Jules Verne sat in the library of the Sorbonne. The hour was late and he knew that he should be returning to his cheerless room, but the library was warm and the chair, while not exactly comfortable, was much better than the one that resided under the table he used as a desk. The pile of books beside him did not contain treatises on the law, for which he felt slightly guilty, but instead were the libraries reference volumes on that strange civilization that once ranged over large stretches of the country now known as Mexico, the Aztecs.

The pictures in this latest book showed sketches of devices found by explorers as part of that civilization. Jules was looking specifically for any mention of anything that might be a part of that strange vehicle he and his friends knew as the "Phoenix." This peculiar machine had the ability to move through time the way that Phileas Fogg's dirigible Aurora could sail through the air. He was about to give up on this one as well when he spotted a diagram that looked familiar.

He turned the pages of his own notebook to find his sketch for comparison. "Yes!" he said triumphantly. "They match!" He scribbled the name of the book down next to his drawing. When next he saw Phileas, Passepartout, and Rebecca, he would have something to report.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Someone was coming. Someone silent. A shadow fell across his notebook. He turned quickly to look.

Jules jumped to his feet to confront the figure, then felt slightly foolish as he realized its feminine shape. Not that he had not had problems with females of a villainous bent before, but this one was merely standing silently watching him. He could see no signs of guns, knives, or anything else that might be interpreted as a weapon. She was dressed completely in black, including black gloves and a thick black veil. Very tall for a woman, he noted, almost as tall as Phileas. "May I help you?" he said finally.

For a moment there was no reply, then the veil stirred. "You are Monsieur Jules Verne?" The voice was muffled by the veil, and Jules could not guess at her age from the sound.

He nodded, realized she probably could not see too well, and spoke. "Yes, I am." He was still too wary to remember his manners. Lately, strangers had meant trouble and only trouble. "And you are?"

There was a suggestion of a chuckle in the muffled voice. "You could not pronounce my real name. For now, you may address me as Madame Coates. That is close enough to suffice."

Had Jules been a cat, his fur would have started rising. All that black and no real name. He edged away, sidling along the length of the library table. "And, what can I do for you, Madame Coates?" he asked cautiously.

"A small thing. But, important. At least to me. However, the explanation is long and standing is tiring. Will you come with me to my coach?"

 Chapter 3: Leaving the Library

Jules paused, and the woman leaned a bit closer.

“I understand your hesitation, Monsieur Verne, but it is imperative that you come with me immediately.” She glanced around briefly, then murmured, in a voice so soft he could barely catch it, “There are those who would gladly prevent this meeting… very… dark and troublesome individuals – do you understand?”

Jules caught his breath. Could she mean – the League of Darkness? He glanced around the quiet Library, and suddenly made his decision. He caught up his notebook and coat.

“Very well, Madame, I will accompany you.”

The woman made a sound of triumph, and caught Jules by the arm. “This way,” she whispered, "the front entrance is being watched.”

She led him through the dark Library, into the store-rooms in the rear. She indicated a set of double doors.

“This way, Monsieur Verne, through the loading-dock. We must hurry.”

Suddenly Jules was aware of the sound of footsteps coming up behind them, hurrying footsteps, that did not sound like the usual shuffling footfall of the aged Librarian. He hurried after the tall woman, who had already opened a door, and was looking outside.

“It is good,” she whispered, as Jules came up beside her. “We are unobserved.” A large black coach pulled up into the alleyway at the back of the Library. The driver was unrecognizable in a hat, dark coat and scarf. “Very good, here is our transport,” smiled the tall woman.

Swiftly they exited the building, and entered the coach. As they left the alley, Jules, looking out the window, saw two men exit the Library by the door they had just used. It was impossible to recognize them, by the brief glance he had, but he did notice that one of the men wore a scarlet vest beneath his coat.

The coach turned into the street, and Jules turned back to the woman. Was she his abductor, or his rescuer? He opened his mouth to speak, but the woman stopped him with a gesture.

She flung back her veil, to reveal – the handsome face of Phileas Fogg!

“Surprised?” Fogg asked.

Jules' mouth dropped open. "Phileas!" he gasped. "What - why -"

Fogg interrupted him. "Verne, honestly! You trusting fool! I *told* Rebecca you would fall for it and -"

"Re- Rebecca? She knew -" Suddenly, Jules' amazement turned to anger. "You tricked me! But why, Fogg? What reason can you have?"

Fogg sighed, and sat back in his seat. "Well, it was not entirely a trick," he admitted. "I really did need to pick you up, *without* being recognized." He held up one hand to silence his companion. “But really, what were you thinking, going off with a strange woman?”

“But she wasn’t a strange woman –“ Jules began, and Fogg snorted.

“Don’t play word games with me, Verne, I am not in the mood. How many times have we told you to be careful? There are those who would consider you a rare prize – and yet you walk straight into the arms of strangers without a thought.”

Jules blushed. “I am sorry, Fogg. But she – I mean you – well, I didn’t sense a threat from her – er, you – oh, you *know* what I mean!”

Phileas gave a gusty sigh, and then chuckled, shaking his head sadly. “Verne, Verne, what can I do to make you understand the dangers you face?” He regarded the young writer steadily and smiled. “I shall just have to resign myself to becoming your perpetual rescuer.”

“I am sorry,” Jules repeated. He sighed and added, “I will be more careful, I promise.”

Fogg’s lips twitched. “Well, I suppose that will have to do.”

Jules frowned. "You said you needed to pick me up without being recognized. Those two men at the Library – were they looking for me?"

"Not exactly. They were looking for ME, although finding you would not have been a bad thing, from their point of view. Bait, you see," he added, as Jules began to ask another question.

"Bait?" Jules considered this. "But why are they looking for you, Fogg?"

Phileas paused, and carefully peeked out through the curtains. "That will have to wait, Verne," he answered. "We are due to meet Rebecca and Chatsworth in -" he glanced at his watch, "ten minutes. In the meantime, you can explain to me what you were doing in that musty Library."

Jules swallowed his questions. Phileas Fogg would tell him whatever he chose, *whenever* he chose. Quickly he filled Phileas in regarding his search.

At the end, Phileas was frowning. "Damn. I am sorry I didn't see that sketch of the Phoenix. It is not a thing I would like to see fall into the wrong hands." He glanced out the window again, as the coach drew up to a stop.

With a grimace, Phileas pulled the veil back over his face. "Remember, Verne, my name is Madame Coates."

"Quickly, Verne," Phileas demanded, trudging toward the funeral parlor. And, stopping at the side entrance, he started rattling the rusty cast iron latch.

Jules rushed to catch up. "Uh, Fogg... I'm mean, it's a foggy night Madame Coates, are you sure this is the right door to be..." But, before he could finish, Coates/Fogg scurried over the threshold into the dark interior.

Jules rushed to catch up, entered the room and out of habit, started closing the door behind him.

Fogg yelled, "Verne, don't close that door!"

But, the door gained a momentum of its own - as if some strong brute was pulling it shut from the outside.

Click.

The bolt latched; the room was bathed in pitch blackness.

Fogg pushed Jules aside as both men fumbled about the door looking for a way out. But, there was no knob on the inside.

"Damn, Verne. You are an idiot," Fogg said as he launched into one of his long-winded put-down speeches, pushing aside his veil as the disguise was to longer needed.

But Jules ignored Fogg's hot-headed tirade as usual. Instead, he focused his attention on a mysterious green luminescence coming from the floor of the far corner. He wandered over to look at it.

As Verne walked deeper into the room, the wafting mildewed dust he stirred up in the musty dampness bit into his sinuses, threatening to make him sneeze.

As he walked, the stone floor abruptly ended as Jules' foot caught on a metal ring which almost caused him to lose his balance.

"Fogg, I think I've found a trap door in the floor. And there is a light behind it," he whispered, trying to to alert whoever could be in the room below.

The dark was not as dark as it had been as Jules noticed his eyes stared to adjust to the very dim light in the small room.

He turned to look at Fogg who was continuing to chastise him, and continued the one-way banter at considerable length - per usual - as if Verne were intently interested and hanging upon every word.

Instead, Jules looked through Fogg, who, as it happened, was leaning up against an elongated box made of polished wood.

An item which until now had gone unnoticed.

"If you had been listening to what I have been saying, Verne," Fogg continued.

... Fogg continued, and flung open the lid of the coffin against which he had been leaning with a dramatic gesture. "You would know that the situation is very serious indeed. The last person known to have been engaged in your line of research ended up dead, Verne, very dead, Verne, sincerely and severely dead, Verne, very dead indeed, can you tell me that you are not the least bit desirous of avoiding a fate such as this?"

He punctuated the end of this rant with a fine and flamboyant gesture at the face of the body lying in the coffin. As his eyes grew gradually more accustomed to the dim light and the greenish glow coming from the trapdoor in the floor Jules Verne could just barely make out the familiar features of Miss Rebecca Fogg.

Jules gasped. "Rebecca?"

Phileas shifted his weight impatiently as he explained to the French writer exactly what was going on.

"What are you talking about Verne? As you can plainly see, the contents of this coffin do not contain a corpse, but instead..."

He turned to the coffin with a flourish and his words broke off as he, too, saw the body of his beloved cousin.

Time seemed to be frozen, Verne but a distant memory as Phileas reached out to touch the deceptively delecate hand crossed over the body's breast.

It was cold. Room temperature cold.

"Bec?" Phileas whispered, using the pet name he used to tease his younger cousin when she was but an annoying child tagging along and constantly getting him in trouble with his father.

Phileas' mind pulled a past memory and pictured the adolescent Rebecca gigling at calling him "Phil," and recoiling when he returned the favour by calling her "Bec."

Those names became seldom-used pet names as the years passed. He squeezed her hand.. it was stiff and unyeilding.

A sudden wave of grief washed over him, how Phileas wished for those past days now. His Rebbecca was no more. First Erasmus. Now Rebecca.

The hand was cold. Hard and cold.

Phileas' mind was in a sudden rage. Damn you, Father, now I'm alone.

From behind, Jules watched the emotional transformation of Phileas as within seconds the tall, arrogant aristrocrat appeared to turn into a small and lost vunerable boy.

Phileas was immoble. Dazed. He removed his hand from the body and grabbed his forehead. The headaches were back.

Jules' eyes left Phileas and looked back to the body in the coffin. Something was not right.. he moved closer.

Phileas, with eyes tightly shut - denying the view before him; denying the throbbing in his skull - fought off the chill that seemed determined to take permanent residence in his soul.

He began trembling, a sob escaped though the shudders.

Jules was invisible to him. The world was invisible to him. Nothing mattered without his Rebecca. He knew she would never call him Phil again. Or smile again.

Jules moved forward until he stood directly beside Phileas and leaned into the coffin to get a closer look.

Yes, Jules thought, the neck. Not right at all.

Neither man noticed the green glow in the room had gotten considerable brighter as the trap door behind them was being raised.

A voice from the far corner called out to them. "Phil, Jules, help me with this blasted thing."

Phileas spun around looked directly at his cousin who was peeking at him through a very heavy and partially-opened iron trap door.

"Rebecca?" he turned back to the casket to again see his cousin lying in a non-living state.

He turned back to the far corner to see Jules struggling with the trap door trying to free the other Rebecca.

"Good lord, Phileas, are you going to stand there all day or help get me out of here?" The struggling woman looked at him with Rebecca's eyes. Only his Rebecca could look at him with that kind of indignation.

Phileas rushed to help Jules. "But, what of the coffin?" he asked. "I thought that was you."

"That's my cousin Maria," Rebecca explained almost out of breath as she continued pushing harder on the iron door.

The three succeeded in opening the door, freeing a dusty but otherwise undamaged Rebecca Fogg.

"Cousin?" Phileas asked with a doubtful tone in his voice. "I have no realations named Maria."

"Of course not, you dolt," Rebbecca brushed off his doubt. "My mother was her aunt. I haven't seen Maria in years. She grew up in rural Hungary, far from you and Shillingworth Magna. And therefore no relation to the Foggs except through me."

Jules walked over to the casket, noting, "The two of you do bear a remarkable resemblence to one another."

"Yes, we do," Rebecca answered the Frenchman, "but her eyes are brown and mine are not."

Phileas looked toward the body in the coffin. "How did she die."

Rebecca rushed over to her long lost cousin. "She's not technically dead. But, she has been bitten by a vampire."

"How?" Phileas asked. "Is this the work of Rimini?"

"I would certainly think not," Rebecca explained. "Maria sent message to me here in Paris, which was unexpected. I have no idea how she found me. We met late last night, After we had become reacquainted, she was to stay the night with me.

"I ran an errand to update Chatsworth on the progress of the Aztec exhibit assignment, and when I came back, vampiric fiends had attacked my flat and absconded with poor Maria.

"They obviously mistook her for me," Rebbeca explained. "She came all this way from Theresiopel only to be taken by a creatures of the night."

"Is there anything we can do?" Jules asked.

Phileas shook his head. "We must put her down to let her soul rest in peace."

"Not quite, Phil," Rebecca admonished him. "We have some time to save her before the vampirism takes hold for good."

Phileas smiled to himself, thankful she called him Phil.

Jules looked to her. "How long do we have?"

"A little less than two days. I lost some time when I got stuck in that cellar hiding from the fanged brutes." Rebecca turned toward pointing to the open trap door. "But I think Maria's salvation lies down there."

"We should hurry," Jules said, "We've only an hour before nightfall."

Rebecca walked over to the coffin and shut the lid.

"Quickly," she ushed the other two. "We have no time to waste."

The three descended into the lower level, closing the trap door behind them.