InsaneJournal

Dig In
Dear Mr. Guevera,

THE NEW YORK POST is proud to inform you of our interest in your services. We are prepared to offer you a full-time position as supernatural affairs reporter with our paper. We are aware of your previous journalistic experience at The Clark County Beacon, as well as your internship with The New York Times. We are also aware of your expertise in matters supernatural, and we feel you would be a perfect fit for our staff.

Enclosed is all the information you need should you decide to pursue this opportunity. If you have any questions, feel free to contact our news editor, Grant Norris, at the phone number atop this letter.

Thank you for your time and we hope you seriously consider our offer.

With a shake of his head, Logan folded the letter and stuffed it back in its envelope. He remembered the Tribune making a similar offer a little over a year ago, but at least it made sense back then; the world was still in a panic and Logan had just resigned from the paper in Las Vegas. Why did the Post want to offer him a job now?

Logan wasn't a journalist anymore, and he was actually happy about that. Everything that went down in Nevada sapped whatever love the former Watcher had for that profession, all but assuring his childhood dream would never be realized. He'd made a nice life for himself in the world of supernatural retail, finding a calm and sense of purpose as owner of Thoth's Library he never saw in one of his by-lines.

He'd have to call Norris later, turn down the offer. The interest was flattering, he had to admit, but that wasn't his life anymore. Even in the moments where Logan was still upset over losing Izzy, finding another life didn't appeal to him.

Chicago -- and this bookstore -- was where he belonged.

The weather had finally seemed to pick something and stick with it for a change. Chicagoans were a hardy group, and Laurel Chichester was no different than any of the rest. As soon as the weather peaked about fifty degrees, coats and boots were tossed into closets and out came the t-shirts, shorts and sandals. While those more accustomed to warmer climes might have been shivering in their woolen socks, Laurel was smiling in the sunshine as she rode her old Schwinn down the street, dressed in sandals, denim capris and a sleeveless lavender t-shirt. Each ray of sunlight seemed to leave a warm little kiss upon her coffee-colored skin, and Laurel couldn't wait for the lake to warm up enough for the swimming season.

All in all, it was a perfect day.

A double-major in cultural anthropology and archeaology at Loyola, she had been hearing about the strange bookstore for ages but had never had time to go and check it out for herself. With Spring Break drawing to a close, it would probably be her last bit of free time for quite some time, so she parked her bike and chained it to a nearby lamppost, then ventured inside.

Hearing the chime, Logan glanced toward the door, squinting as the afternoon sun spilled through the windows and onto the floor. The charms shined brightly at the illumination Mother Nature was providing, particularly the amulets devoted to the Egyptian sun god Rah. Logan would have to do some research, make sure direct sunlight wouldn't make those amulets do something, like summon a sun creature or set the whole place on fire. Because explaining how his business burnt down to the insurance company would be no fun.

A more pressing matter was imminent, though, with the customer who'd walked through the door. It took some getting used to for the former Watcher to see someone who wasn't bundled up to the point where they looked like the Michelin Man. Then again, winter was seeming to lose its grip on the Windy City, which meant smaller wardrobes and high air conditioning costs were on the horizon.

Yay for the former, not so much for the latter.

"Welcome to Thoth's Library," he announced, noting how he'd never seen this person before. "Anything I can help you with?"

Laurel smiled at the friendly greeting from the man behind the counter. "Thoth's Library," she repeated. "I like it. I might've gone with Seshat myself, but that's just the feminist in me. And, I don't know, maybe. I'm just kind of browsing. I've heard a lot about this place."

A glimmer of sunlight on an amulet that glittered nearby caught her attention, and she stepped over to see it up close. Recognizing the hieroglyphs on the piece, Laurel smiled and ran her fingers over the inscribed symbols. "Lord of truth, father of the Gods, maker of men, creator of all animals, Lord of things that are, creator of the staff of life," she said, easily recalling the hymn to Amun-Ra she had learned in her first Egyptology class. Grasping the amulet in hand, she turned and walked towards the counter.

"It's funny, right? Of all the gods that Akhenaten might have chosen to be his one true god, he picks the sun god," she mused. "Which is weird because then you have Osiris, who is supposed to be the god of gods, the resurrected, even the king of gods with the crook and flail. So why the sun god? Ra, Atum-Ra, Amun-Ra ... it's an interesting question, right? Especially when the contemporary sun-gods of different religions were so often pushed into much less important positions. Even the Cult of Helios in Greece never came to the same sort of popularity as the Cult of Osiris. But Amun-Ra totally usurped his position for an age."

Logan blinked, an amazed smile stuck on his face. It wasn't often he had a customer pass through the door with such a knowledge base at their disposal. He was impressed by the woman's knowledge of Egyptian theology -- in some ways, it surpassed his. The problem with the supernatural education Logan received was that it hadn't been focused. The Council was so intent on making sure their new Watchers knew as much as possible that finding a specialty was almost impossible.

To this day, the former Watcher wasn't sure if he could really claim a speciality. He supposed in that sense, the store mirrored his own supernatural background. A lot of information spread throughout various topics, no emphasis truly placed on one discipline over another. There was something to be said for the jack of all trades, master of none philosophy, even if it meant the occasional customer knowing more than he.

"It was impressive," Logan agreed, leaning against the counter. "I gotta say, it's not every day I get someone who walks in and immediately spots stuff like that. Most of them are just all 'Ooh, shiny,' or 'Hey, will this set me on fire if I touch it?'"

The former Watcher chuckled. "They don't realize I keep the combustibles in the back room."

"I guess we're all fascinated with something or other?" Laurel offered with a shrug. "Every kid goes through the Egypt phase, right? I just kinda never grew out of it. Honestly, it just got worse as I got older and now ... I mean now, when there's no way of telling how much of the religion was really true? It's awesome. In the real sense of the word.

"Plus there's that book. The one almost everyone gets in middle school. The Egypt Game," she went on. "Can turn interest into obsession in some people."

She padded over to the counter, sneakered feet occasionally squeaking on the floor, and rested the amulet she had picked up in front of the man she had been chatting with.

"I only wish they had more of a focused Egyptology department at Loyola. I won't be able to really dig in until after graduation and I pack off to Boston for grad school." Laurel grinned at her own pun. "Get it?" she asked. "Dig in?"

Though the joke was obviously on the corny side, Logan couldn't help but laugh. Maybe it was the fact that the woman's enthusiasm was just that obvious, even a little infectious. It was refreshing to have someone in the store who didn't work there who knew something about some of the merchandise. Logan appreciated most of the customers who came in without really knowing what they were after, but the ignorant few who came in thinking they knew more than they really did kind of ruined it for everyone else.

"Well," he offered, "if there's anything you're after that you can't find in here, I can see if I can find it. I have a lot of contacts around the world, and you'd be surprised what they can track down."

Extending his arm along the counter for a hand shake, the former Watcher's smile broadened a little. "I'm Logan, the owner."

Laurel took the shop-owner's hand with a smile. "Laurel," she answered by way of introduction.

She arched a slender eyebrow. "Around the world, eh?" she asked, pondering it for a long moment. "What I'd really love to see is an original glyph copy of the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Most of what's going around is still the Wallis Budge translation, and that's over a century old! We know so much more now ..." She paused, wondering if she should go on. With another glance around the shop, it seemed appropriate to continue. "Plus, you know, they say the only reason we've never had all 192 chapters on one papyrus is that they've been sort of edited over the years ... because the magic is real and they didn't want people to know."

Laurel stopped, letting the full meaning of her words settle over herself. It was something she had long been suspecting and in recent years, her suspicions had only grown. What if it was real? Could there truly be an Amun-Ra, an Isis? Set or Anubis? Or even the demon Ammut? It was all at once frightening and intriguing; an involuntary shiver rode up her spine at the very thought.

Forcing a smile, she shrugged. "Not that I could afford it. Buying this amulet is going to put me on a Ramen and Diet Coke diet for the next week."

Logan chuckled. "I know that diet well," he said. "Five years of undergrad and a year of expensive journalism grad school will do that to a guy."

The former Watcher was well aware of the volume of which Laurel spoke. Jotting the title on a small pad of paper to his right, Logan decided he'd do some digging to find it. Maybe he'd luck out and it wouldn't be quite the rarity it had always been. There was a slim chance some book publisher out there got a hold of it and decided to mass produce it. A slim chance, practically nonexistent, but the chance was there nonetheless.

"I might be able to track that down," he offered. "And if it's something you want that badly, we can probably work out a payment plan or something."

"That would be sweet!" Laurel said excitedly. The idea of doing so much as touching a real Book of the Dead ... let alone owning one, even if she had to pay it off with laundry money. A few raunchy pairs of jeans and stained t-shirts seemed well worth it.

"And how much for the amulet, Logan?" she went on. Knowing the store's owner had suffered the slings and arrows of campus life - when a bowl of Cheerios floating in coffee had to suffice because the milk spoiled and no one can afford a new carton - made her optimistic about her own future.

In her mind's eye, she saw an older version of herself walking the halls of the Field Museum, or better. It was definitely something to look forward to!

Punching a couple buttons on the register, Logan glanced at the display with a look of confusion. That total seemed awful low ... grabbing a thick black binder, the former Watcher flipped open the pages, his index finger finding one page and running along the left-hand column. The confusion gave way to relief and a sheepish smile as Logan closed the binder and returned it to its rightful place under the counter.

"Pretty sad when the owner forgets his own sale," he said with a shake of his head. "All amulets are 20 percent off, which makes your total ..." Another glance at the register. "... $42.17."

Supernatural merchandise wasn't cheap, particularly amulets and other such items. Truth be told, the books were probably among the cheapest items in the store, and that was only because some mainstream publishers had started collecting rare volumes and mass-producing them. It was a double-edge sword -- on the one hand, Logan was glad certain texts were readily available to everyone, but at the same time, there was a danger and a loss of mystique in knowing a text the Council was once proud to own could probably be found at a local Barnes & Noble.

Then again, no one at Barnes & Noble had the level of expertise Logan did.

Laurel grinned. "Thank God for eBay," she announced, fumbling a bright canary yellow wallet out of her back pocket. "They wanted to give me absolute shit at school to buy back my books, but I sold 'em for about twenty under cover price on the 'net."

Most of the money had gone to important things - clothes, shoes, clubbing and the like - but some had gone to a few nagging errands, such as finally getting her bicycle fixed and getting her cell phone turned back on. She had planned to spend the remainder on a new text she needed for class, but she reasoned that she could buy an older edition for pennies on the dollar and skate by with that.

Besides, this seemed more important.

Two crisp, clean twenty dollar bills were soon buried under four crumpled dollar bills, a handful of quarters, three nickels and two pennies. "Exact change!" Laurel crowed, tucked the wallet back into her pocket and ignoring the sudden light, empty feeling it carried; after all, she was used to it holding nothing much more than dust and sadness.

"A shopkeeper's dream," Logan deadpanned, taking the cash and placing each piece in the appropriate compartment in the register. The receipt printed out, and he put it in the small bag along with the amulet before handing it to Laurel.

"Nothing worse than getting 50 cents back for an old book," he agreed, cringing. "Or worse, they don't take it back at all."

Course, that wasn't nearly as much of a problem in grad school as it had been during his undergrad days, but Logan had still found that one of the more annoying aspects of his college career. Considering the former Watcher had never actually finished earning his Master's, he thought briefly of pursuing one again at one of the schools around Chicago.

Problem was, what would he study? Journalism was no longer in his future.

"If you want to leave your name and contact info," he offered, "I can look into finding that book and let you know if I find it."

"Cool," Laurel replied by way of agreement, nodding as she pulled a pen from where it had been tucked in a ponytail of pulled-back braids. That was a little trick she had picked up in high school: pens weren't hard to come by if they were used as hair accessories. "That's awesome. It'll really show up that snobby Professor Hardigan if I can bring in a decent translation! Guy's been riding me all friggin' year, acting like I don't know what I'm talking about. Friggin' mysognist."

She frowned and shook her head at her own rant, leaning down to scribble her contact information on a sheet of paper the shop owner had produced before adding her signature with a flourish: Laurel Evans.

"Thanks, Logan," she added earnestly. "You're a really great guy." She was rather pleased with the whole encounter; it was rare to find anyone in a store of any kind who was actually helpful anymore, and rarer still to find someone so friendly. And kinda cute, too.

For an older guy.



[NPC Laurel was written by Dew.]