Vanguard City! The pride and shame of the United States west coast. The best place to live, but also one of the most dangerous. This (relatively) wealthy, happy-looking city was taking the Great Depression in stride. Or at least... would have you believe that.
On the corner of Franklin Street and 4th Avenue was a rather mundane-looking brick building in a commercial block. Like many so many others, there was a short flight of steps leading up its front door, and merchandise was on display in a bay window. The curtains on the second story windows showed that the proprietor lived upstairs. A black sign with brass lettering read "The Night Library" with the address printed underneath it. There really wasn't anything exceptional about the outside of this store at all. In fact, a lot of the others on that street were much more appealing. And on such a vibrant spring afternoon, many of the passers-by were inclined to agree.
But appearances are deceiving. The inside of The Night Library was as remarkable as the outside was unremarkable. The Night Library was a bookstore that specialized in obscure, esoteric, and rare books. Shelf after shelf was lined with published journals of Victorian explorers, Austrian psychology reports from the last 30 years, cloth-bound tomes of alchemy and witchcraft, antique Bibles and other scriptures, scientific journals on subjects many would consider science fiction instead of fact, atlases of the most inhospitable regions of the world, historical texts of events mankind in general would prefer to forget, and books in multiple forgeign languages just to name a few. It seemed that any book a customer wanted, the owner could procure.
And the owner himself was as peculiar as the store. Sitting at his desk across from the front door sat Jack Marcus Sienna. He leaned back in his chair with his legs crossed. The jacket to his suit was draped over the back of the chair and he sat in brown slacks and shows and a cream shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a red tie. His wavy black hair poofed out slightly in small curls, framing his handsome, young face and making him look a little wild. As always, his eyes were obscured behind a pair of dark glasses, the kind a blind man would wear. No one knew why he insisted on wearing those things. As far as anyone could tell, he could see fine.
Jack sat quietly as he read the newspaper for the day. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he read the latest article on the activities of the Black Dragons. The Chinese gang had cornered the opium trade in the region. They were brilliant and deadly, thwarting all attempts by the police to bring them to justice. The problem was that in these difficult times, many people sought the escape that opium provided. Every down-on-his-luck John and Jane in the city was a potential customer that made the Dragons stronger.
Jack set the newspaper down with a frown, knowing it was going to be a long night tonight. He sighed as he stood and grabbed a nearby broom. The shop wasn't going to sweep itself, and business today had been slow.
On the corner of Franklin Street and 4th Avenue was a rather mundane-looking brick building in a commercial block. Like many so many others, there was a short flight of steps leading up its front door, and merchandise was on display in a bay window. The curtains on the second story windows showed that the proprietor lived upstairs. A black sign with brass lettering read "The Night Library" with the address printed underneath it. There really wasn't anything exceptional about the outside of this store at all. In fact, a lot of the others on that street were much more appealing. And on such a vibrant spring afternoon, many of the passers-by were inclined to agree.
But appearances are deceiving. The inside of The Night Library was as remarkable as the outside was unremarkable. The Night Library was a bookstore that specialized in obscure, esoteric, and rare books. Shelf after shelf was lined with published journals of Victorian explorers, Austrian psychology reports from the last 30 years, cloth-bound tomes of alchemy and witchcraft, antique Bibles and other scriptures, scientific journals on subjects many would consider science fiction instead of fact, atlases of the most inhospitable regions of the world, historical texts of events mankind in general would prefer to forget, and books in multiple forgeign languages just to name a few. It seemed that any book a customer wanted, the owner could procure.
And the owner himself was as peculiar as the store. Sitting at his desk across from the front door sat Jack Marcus Sienna. He leaned back in his chair with his legs crossed. The jacket to his suit was draped over the back of the chair and he sat in brown slacks and shows and a cream shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a red tie. His wavy black hair poofed out slightly in small curls, framing his handsome, young face and making him look a little wild. As always, his eyes were obscured behind a pair of dark glasses, the kind a blind man would wear. No one knew why he insisted on wearing those things. As far as anyone could tell, he could see fine.
Jack sat quietly as he read the newspaper for the day. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he read the latest article on the activities of the Black Dragons. The Chinese gang had cornered the opium trade in the region. They were brilliant and deadly, thwarting all attempts by the police to bring them to justice. The problem was that in these difficult times, many people sought the escape that opium provided. Every down-on-his-luck John and Jane in the city was a potential customer that made the Dragons stronger.
Jack set the newspaper down with a frown, knowing it was going to be a long night tonight. He sighed as he stood and grabbed a nearby broom. The shop wasn't going to sweep itself, and business today had been slow.
