Olivia loved bookstores, but this one was probably her favorite. The smell of old books and dust appealed to her in a way that her library couldn’t. Well, she called it her library, but really it was just where she worked. Anyways, the books were too new, and they were all packed into little spaces on their own little shelves. Here, the books were stacked any which way and the shelves were only semi-organized. A book could breathe in this atmosphere, and that’s what she let them do.

It didn’t take very long for her to figure out there was more to this bookstore, and even the city of Bayfield, than what met the eye. It had taken her nearly two years, but she thought she was very close to the answer. It was some sort of gang, she was pretty sure of that, but to keep themselves safe from the cops they didn’t let anyone know about themselves, so there was a conspiracy there too. And she was almost positive this was the headquarters. The door towards the back of the store was always locked, but she’d watched the occasional person go through it, and there was something different about them. They knew something, and she was determined to find out what. Behind the door, she’d glimpsed what looked like a storage room, with a few shelves and the odd stack of books, but she knew that’s what they wanted her to think. She wasn’t fooled.

Today, she wasn’t watching the back door, though. If there was one place she’d find a book or something on what was going on, it was here. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, she walked quickly back to the section that someone always seemed to be shooing people out of. No one was around, and she was going to find out what was on those shelves that the “out” crowd couldn’t read.

There was a section, an area of Innish books. Many things in Jacobson's hinted at the innish world of coarse, but outright spell books of repute and power, as well as tomes and grimoires of various schools and spheres of magic, weren't just out and about for the general population to peruse, even if such books were useless to ordinary people.

Hugh wasn't ordinary though. He'd been practicing magic for just over a decade. Magic was familiar, and yet still shiny and new. He loved making new discoveries and learning new things. Most of his visits here what he found was fairly common and basic even among mages, but one never knew when something special would turn up. So he'd made a habit of checking here on a weekly basis.

Today he quietly made his way back to the reserved area, surprised at how empty the shop is at the moment. It's usually busy.

Nearing the shelves he saw someone was already looking, so he looked where she wasn't browsing, and tried not to infringe upon her personal space while he did.

Olivia sighed and set the book she had picked down. She had spent nearly an hour in the section marked "Initiate texts." At first she'd been quite excited and sure that her gang theory was correct. There were a lot of books there, but maybe they expected new members to take a few years before they're actually initiated. She was disappointed when they all seemed to be fantasy books. Unless this was some weird, gangish Dn'D group, she couldn't understand why they were roped off.

She looked at her watch. "Time to get back to work," she muttered. She replaced the book and turned to go. Suddenly she jumped. A few feet away there was a young man looking through the books on the shelf.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" she gasped, turning bright red.

Her look seemed to be one of embarassment. Puzzling, but sometimes new mages or witches were a bit shy. Hugh wouldn't blame her one bit if she was. Magic could be downright peculiar.

"Eh, no trouble. It's a little cramped back here." he offered.

She looked familiar, but that wasn't a surprise, with as many people as he saw come and go from the museum in a day.

"No, I mean... I mean I didn't mean to... I - I..." she stuttered, hoping that if it was a gang they were a lenient one. She took a deep breath.

"I'm Olivia," she said. It came out in more of a rush than she had meant it to, but she had to just hope he wouldn't notice.

His curiosity was peaked. "Olivia, who didn't mean to do what exactly? I'm Hugh." He offered his hand for her to shake.

"Oh, you know, I just - well, I didn't see you there. I just..." have a terrible curiosity that tends to get me in trouble, she trailed off, realizing that she was probably past trouble by now. In fact, once he realized she wasn't part of the whole cult thing and that she had no plans to join in the future, she was going to be out on her ear and they would know that someone was snooping around.

"Actually, I'm a librarian," she finally said. "I was doing a little research, you know looking for books we should buy. Is there anything you'd recommend?"

"Well this section is a little obscure for most academic use really. Perhaps something in the front room would be more suitable." He still seemed rather amused. She clearly didn't belong back here judging by the way the conversation was going.

He smiled. "Or maybe you've just always wanted to see what was back here? Mostly nonsense really. Mostly." He didn't do anything though, no whistle blowing to have his fellow mages banish her, or have the shop owners toss her out into an alley, because he really doesn't care. He was a nosey snoopy fellow with a habit of getting in over his head once too.

"Oh," she said. "Actually, I found it quite -" she searched for the right word, "fascinating." She pulled the book back down off of the shelf. She figured if he wasn't going to rat, then she might as well find out what she could.

"I had a few questions, if you wouldn't mind?" She began flipping through the book, trying to find one of the many terms she hadn't understood. She would probably be late back to work, but she could just blame it on research. She had enough credit with her supervisor that he probably wouldn't call her on it.

"You're serious? Oh well, if I know I'll tell you. Some of this is just rubbish though." He warned her. He isn't worried about being late himself, he sets his own schedule.

"Ok," she smiles, a little surprised. "Oh, here. I was wondering, hypothetically, if someone were, say, a werewolf, how could I tell? And," she hesitated, wondering if this is really the right question to ask, "is there such a thing as a were-bird?"

She still didn't really believe it, but then there was her office-mate, Linnea. Linnea was thin as a rail, ate like a bird, and chirped around all the time. In fact, Linnea was one of the reasons for this particular project. There were too many coincidences that just didn't add up.

"Were creatures of all sorts are prominent in the folklore of many cultures, there are different sorts of signs for different circumstances." Hugh said. He looked at the book she was holding. "That book though, the author speculates and theorizes, but most of his basis comes from modern horror films and manga. Hardly accurate. You might want to look more at something like......" He looked around and siezed upon a large book with a battered spine. "This one, supposedly this fellow, Poinard, hunted all sorts of supernatural creatures in France during the seventeen hundreds. Most of his accounts at least seem to correlate with early stories and folklore from around the world."

He hasn't admitted anything, there is still plenty of room for plausible deniability later.

"Hunted? You mean he tried to kill them? Why?" Even if they were talking about some crazy huntsman who believed in fairy tales, she was fascinated.

"He hunted them for money, notariety, to autopsy them if he felt so moved. In the name of science, of coarse." His tone was very sarcastic.

"That's awful!" she gasped. "Did he - did he find anything?"

"I wasn't there first hand, who can really say what he found more than a hundred years ago? Genetic anomalies misunderstood by uneducated people, freaks made into monsters, or the real thing? It's tough to really say, but he documents a lot of pretty strange things, from wolf men, to poltergeists, often not under names we know. There are enough accounts of such things it could go either way, perhaps he was drawing on existing myths, or perhaps he really was onto something......."

"Oh," she said, thinking. He acted like he really knew what he was talking about, but then again if it was a code he could be just trying to throw her off.

"What do you think then?" she asked. "Was he on to something? Is there even something to be 'on to'?" This last she said more to herself than to him.

"There are too many corroborating stories down through the ages in different cultures, some of which rose and fell in complete isolation, for me to believe such matters to be merely coincidentaly folklore." He said.

"Mmm." She taps her fingers on the cover of the book.

"So, what exactly is your interest in these books?" she asks.

"Call me nostalgic for history. I'm a museum currator and a history lecturer." He tells her candidly.

"Really? What sort of history? Most historians specialize in something specific."

"Early American cultures, but I dabble." Because he can't say his real area of expertise openly, ancient magic can be potent stuff.

"Oh, that sounds interesting! But what does that have to do with - well, the supernatural? Did the Native Americans believe in werewolves and witches?"

"Shamans were witches of sorts, look at the powers attributed to them and medicine men. Werewolves and werebirds are very common in pre-colonial western civilizations though, as gods, their intermediaries, and other powerful beings. The Norse have Loki the trickster, and a lot of the tribes have Raven, who would seem to be a wereraven as an almost parallel figure." He answered her.

"Oh. Sounds very interesting," she said, even though it wasn't really. She looked at her watch and suddenly realized she was nearly fifteen minutes late for work.

"Um, I'd really love to continue this chat, but I'm kind of late. Lunch break was over about ten minutes ago. Is there- this may sound forward, but is there any ways I can contact you? If I have any questions of course?"

He smiles, "Oh yes, of coarse. Here." he hands her his card, with his number and credentials from the museum. "I'm sorry to have kept you."

"Oh no," she says, "It isn't your fault." This wasn't the first time she'd gotten caught up in her "research" and lost track of time.

"Perhaps not. Be careful where your curiosity leads you." He cautions.