Part 6 (1/2)

”Thank you, Ms. . . .”

”Corbett,” she said. ”Please call me Kathy.”

With a snappy about-face, Kathy returned to her post behind the reference desk, folded her hands on top, smiled, and said, ”Name your poison!”

Behind her, a girl with straight, shoulder-length hair and large round gla.s.ses sat at a computer terminal entering data from a stack of cards. She glanced up at me and did a cla.s.sic double take. Her eyes then darted to the end of the counter and I understood how I'd been so readily recognized.

Propped up in a wire book holder was a copy of my book with the back-cover publicity photo prominently displayed to anyone working behind the counter.

”Would you mind?” the reference librarian said, reaching for the book.

She opened it to the t.i.tle page. Dutifully, I smiled and autographed it. As I did, I noticed no one had checked it out.

”I suppose this is the noncirculating reference copy,” I said. ”If you'd like, I'd be willing to sign any circulating copies you have in the stacks as well.”

Kathy corrected me with a smile. ”Oh no,” she said, ”this is our circulation copy.”

Circulation copy. Singular. Never checked out. Being an author can be a humbling experience.

She closed the book, patted it, and set it aside. ”Now . . . how may I help you, Mr. Austin?”

”Yes, well . . . I'm researching a name,” I said.

”Surname?”

”Um . . . no, I don't think so.”

”Given name, then.”

”Possibly . . . but I'm not . . .”

”Historical or contemporary?”

”Um . . .”

”Foreign or domestic?”

”Probably foreign, but not in the sense that . . . that makes sense . . .”

She pursed her lips and c.o.c.ked her head and looked at me as only research librarians can do. She was good at it. It was probably an expression she used at least a dozen times a day on freshmen.

Loud and clear was the unspoken question behind her expression: How do you expect me to help you if you don't know what you're talking about?

”Look, Kathy . . . I'm not certain, but the name may be rooted in mythology. It may be New Age. It may be the name of a fictional character. Or it may not be a name at all, it may be a t.i.tle. I just don't know.”

She nodded, encouraged to hear lucid sentences coming from my mouth. ”All right,” she said. ”Let's approach this from another direction. Why don't you tell me the name and we'll go from there.”

”Semyaza.”

”Semyaza,” she repeated. Reaching for a slip of paper, she wrote the name down. ”Semyaza. S-E-M-Y-A-Z-A?”

”That would be my guess.”

Her eyebrows arched.

”I've only heard it spoken once,” I explained. ”I've never seen it written.”

Putting on her researcher's face, Kathy turned to a computer monitor. She tapped in a few commands and waited. When the desired screen appeared, she typed in the name. Her eyes remained fixed on the monitor while the computer did its magic. ”Hmm. Interesting,” she said.

”What?” I leaned over the counter to see the screen, but she had it angled to prevent prying eyes. ”What?” I asked again.

She punched a key and a printer jumped to life. It spat out a single sheet of paper which she grabbed and handed to me. ”Why don't you start with these books,” she said, ”and I'll follow up on some leads on the computer.”

The sheet contained a short list of call numbers.

Thanking her, I entered the stacks with printout in hand looking for the BT section. There were three books on the list. All of them with the reference call number BT966.2.

I found the BTs against the back wall and understood what the reference librarian had found interesting. I wasn't in the mythology section, as I had suspected; nor was I in the history, anthropology, or fiction sections. Section BT was reserved for books on New Testament theology.

Finding the three books on the list, I carried them to a table and dug in.

Moments later Kathy came walking up. ”Somehow you don't strike me as the type,” she mused.

”What do you mean?”

She set an open book in front of me. It was a collector's edition with full-color photographs of angel figurines. Displayed was a ceramic angel with a lute, a hand-painted angel with a trumpet made of resin, a guardian angel table clock, and a girl angel snuggling up with a polyester blanket. Prices ranged from $12.95 to $74.95.

Kathy the librarian held out for as long as she could, which wasn't long. She burst into laughter. ”I'm sorry,” she cried. ”I couldn't help myself. Not after what I found. Here's the real scoop.”

She set two printout pages from Web sites she'd found on the Internet on top of the book. I glanced at them, then at her.

A reference librarian with a sense of humor. Go figure.

”There were more references, but they say pretty much the same thing,” she said of the printouts.

SEMYAZA -Angel; of the rank of Seraphim. A leader of the angels who rebelled in heaven and cohabited with women. The 200 angels under his command are divided into groups of ten, each with a prince.

The second printout was similar to the first: Semyaza (Aramaic; Shemyahzah), which means ”my name has seen” or ”he sees the name.” Possibly an indication that had the rebellion in heaven succeeded, he would have been granted the Archangel Gabriel's position, which he coveted. Semyaza was cast out of heaven with Lucifer. On earth, he is legendary for his corruption of humanity.

”Semyaza is the name of an angel,” I muttered. ”Which explains . . .” I pointed to the book of figurines. ”Very funny.”

”You look like a man who enjoys a joke,” she replied.

I stared at the printouts, not knowing what to think. What did any of this have to do with Myles Shepherd?

”You say you heard the name,” Kathy said. ”Do you mind if I ask where?”