in to get overdue book reports and journals done, playing diplomat was something that she never expected. Who would have thought that the various schools of the Nashville area would all pick the same books, by grade level? That it was even possible to manage timesharing on copies of Slaughterhouse Five, Macbeth, To Kill a Mockingbird and works straight down to the middle grades. That lunch hour she is normally due? Forget about it! It might be a relief, then, as her stomach growls and the digital clock shows 5:50, that a text message buzzes on her cell phone from Ammon. “A small parcel showed up at my house, addressed to you, coming from overseas. Shall I bring it to dinner? Love, A.” Izzy slips open her phone to access the miniature keyboard hidden under the faceplate. "Definitely. Does it say where it's from?" She sets the phone aside as she takes a final walk through the research section of the library to make sure that all the books are put away, the computers are logged off and everything else is in its place. Today, she's grateful for the hour of quiet after closing. She can hear some of her coworkers completing their nightly rituals throughout the large structure, but her research section is blissfully silent. She makes one last pass through her section, making sure all the books are put away, all the computers are in sleep mode, and that no dedicated student is huddled in a carrel with his iPod on full blast. This final pass uses up her remaining 10 minutes of time. Grabbing her cellphone from her desk, she takes a quick glance to see if Ammon has replied He has. "Yes. Rhodes City, Rhodes, Greece." Izzy pauses in thought. Who in Rhodes would be sending her a package? She mentally shakes away the questions that would soon follow if she let herself continue wondering. She'll find out more shortly. Ismene then pulls her purse from her locked drawer and heads out the front door. The restaurant that she'll be meeting Ammon at is only a couple blocks away and it's a beautiful day for a walk. She knows that her car will be safe in the parking garage until she returns. Santorini's has become one of their favorites, a family-run place with some of the best Greek food Izzy's had since she left Greece. Ismene is there first, and has a few minutes to enjoy some pita and hummus before Ammon pops into the restaurant, a grin on his face, and a paper bundle under his left arm. "Sorry, I am late," he says. "Sometimes I think you have the easier of our jobs. Being an archivist sometimes means that the documents take precedence over everything else." He gives Ismene a kiss and seats himself across from her. Izzy smiles, warmly accepting his kiss. "Ah," she replies, her dark eyes twinkling, "But if it weren't for us researchers, your documents wouldn't need to be in such pristine order." It was a subject that had grown into an easy teasing between the pair. It takes him a moment to place the package, about the size of a book, on the table. The yellow padded envelope is festooned with stamps from their home country. The package has her name, with diacritics, but Ammon's home address. "My guess is that it's a book," Ammon says. "I didn't open it, but perhaps I should have. I don't want you to get Shawarma platter all over it, if it's precious." Izzy replies sagely, "But if you'd opened it, and it had been precious, you would have had to deal with the Curse of the Pissed Off Fiancée because you'd gotten to see it before me. And I know," she continues, reaching across the table to rest her own hand on his, "that is not a curse that you want to deal with." "It's to be feared more than the Curse of the Fatal Death," Ammon agrees. With a chuckle, she squeezes Ammon's hand lightly, then reaches for the package to open it carefully. Her curiosity is too great to let it wait until they've finished their dinners. "You know it will be a few minutes before Nikos comes over to take our orders." She nods her head toward the dark-haired waiter talking animatedly to young blond woman a few tables away. "After all, his little Xanthi is here." She knows she shouldn't be catty toward a woman she's never met, and someone who is probably nice to boot, but the way that Nikos fawns over her every time she comes into the restaurant - often to the exclusion of his other tables - is enough to set her teeth on edge. "He does dote on her, doesn't he?" Ammon says. "All right, I figure we have four minutes before he notices we exist. 'Course, it might be three if I wasn't here, but then he would have to deal with the Curse of the Jealous Librarian," he grins. A half-smile curves the corner of Izzy's mouth. "And a dangerous curse that is," she agrees. "Lucky for him, he has forgone that fate for tonight." Ammon grins in response as he taps the package with his right index finger. "Well, I've made my guess. I suppose you should make yours, and see what it is." Izzy ponders the package for a moment, thinking. "You're probably right about it being a book, but the kind of book ... I'm suspecting a diary of some type." "A diary." Ammon hums in thought. She turns the package over carefully in her hands and, just as gently, eases the sealed flap away from the bulk of the envelope. It could be the item in the package that is important, or it could be the packaging itself. A lover of fairy tales and lore such as herself never takes anything for granted when it comes to the mysterious. It is, indeed, a book that is inside of the envelope, along with a plain, sealed letter-sized envelope. It's a beautiful thing that Izzy pulls out, dictionary-sized and bound in black leather. The front cover is blank, like many hardcover books. Along the spine are the words "Libra Obscura." The envelope has just two words on it, neatly typed: "For Ismene." Izzy's eyebrows rise into her bangs at the words gracing the spine. Definitely not a book that she wants to open without knowing a bit more. She reaches behind her into her purse and pulls out an ornately carved, slim wooden blade. The wood is light in color, olive wood to those who make a habit of knowing these sorts of things. The handle of the blade is carved with an owl and a spear. The blade itself is not solid, the inside being carved to resemble olive leaves, with the areas between open air. She slides it into the top of the envelope, ready to make a neat cut. Before she does, however, she raises her eyes to Ammon, asking tacit permission to delay their dinner a moment longer. The glow and interest in Ammon's eyes suggest that, with the mystery of the book and the letter to be answered, any food, even Santorini's, can wait. The letter inside the envelope, once Ismeme makes the fateful cut and opens it, is a neatly typed single page. Ismene,
The time has come to talk to you of many things, and for you to take your place as my daughter. I have watched you from afar, and kept from steering the course you have led. It pleases me enormously that you have chosen a path of learning and knowledge, for learning and knowledge are the two weapons that will serve you in the time of tumult ahead.
A darkness, once long vanquished, is sending forth its minions and its champions to wrest the world back under their control. They are monsters, and they must be fought. As my daughter, I expect you to do so. As the child of Man as well as Goddess, you will protect humanity from their capricious rule.
This is not the job of a single person, even the daughter of a Goddess, or even my daughter. I have allied myself with Powers from across the pantheons, lending their children, their Scions, to this cause.
Find the other Scions. Bring them all to me, where your part in the great struggle will be revealed to you.
Start with the Ghostspeaker. She lies closest to you.
Use the book. The book will guide your steps.
Your Mother,
Athene
Izzy reads the words silently once. Then her eyes flit back to the top of the letter and reads them again. Her mother was stepping into her life? That was ... unheard of. At least, unheard since the time of legends. Could it be a joke? Could someone be trying to get to her through something that they knew would interest her - words from her mother? And if they were, why? What would anyone have to gain? And ... more importantly, if it was someone other than her mother, how could they know about her relationship? It was one that not even Ammon knew. For she is convinced that if she told anyone, they would think her mad. Therapists, drugs, institutions ... anything to make her "well" again. And for all that Ammon loves her, she doesn't trust that he could believe the truth. No, it was better for Ammon to think that her mother had died when Izzy was a baby. This would require research. And a 'talk' with her mother to make certain she wasn't being used ... well, any more than any other child of a divine being was being used. She didn't expect to hear words from her mother, but some sign that it the words had come from her rather than someone else. She sends a mental wish for confirmation that the letter is not a fake, hoping that it will wing its way to her mother's ear. She knows that Ammon is waiting expectantly across the table, so she pastes on a smile as she folds the letter and slips it back into the envelope. "The letter was from my cousin, Thena," she explains, slipping the letter and the opener back into her purse. "She's never been the most ... organized ... of women. This is a book that my mother had, apparently, requested be given to me on my 30th birthday. It's a family heirloom, of sorts. Of course, my birthday was 3 months ago ..." She shakes her head and gives a small chuckle. "I'm just surprised that it's gotten here sometime this century." "Indeed," Ammon says. He seems to be accepting the falsehood, outwardly anyway. Reaching across the table, she squeezes Ammon's hand and smiles at him fondly. "Would you mind if I took a look through it myself later?" she asks. She knows that his curiosity must be as great as her own, but she needs to know what this is about before she lets Ammon in on any of its secrets ... or her own. "If it is truly meant for you, and you first," Ammon says, "then I am glad that I didn't muss it with dinner tonight. "Shall we turn to more pressing matters, such as our meal?" (Continued in Ismene and the Book) |
