Prologue - Moon

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Salem leaned back onto the side of his bed, frowning thoughtfully. Six colorful cards lay face-up on top of an opened letter and envelope, meticulously arranged into a pattern. Each one spoke of the sender's intentions and frame of mind, and yet...

Striking green eyes narrowed. And yet, the reading seemed familiar; almost like he had seen these cards before, arranged in the same order, which was impossible. Unbidden, the shadow lingering in the back of his mind stretched its tendrils across his consciousness, trying to break free from its cage and return to his memories... something dark and sinister he didn't want to remember. He shook his head free of these thoughts and the shadow slipped back into its sleeping state. Salem stood, tossing long black hair over his shoulder. He left the cards as they were and left the room with a tired sigh.

Beside his bed was a box full of letters.

--

Greenwood wasn't a big place, but it was big enough. People sometimes knew other people here, they all knew of places and rumors, and no one knew Salem. This suited him just fine. Obscurity was his happy place, as his stepmother would say.

Mister Hawke, of Hawke's Books, had left the place to Salem after his death four years prior. Salem took on his last name and lived over the bookstore, paying rent to no one and living off the book sales from enthusiastic collectors and resellers... and a few other business ventures. Hawke's Books, besides having a rather dilapidated exterior- dirty windows, chipped paint on the door, bricks red-yellow-green with dried moss and ivy- had a dusty, decidedly yellow smell. The lack of music and customers had a decidedly... planned out feel to the few that ever entered; not that they could ever notice the slip of paper in the window with strange symbols painted on it, right to left, up to down, in red-brown color. This ensured that Salem would spend the majority of his time alone. Currently, he sat at his usual desk near the back of the store, sipping on black tea with milk and sugar and reading a few of the new shipments of ancient books. It was where he could always be found, if anyone were ever looking for him. And other than the occasional package delivery, no one ever was.

So it came as a surprise when the old, rusty bell over the door jingled, its merry sound out-of-place in the gloomy silence. Salem looked up curiously- often someone would walk in and almost immediately walk back out again- and a young woman, in a black turtleneck and short red shorts and dark sunglasses and all legs and long blonde hair, glanced around, pursing large, bright red lips.

"Anyone here?" She called out. She held a yellow piece of parchment. Salem sighed. One of those. He stood and finished off the last of his tea.

"Can I help you?" He asked, dispelling a few shadows from his desk as he did so. The woman looked startled for a moment, then took off her sunglasses to reveal black eyes and red eyeliner.

"I'm looking for the Reader. Is he here?" She asked smoothly, and held up the parchment. "It took me a while to find this place."

Salem crossed his arms casually. "He's here," he said offhandedly. "What do you need him for?"

Her dark eyes swept doubtfully over his short stature, loose grey cargo pants and red hoodie, lingering on the long, black braid hanging over his shoulder. "Depends on if it's you," she said finally, and rested her sunglasses on her head. "Look, I ran into some weird people a few months back and they owed me a favor. Gave me your store's address and a weird-looking disk-"

"Really?" He asked, a bit excitedly. "Can I see it?" He grabbed his glasses on top of a stack of books and came around the desk.

The woman frowned a bit. "I think I'm only supposed to show it to the-"

"Uh huh." Salem flapped a hand at her. "I'm the Reader, but I'm sure you've already figured that out." She rolled her eyes at him and slipped a small envelope from her pocket, pulling out a round, thin disk half the size of a normal CD. It was a dark silver, with a small hole in the center and strange markings carved around the edges. He nodded sharply.

"You talked to Stevie, then," he said, and her eyes widened only slightly. He took it from her before she could protest and pocketed it. "Follow me." He turned and walked to the other end of the small store, turned into the left corner, and stepped over a few boxes to a door. She followed him hesitantly up the narrow stairway, then into a small apartment.

"Shoes," he called to her, and she slipped off the heeled sandals, shoving them uncertainly into the corner beside his boots. She looked around curiously at the large room.

There were skylights over his bed, stuffed in the far corner beside a window that likely overlooked the alley behind the building. A box of letters was on the floor beside the bed. A tiny kitchen, with a steaming teapot beginning to whistle, took up the other corner, which overlooked the square. A table and several chairs was placed in the middle of the room, covered in stacks of books and papers. There was a wardrobe against one of the walls, beside shelves filled with books, a few crystals, candles, and other things seemingly out of place with the rather bare room. A small open door led to a bathroom, from what she could see. He nodded her over to the last few pieces of furniture- a comfortable-looking three-person sofa and a coffee table.

"It isn't much," he said pleasantly, "but it's sufficient. Tea?" He was already in the kitchen.

"Yeah, sounds good," she said. "I'm Donna. Donna Jordan."

"Salem Hawke. What brings you around here, Miss Jordan? Stevie's gang lives pretty far away. Mexico, if he hasn't moved too recently."

"Uh, yeah." She gave Salem's back a strange look. "You do realize we're talking about Stefan Lourdes, right? Creepy, pretty powerful, rich as Hell?"

"Sounds like him." Salem brought two mugs to the table on a tray, along with some milk and sugar. At her bemused look, he offered, "Old friends. Sort of." He took up his mug and took a long gulp, then set it down. "Now, how can I help you?"

Donna settled back in her corner and gave him an appraising look. "And you're not going to ask me why I was talking to him?"

"None of my business, doesn't affect what we'll be doing tonight." He slipped the disk out of his pocket and settled it onto his palm so she could see it. He tapped one of the smaller symbols and Donna stared, her mouth a big 'o' of surprise, when a second ring appeared in the disk between the circle and the edge. Salem tapped another symbol and the inner half began to spin.

Salem smiled at Donna. "Now ask your question," he said over the soft whirr.

Donna hesitated. "Do I need to touch it, or-?"

"No."

"Just ask it? Out loud?"

"Yep."

"Oh." She glanced at Salem for a moment, then at the disk, and took a deep breath. "Where is my brother?"

The whirring stopped. The ring vanished. A new set of symbols appeared. Salem leaned into the cushions, took a sip of tea, and set the disk down between himself and his guest.

"This is a pricing disk," Salem finally explained. "You've asked your question, and this tells me what it's worth. Payment options include servitude, precious metals, information; really, anything I ask, as long as it is exactly- exactly- equal to that which you seek."

The blonde opened her mouth and closed it again. "It's... I have to pay? I don't make a lot-"

"Don't worry too much about it," Salem reassured her. "If you decide you can't pay it, then I don't help you find it, and no harm's done." He watched her struggle over it for a moment, and then added, "Stevie does this from time to time- send people over here, or rather, wherever I am at the time. But he only does this when he believes I can help, and that the person can pay. Otherwise he'd do it himself."

There was silence. Donna looked at the disk, at symbols she didn't understand. She looked at Salem, bright green eyes hidden behind thin lenses and glowing with understanding. At last she blurted out, "What are you?"

Salem smiled at her, a polite but sincere smile, and said pleasantly, "I am a Moon Caller."

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End: Prologue.