Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The book glowed faintly in the corner of the room. The glow was faint - so faint it was only visible in the darkness of the night-shrouded annex. In the still silence surrounding it the glow faded... and was gone.

Jenkins was the first to stumble, bleary eyed, into the room the next morning. He never left the annex, except on occasional missions that piqued his interest or absolutely required his presence. As a consequence, his working day usually started at breakfast, or slightly after it at least: no danger of spills or crumbs would ever come near his workplace! He had a new routine now. One that included the presence of three Librarians and one Guardian due to arrive about an hour after he finished clearing up his breakfast dishes. Long enough for the cumulative effect of nourishment and daylight to kick in and make him look like he had been awake for hours. And how dare they be so slovenly to turn up half way through the morning and still yawning!

Rubbing his eyes he went through the first part of the daily routine: the doors were unlocked, the unwelcome visitor alarms readjusted to their daytime settings - magical of course - and the coffee machine was set up, ready to be switched on five minutes before Cassandra, always the first to arrive, was due, shortly followed by Baird and then Stone. Jones was always last! Finally, Jenkins reached the last part of his new routine - the book. With everything else ready for their arrival, the last thing he would do every morning, before returning to his own work, was check the book for new entries. Usually, there was nothing. Sometimes, however, there would be snippets from around the globe, from places where the daily newspapers were being printed and delivered while their side of the globe was still in darkness. Most of these usually turned out to be Flynn related, though, and Jenkins discreetly neglected to inform his charges, and their Guardian, of the more worrisome episodes in their mentor's quest.

He hadn't slept well. In fact, he hadn't been sleeping well for a while. He knew that a roomful of genii and a not-entirely-unintelligent ex-army colonel could not be ignorant of the fact that there was far more in his history than he was going to share with them, but the arrival of Morgan in his annex, knowing exactly where she was and who he was, had startled him. He had been waiting ever since for the questions to start, and the encounter had turned itself into a sword of Damocles in his mind, robbing him of his rest. It was because of this that he nearly missed it.

The entry was tiny: a mere sentence in an already crowded corner of the page. When he read it, he had to go back to the start of the sentence and read it twice more before he believed it. Finally, having let the full impact of the sentence settle in his head, he walked over to his desk and picked up the phone. Four, very short, calls later, he walked over and switched on the coffee machine.

Cassandra hated rushing in the morning, but Jenkins' voice had been quite insistent on the other end of the line and Baird was already on her way to pick her up. In her haste she walked into one of the boxes still lying around the corner of her new apartment's long, central corridor. She hopped the rest of the way to the kitchen to find her purse. The apartment was smaller than her last one, but then she had moved in a hurry to be nearer to the annex, and she didn't spend that much time there anyway. That was her excuse for the array of still unpacked boxes lying around - especially in the living room, which was hardly ever used - and she was sticking to it!

Grabbing her purse and a jacket from the back of a chair, she hurried through to the entry hall and pulled on a pair of silver-grey boots. They were a new purchase, a rare extravagance, and she loved them. They suited her and they suited her job too, which was difficult when you never knew exactly what or where that job might be! By the time she got down to the street, Baird was already waiting, Ezekiel Jones curled up asleep on the back seat. Cassandra took the seat next to Baird and buckled herself in, spotting the slight curl of the colonel's lip that preceded a sudden increase of speed, and a series of confused curses from the back seat. The car moved through the early morning traffic easily in absence of the usual, later, morning rush hour. It took less than two minutes to reach Stone's apartment a few blocks away, and within the half hour they were seated around the central desk of the annex, Jenkins' stern face looking down on them with even more dubious anxiety than ever.

"I don't see why..." Baird began, once Jenkins had shown them the tiny addition.

"I know, but you'll have to trust me when I say this one is important!" Jenkins cut her off emphatically. "There are maybe a dozen artefacts that could be responsible for this. Some are in the Library, others we know have been destroyed, but the most dangerous of them all is still unaccounted for."

Jones looked again at the sentence and read it aloud, his scepticism ringing clearly in every word.

"Black panther spotted in Scottish Highlands."

"How do we know it's not just some escaped wildlife park big cat?" Stone asked calmly.

"It's in there," said Jenkins, pointing at the book in reply.

"So what do we think it is?" Stone continued.

"There are a few possibilities, like I said," said Jenkins, waggling a finger as he drew a blackboard over towards him. There were quite a few possibilities listed up there, most of them crossed off, but one was circled. "It could be a kelpie, they usually show up as horses or humanoids, but they can be anything. If it is, it will have some signs of the water it came from about it - kelp in its fur or dripping water, that sort of thing. Although, if it is a kelpie, by now it could be anything else!"

"So if we meet something damp..." Jones prompted.

"The only information I have deals with the entity's humanoid or horse based forms," said Jenkins. "The addition or removal of some sort of harness seems to be popular, along with the traditional silver or iron projectiles for the more bloodthirsty or desperate. I dare say something similar works whatever form the kelpie takes, just don't follow it back to its lair and you should be fine."

Jenkins turned back to the board and pointed at the next remaining possibility. It read 'The Fairy Flag'.

"This one is least likely," said Jenkins, "but it's still a possibility. The Fairy Flag was given to the Chief of the Clan MacLeod, way back when magic was still a frequently used force in the everyday world, by the king of the local tribe of faeries. Well, there are lots of ways that story goes, but the reality of the matter is that it was a peace offering. Gifts were given both ways, but gifts from ordinary mortals, even clan chiefs, are always less interesting than gifts from faeries. The flag had the power to protect the house it was kept in, and the clan who owned it, from magical and non-magical threats alike. The flag could be actively used by the owner, but only three times. To use the flag, the appointed flag-bearer, usually the eldest son of the chief, would unfurl the flag and wave it, concentrating on his chosen wish, and the wish would be granted. After three uses, however, the flag's power would fade. Some say it has been used this way twice, some three times. It certainly had the power to summon up a faerie beast, but whether or not it still does is a matter of great debate!"

The third possibility had a question mark next to it. Jenkins tapped it and continued.

"The Questing Beast I am less sure of, but people see what they can make sense of, in my experience, so it might be it. I don't know why it would be roaming around up there though."

"What's a questing beast?" Cassandra asked, audibly missing out the capitals.

"Not 'a', 'THE'," Stone corrected her. "It's a creature from Arthurian mythology. Head of a snake, body of a leopard and tail of a lion?"

Jenkins caught his look and nodded. "Haunches of a lion, not just tail, and the feet of a hart," he corrected, then turned to Jones. "That's an old name for a deer, by the way."

"I knew that!" Jones scoffed indignantly.

"It was hunted by Sir Pellinore," Stone continued. "It was some kind of family tradition, or curse."

"If it is the Questing Beast, it can be killed just like any other creature," Jenkins added, "and because the Beast is magic, there won't be any body left lying around to explain either - it will just disappear."

"Okay, so that leaves us with the last one: the Selkie's skin," said Baird. "What's that?"

"A selkie is a gentle creature," said Jenkins, spreading his hands out and placing them on the back of a chair. "In its skin it takes on the form of a seal and lives underwater in the seas around Britain, Ireland and Scandinavia. Some have even been reported on this side of the ocean, up in Canada and as far south as Maine. There may be some confusion over the latter of those two though.

"The selkie can remove it's skin to become humanoid and walk on land," Jenkins continued, releasing the chair and walking round the desk. "When they do so, they take on the form of a beautiful woman, and bring good luck to all around them."

"That doesn't sound that bad," Jones cut in with a grin.

"There is a story of a farmer who saw a selkie remove her skin, fell in love with her in her human form, and stole the skin to keep her with him. She stayed, always searching for her skin, which he had hidden, and good luck came to farmer and all in the nearby area for many years. One day, however, the selkie found her skin. She hurried back to her beach before the farmer found out and put her skin back on, resuming her seal form. Instantly, all the good luck that had been visited on the farmer and his neighbours vanished, and the bad luck that had been held off by the selkie's presence came down on them all at once. That very night there was a storm that raged across the whole island. Every house in the vicinity of the farmer's croft was destroyed and the farmer himself struck by lightning and washed out to sea."

"Okay, that does," Jones admitted, his grin fading.

"What's more, the selkie's skin can be worn by anyone, not just the selkie," Jenkins added. "When it is worn it gives the wearer the ability to change shape into anything, or anyone."

"Also not good," said Cassandra.

"If it is a selkie's skin being used by a human, we have two problems: whatever it is that the person using the skin is up to for one, and the magical backlash that will be coming when we get that skin back to the selkie for an encore!"

"How do we get the skin back?" Stone asked.

"Easy!" Jones chimed in. "I steal it!"

"Okay," said Baird, standing up. "Let's you and I get started on that. Stone, Cassandra, you go find the Selkie."

"Any suggestions on where to start?" Cassandra looked from Baird to Jenkins.

"I'll fire up the door," Jenkins said, reaching for the globe. "When you find the selkie, you might find she looks different to each of you. That should help."

"How so?" Stone frowned.

"Selkies without their skins are said to look like the most beautiful woman the observer can imagine. Every report is different. Even the ones for the same selkie. That suggests to me that they cast a glamour over the observer. Whatever YOU think is the most beautiful woman in the world is what YOU see. Cassandra will most likely see an entirely different woman."

Chapter Text

The loch stretched out before them, reaching out to the Atlantic ocean through the protectively encircling arms of the mountains. They were on the other side of the world. The door behind them closed, leaving the three Librarians standing looking out across a simple tarmac road, pebble beach and unending water all the way to the horizon. The sun shone on the gentle waves, hanging in a pale blue sky over where they reached the sea. Ezekiel Jones frowned.

"Where are we?"

"Latitude 57°46'5.62"N, longitude 5°35'57.04"W," said Baird, glancing sideways at Cassandra. "The banks of Loch Ewe in Scotland, right in front of our accommodation for the time being."

As Jones turned to look, aghast, at the door they walked through just minutes before, Stone stepped past him to Cassie. He watched her eyes flickering back and forth, her lips muttering incoherent phrases and connections.

"You okay?"

The muttering and eye movements continued until he put a hand on her shoulder and called her name. A smile flickered over her face.

"Smells like summer," she grinned. A few seconds later she was focussed. "We've passed through eight time zones, can you believe that! It's early evening here!"

"The sun's still high," said Stone, nodding upwards. "We're so far north here it probably doesn't even set fully in summer."

"We're nearly as far north as the Yukon and Northwest Territories in Canada!"

"It's warm."

"It's late spring. The Gulf Stream is already bringing its warmth up with it and the sun has longer to heat the land and air if the weather's right."

"D'you get a weather forecast in there?" Stone frowned, indicating Cassie's brain with a nod of his head.

"No, just a picture of the globe with all the lines and continents and so on. It has ocean currents too. I'm my own little satellite."

They turned to join the other two, who were staring downcast at the sprawling caravan site stretching out behind the reception building they had just waked out of and would now have to walk into. Jenkins had suggested, in view of the time difference, that they would be better staying put for this one, and that it might take a day or two to solve. He had grinned from ear to ear as he passed out the emergency bags they had all packed months ago and left in the annex in case of just such an occurrence. Now they knew why.

"I'm going in," said Baird in resignation, leading the way through the door and into the reception.

The park warden looked up from his desk. "How can I help ye?"

"A friend of ours called a short time ago. He booked a trailer for us, name of Baird?"

"Aye, that he did," said the warden, nodding in recollection as he lifted a pair of keys off the numbered board behind him. "But it's no' a trailer we call them here, it's a static. They're the big ones up behind here. No' as flashy as yon Winny-bay-go things ye have in your neck o' the woods, I'll grant ye, but just as comfy." He handed Baird the keys. "Number 42. Third one along from the start at the top of the hill. I've put the electric on and there's the essentials your friend asked for in the kitchen. It's no' much, but it's the only sort of stuff we've got round here withoot a drive to the Gairloch and ye's can sort oot that yersel' the morra."

"Okay then," Baird's smile was fixed. She'd understood less than half of that speech, but she'd got the number and the keys and the general idea that there were provisions of some kind in the kitchen. "We'll go settle in, thank you."

The static caravan was a squat rectangular edifice with a double axle set of wheels in the middle and metal stilts propped up on bricks to steady it. It didn't look like much from the outside, but the inside was comfortably furnished with a long divan reaching round the bow window at the front of the caravan and continuing along and around the walls of the living space until it met the kitchen area. A counter and cupboards divided this from the living and dining areas, on top of which they found two boxes of cereal, a large bag of dried pasta, a loaf of bread, a bowl of fruit, an assortment of jars of pasta sauce, some onions, carrots and potatoes, a salami, some tins of soup, all either chicken, mushroom or tomato, tins of beans, tins of tuna, a bag of sugar, a dozen eggs, a box of tea bags, a bag of ground coffee, two packs of chocolate chip cookies, and a cafetière. They looked in the fridge and found milk, bacon, cheese, orange juice, butter, strawberry jam, peanut butter, salad leaves, tomatoes, peppers, and a jar of home-made lemon curd.

"Looks like Jenkins asked him to feed us AND house us," Stone muttered.

"Is there pizza?" Jones asked, biting into an apple.

"Nope," Baird replied. "You'll have to make do without take-out here."

"I have a question," Cassandra cut in before Jones could finish his bite. "Do we want to reset our body-clocks, or are we keeping them on normal time."

"Why?"

"If we reset them, we should start making dinner some time soon, but then it will still take a day before they're in sync with the time zone we're in. If we leave them, and have lunch in a few hours as if we were at home, we should be awake enough to head out tonight to see if we can spot anything."

"She's right," Stone agreed. "We need to start looking for this thing right away, and the cat has only been spotted at night time."

"We have a plan then," said Baird. "Let's get set up here, then head out. Jones and I will look for the cat. You two look for the woman."

The sleeping arrangements caused slight consternation: there were only three rooms. One was a double. Baird claimed that with a timely reminder that she only had to keep them alive, not pain free. The other two rooms were a single and a twin. Stone blocked Ezekiel with a hand over his mouth and announced that they would take the twin, steering the sulking younger man in the direction of the twin room before Cassandra could argue. If the kid snored or wanted the room to himself that much, he thought, he could easily sleep on the divan in the living room. Or the floor, come to that.

By the time they had their gear stowed away, the sun had moved round to the northern arm of mountains, and had sunk a little lower. Cassandra was in the kitchen, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, when Baird joined her.

"You got a map of this place in that brain of yours?" Baird asked, keeping her voice low.

"Sort of, but it won't help if I can't see the right landmarks," Cassandra replied. "I downloaded a map app onto my phone though. That should help. We'll head up into the village and ask around first. Do a bit of detective work. Get to know folks round here. That sort of thing."

"What's your cover story?"

"Hmm?" Cassandra looked up confused.

"This is a tiny village in the middle of mountains. Somehow, I don't see us getting away with 'we're librarians' here!"

"We're librarians on holiday trying to find out if the place we've only read about is really like the books say it is."

"Uh-huh?" Eve raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

Two eyebrows.

"What am I missing?"

Two eyebrows and a sympathetic look.

"Well what would you do?" Cassandra turned back to her sandwiches. "NATO, Homeland Security, FBI: none of the covers you've come up with are going to work here!"

"Okay then, let us imagine that you and Stone head up to the village. Where do you go first?"

"The nearest bar."

"And when the two of you walk in, you tell those who want to know that you are two librarians from America who have both come all the way across the Atlantic ocean just to find out if their tiny corner of the world was the way they say it is in books."

"Yep."

"And they'll buy that?"

"They usually do."

"There's usually four of us."

"But there is four of us."

"They'll only see two."

"Then we'll tell them our colleagues are back here, dealing with jet lag."

"And they won't find that at all suspicious?"

"Why should they?"

"We're supposed to have been travelling round Scotland for weeks. We wouldn't still be jet-lagged."

"Then you fancied an early night."

"Have you met Ezekiel Jones?"

"Well, what then?"

"I think she means we pretend to be a couple," said Stone's voice from the hallway to the bedrooms. "What are you more likely to believe: that we sneaked out for some time alone together or that we left our young, bored colleague behind when we went out to find out what we are all allegedly here to find out?"

"There were too many 'out's' in that sentence," said Baird, "but yes: that's essentially it."

"No, no, no: I am a terrible liar!" The bread knife waved wildly in the air.

"You fooled us way back when we first met," Baird reminded her.

"No, that was different. I was just being me, myself. I didn't have to be someone else. I didn't have to lie or act, I just had to not tell you what I was doing. And anyway, look how well that turned out!"

"Just be yourselves, they'll all just assume that anyway," drawled Ezekiel Jones as he sauntered past Stone into the living room and flopped down on the divan.

The bread knife froze. So did Stone. Baird turned round. "Jones?"

"It's the most obvious conclusion: a man and a woman from out of town walk into a bar together, they probably are together. The less you tell them about why you're there, the more they'll assume you have a reason for being secretive, and that they know what the secret is. People love jumping to conclusions. They do it all the time!"

The land around Loch Ewe is like many other wild places: beautiful, but deadly if you don't know your way around. The loch itself is about twice as long as it is broad, with one largish pine cone shaped island and two medium sized prominences at the inner end. It runs roughly north-north-east and, from the air, gives the impression of a long-necked, short-snouted blue dragon with its mouth open and green ear trailing backwards, devouring the land before it. On the larger, and more southerly, of the prominences is the National Trust estate of the Inverewe Gardens and house. The entire chunk of land is covered in rich, diverse gardens with mature woodlands, a walled garden, an immense variety of woodland plants from around the globe, a stretch of foreshore looking out south across the loch, and a hide that looks out over the inner shore of the loch.

It was in this hide, while watching the oblivious shore life change seamlessly from the dayshift to the nightshift, that Ross McNee spotted the creature. It was large, and dark, and unmistakably feline. Unfortunately, it was also in the hide with him.

"You okay?"

Cassandra mumbled a wordless reply in the affirmative and kept walking, her head bent, concentrating on where she was putting her feet. The sun had not long dropped below the arm of the mountains, and soon it would be absolute darkness. There was no moon in the sky and she hadn't bothered looking up to see if the stars were out yet. She wondered idly how different they would be to home.

"We okay?"

That stopped her in her tracks. Really? He had the nerve to ask her that?

"I'll take that as a no," said Stone, nearly walking into her.

"I don't know, Stone: you tell me," she replied coldly. "You're the one who doesn't trust me, remember? Not the other way round! And apparently you don't even trust me as your fake girlfriend!"

"Is this because of those guys?" Jacob threw out an arm in the direction of the village and its one pub. "Come on, Cassie! How would it have looked if I'd just left them there buying you drinks? You're the prettiest thing they've ever seen in that bar! They were swarming round you like..."

"They were talking to me. I was listening. That's what we were there for remember?"

"We were also supposed to be under cover!"

"You more-or-less growled at one!"

"I did not! I just cleared my throat is all!"

"He was harmless!"

"You don't know that!"

"Did he look like a beautiful woman to you?"

"He could be the guy keeping her here."

"If you had the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen trapped with you, would you be chatting up other women in bars?"

Jacob's mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times. Cassandra turned on her heel and walked away from him. In the darkness, and in her festering anger and impatience, she missed her footing and slipped, falling backwards. Jacob's hands caught her shoulders just before she hit the ground.

"Wow!" Cassie breathed out the word in sheer awe. Jacob opened his mouth to say something then realised she was looking past him toward the heavens. He put her down on the hillside and lay down beside her, looking up at the stars. Waves of green light shimmered across them, like windblown ripples in a lake. The aurora were beautiful. They had been beautiful in the frozen north at Christmas, but here, in May, where the faint glow of the sun still marked out the line of mountains to the north, and the stars above were clear and bright, and the Milky Way sparkled down on them. Here it was perfect.

A noise and movement by his side brought him back down to earth. The muttering had started again. The eyes flickered and the hands were up, moving invisible numbers and diagrams out of the way. He rolled onto his side and took her right hand, the nearest to him, in his, holding it close to his body.

"I'm here, Cassie," he murmured. "Come back now. Come back to me."

Chapter Text

Cassandra woke up slowly, her eyes focussing on the beige ceiling above her. She frowned. There had been stars last time she remembered. So many stars! And the aurora shimmering across them like phosphorescent ripples on the sky. And now there was just beige. Beige! Where was she? She let her gaze fall to the side slightly, to the wall, and recognised the wallpaper. She was in the trailer, or static, or whatever they called it here. She was lying on the divan, her head on a cushion, body covered by a woollen blanket.

A movement by her side nudged her attention to her left hand and a weight on her stomach. Someone was kneeling beside her, head resting on her stomach, hand interwoven with hers. Another memory came back to her. The sound of Jacob's voice softly calling her name.

"Jacob?" Cassie whispered. There was no reply. She raised her head and looked down the length of her body. Jacob's body was slumped to the side, resting against the divan, and his steady breathing told Cassie that he was asleep. She wondered how long they had both been sleeping for, and if the others were back yet.

"Jacob," she said, speaking normally now.

No reply.

Using her free hand, she pushed herself up into a slightly raised position, resting on her elbow, and tried to disentangle her left hand without success. She sighed. Did he have to be such a sound sleeper? Using her right hand and the top of the divan for leverage, she managed to work her way up into a seated position, moving Jacob's head from her stomach to her lap as she sat up, then from there to a cushion as she worked her legs free. All with one hand still entangled in his.

She knelt on the floor in front of him. He looked so peaceful. She reached out, but stopped herself before her fingers made contact with his face. She couldn't let herself go down that route. He was kind, and gentle, and he protected her, but he didn't trust her. He would never trust her again. That was a more formidable wall between them than any arguments, any differences of opinion or lifestyle. Even more than the brain grape.

She raised his hand, still holding hers, to her lips and kissed it softly. "Thank you for taking care of me," she murmured softly. She took a deep breath.

"STONE!"

Ezekiel Jones hated the cold. He had assumed it would be cold in the Scottish Highlands, and had grabbed the emergency bag he had packed with winter gear in it, even though it was late spring. Now he was glad he had. He was still cold though.

Being a thief, he was used to the watchfulness, the late nights, the darkness. He was even a little bit used to the cold. He wasn't used to the noise though, or lack thereof. Museums, art galleries, big houses: they all grew quiet after nightfall. But not this quiet. Even in the most hushed of museums, there was still the incessant hum of traffic outside, the rumble of underground trains, the echoes of the guards' footsteps. Here there was almost nothing. The occasional owl hooted mournfully. Some weird creatures made random odd noises when he wasn't expecting it. The only thing he could positively identify both source and distance of was the soft sough of the waves rolling over the pebbles on the beach.

They had found their way to an archaeological site. It had graves, which didn't bother him, and a stone carved with a Pictish symbol, which did. The symbol was simple enough. A crescent, like the moon on its side with the tips pointing down, and a V through it, with a curly thing in the middle that looked like someone had made a triangle inside the V, then taken the two top corners and pulled them up and round into a heart shape with a gap inside. There was a little curve added to the inside of the V on either side of the heart shape. There were seven dots across the top inner edge of the crescent, three at either tip, outside the V, and one at the point of the V, outside the crescent. He had spent ages examining it in the dying light of the sun. Now the image haunted him in the darkness of the night. He was sure it was important.

Colonel Baird sat crouched beside him, listening, watching. You could see quite a lot of the village and most of the bay from up here, if you picked your spot well. Lights in the distance picked out homes whose owners had not yet retired for the night. Slowly they winked out, one at a time. Eventually the only lights left were two distant gleams over on the other side of the bay, where Inverewe Gardens jutted out into the loch on its own private prominence. One light shone bright and steady through trees. The house, he thought. The other light was more the glow of light within a low, small building by the water's edge. It flickered and danced. And, very slowly at first, it began to grow.

"Fire!" Jones cried, stirring Baird from her silent sentinel position. "Over there! Fire! By the water!"

The nearest house was a small cottage opposite the burial ground. Within seconds, Baird was hammering on the door, waking the occupants.

"You're awake!" Jacob said muzzily, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "How do you feel?"

"I feel fine!" Cassie smiled reassuringly. "Why? What happened?"

"You passed out," Jacob caught her gaze now and watched her intently. "Your hallucinations spiralled, you seemed to pull it together for a bit, then you passed out. You haven't done that before, Cassie. Not that I've seen."

"Not at all," Cassie added. "They, the doctors, said it would happen though. Eventually."

"What does that mean? Should I call Jenkins? Get you to a hospital? What?"

"Hospitals can't do anything," Cassie shook her head. "The way the tumour interacts with the synaesthesia, it amplifies it and makes me lose control. You know that. But it's going to get worse. They said that it would start to overload my senses and that would get to the point where I pass out. Gradually, I'll start to pass out more and more, until, one day, I just won't wake up again."

Jacob reached out and brushed the hair out of her face. She was looking down, at their hands, not at him. Part of him was glad. He knew, had always known, that she was dying. He just hadn't thought it would be this soon. They risked their lives every day, could be killed at any moment, but the risk had never seemed as real as it had, carrying her down that hillside, unconscious, shouting her name and begging her to wake up. His phone had no signal, Baird had the sat-phone and he couldn't find any others in the caravan to call Jenkins for help. He couldn't leave her when she was out, but maybe now he could go find Baird and Jones and send her home, to be safe.

"Cassie, what can I do?" Jacob asked, turning her face to look at him.

"Nothing," Cassie smiled wistfully. "There's nothing you can do. I'm better here, with people around me, being useful."

He held her gaze for a moment, and it felt that if they could stay there, in that moment, forever, everything would be all right. Nothing could hurt them. Could hurt her. She looked away, down at their hands again.

"I guess you could give me my hand back though," she said, with forced brightness. "I'll be needing that!"

The spell broken, he looked down and released her hand. He hadn't even realised he was still holding it. "Yeah, right," he mumbled, helping her to her feet and letting go rather quicker than usual.

The cry of "FIRE!" broke the awkward silence that had descended in caravan, and Ezekiel Jones' face appeared in the doorway.

"Good," he shouted, "you're back! There's a fire over at the gardens. We think we've got something!"

By the time the team reached the fire, hitching a lift with one of the villagers, it was almost out. The campsite warden met them at the edge of the growing crowd.

"I hear it was yersels that raised the cry of fire," he said. "That was lucky: a fire here can spread all too easily, especially at this time of year. 'Tis a pity yes werna closer, but I doot ye could have saved him. Looks like suicide."

"There was somebody in there!" Cassandra cried, looking aghast at the pile of smouldering rubble.

"We think we ken who," said the warden. "A local lad. Always oot here at night watching the wildlife. Never quite fitted in."

"Who was he?" Stone asked.

"His name was Ross McNee. Grew up here. Was always up here at the gardens and the big hoose. His only friend was the MacLeod boy who lived there. I hear they had a big stooshie a few days ago up by the village. He seemed to be tellin' Ross to keep away. I dinna ken why."

The four looked at each other, and headed off in the direction of the big house, ignoring the calls of the warden. When they got there, they split up, Baird and Jones took the north side of the house, Cassandra and Stone took the south. One of the wooden shutters was showing signs of rot and the hinges gave way easily, the window behind opening inward and large enough for both of them to climb through. They were in a long corridor with rooms leading off on one side. The corridor was sparsely decorated, with tiled floors and whitewashed walls.

"Kitchens?" Cassandra suggested. Stone nodded.

They checked every door, some opening onto pantries, others to storerooms or gun rooms, one to a large kitchen. Eventually they reached the corner and the stairs. Another corridor led off below the main part of the house. This time there were rooms on both sides.

"We don't know where the others got in," said Stone. "We should check all of this level before we move up."

"Agreed," Cassandra replied. "You take the left side, I'll take the right."

One pair of rooms at a time, they proceeded along the corridor. About two thirds of the way, Stone opened a door and froze. He looked quickly over his shoulder, then back.

"Cassandra," he called. "I think we found her!"

The slight figure of Cassandra joined him in the doorway. "Oh my," she said. "She looks just like Lamia!"

The great benefit of having a Librarian who is also a thief on your team showed itself that night once again. As Stone and Cassandra led the selkie out of her prison, they were met by Jones and Baird. The former was without his usual smug grin, but the latter did hold a silvery grey fur in her hands.

"We think this belongs to you," she handed the skin to the selkie. "I hope you can forgive the people round here. The man who imprisoned you: he's dead."

"His death breaks their curse," said the selkie, in soft, lilting tones like the sigh of wind through the trees. "Did you kill him?"

Baird shook her head. "He took his own life. Left a note saying that he had murdered his best friend and couldn't live with himself."

The selkie stumbled, as if physically hit by this news, and Stone caught her.

"Ross is dead too then?"

"You knew him?" Baird frowned.

"You loved him," said Cassandra. "You came ashore to be with him. That's why he spent all his nights in the hide. But both men loved you, and the other got jealous. That's why he stole your skin, kept you here, and killed Ross."

The selkie nodded tearfully, her face hidden by her hands. "He saw me as I truly am," she sniffed. "Only a true love can do that to a selkie's shape. I have lived a long time waiting for that, and will mourn its loss for longer still."

"Maybe, one day, you'll find another true love?" Baird suggested.

"No," the selkie shook her head. "True love is much rarer and more precious even that ordinary love. I have been in love many times in my long life, but I have only had one true love. We each have one somewhere: a soul mate, a person who completes us as much as we do them. Few of us ever find them, although many who haven't think they have, for there is only one for each of us. One person, in all of time and space, who is our true love. And when they are gone, we must bide our time, live our lives with patience, and pray for the chance to try and find them again in the next life."

Slowly, with her head down, the selkie turned and walked away, heading for the shore.

"That must be something," said Ezekiel Jones once the selkie was out of sight. "To love someone so much that you see everything about them and accept it, good and bad, and love them anyway."

"Or to love someone so much," said Eve, her mind unavoidably spinning back to Flynn's offer to stay, "that you'd give up a part of your life, yourself even, just to be with them."

Chapter Text

"Qui est la?"

The young man's voice echoed in the shadowy passageway, made all the more shadowy by the shaking of the hand that held the lit phone. He had been down there for hours. What had begun as a short exploration of a tunnel he had found below the Pont Valentré was now becoming a dangerous possibility of never finding his way back out again.

He stumbled. Even with the light of his phone, it was too dark to see and take note of every stray rock or dip in his path. Another stumble sent him sprawling, his phone clattering out of his grip and onto the rocky floor as he threw out his hands to catch himself. Groaning, he rolled over and felt around for his phone. His hand felt something cool and round. Several somethings. Coins. He picked up a handful, tracing the edges and designs with trembling fingers. There were five coins in his grasp. They felt old. Their edges were worn and their designs almost undetectable. The fifth coin was the easiest on which to feel the design. On one side it felt like two semicircles back to back, with a thick, rectangular stand. He flipped the coin over then rocked back, onto his back, head reeling with an overwhelming sense of nausea. He passed out.

When he came to, there were voices echoing down the tunnel. The cadences were strange and unfamiliar, but the echoes were probably distorting everything out of all recognition anyway, he thought. His fist closed around the coins still in his hand. Something felt different. Slowly, he counted them through his fingers. There were only four. Passing the coins to his other hand, he felt around for the fifth. His fingers encountered nothing more than the bare rock. He must have rolled further than he thought when he fell unconscious, for the pile had vanished and his phone was still nowhere to be found.

The voices grew closer and, consequentially, louder. With the effect of the echoes lessened by proximity, he could hear the words more clearly. They were still odd. Perhaps there was a visiting group of cavers or archaeologists or something down here. That would explain their language differences. He would have to hope that one of them spoke French.

"Whatcha workin' on Jenkins?" Ezekiel Jones called as he sauntered into the annex at half past nine in the morning.

"The same thing everyone else has been working on for the last half hour, Mr Jones," was the acerbic reply. "As you would have known had you managed to turn up on time for a change."

"Another night addition? Seriously? How often do we get those?"

"Well, roughly fifty percent of the planet is enjoying daytime while the rest of us sleep, or do whatever you do instead, so that would suggest that at least half of our missions will be somewhere on the other side of the planet."
"But no early morning wake up call today, so it can't be that important!" Jones replied with a grin.

"Important, yes. Urgent, no. There is a difference," Jenkins corrected him. He passed over a file from which copied texts and varied forms of pictures were spilling. "We are looking for this. It is called the Janus Coin. The book picked up a pattern of odd disappearances. People vanishing, leaving everything around them as it was. No clues whatsoever."

"And that's only possible with this coin?"

"No that's possible with plenty of magical items. More than you would care to know of, believe me. No, what makes us certain here is the pattern of reappearances."

"Reappearances?" Jones looked confused.

"Yes, more or less every second victim, it seems, sooner or later, finds his or her way back to exactly where they disappeared from."

"And that makes it this Janey's coin?"

"Janus Coin," Jenkins corrected. "Janus was the Roman god of doorways and new beginnings. He is commonly shown with two faces, looking forward and backward just as he is said to look forward and backward through time. The Janus Coin is a coin said to contain the power of Janus. Whoever picks up the coin, and turns it over, it transported through time, leaving everything not attached to them, and the coin, in their own time. Whichever way the first victim goes, forward to the future or backward to the past, the next victim will go the opposite way, giving them the chance to find the coin if they go forward, as it will have been left there, or somewhere, by them however many years previously, assuming they got back and were able to leave a message to ensure it would be left in that place in the years to come. If they are not that intelligent, it can take them years to come back as they search high and low for the coin until they find it and it sends them right back to the spot they vanished from, however long later that they have spent in the future."

"So, if I got sent to the future, stayed for a month and came back, I'd arrive a month after I left?"

"That's it exactly."

"But if I get sent back to the past, I don't have any way of knowing where the coin was in that time period, so I don't go home?"

"More or less. You do get the occasional person who strikes it lucky and finds the coin, but most, in my experience, have died from disease or culture shock first."

"Huh?"

"The more time progresses, the more we change, and so to do our diseases. You, for example, are young enough not to have had the smallpox vaccine. If you were to go back in time to a smallpox epidemic, you would be in very hot water indeed. As for culture shock, well, people who turn up in Jacobean England spouting stories of small metal boxes that allow you to talk to other humans on the other side of the world, would probably have been burned at the stake before long."

"It was the 'in my experience' that I was wondering about!"

"Ah," said Jenkins. "Well, you know I have lived a long time, but really, Mr Jones did you think time travel only applied as a ticket out of your lifetime? Many have arrived from past or future during my time in the annex, even just during Mr Carsen's time as a Librarian. Where exactly did you think M. Verne got all his ideas from?"

"Jules Verne time-travelled!" Stone's voice called from the stairs. He was descending, book in hand.

"No, of course not, my dear Mr. Stone," said Jenkins easily. "M. Verne was a Librarian!"

"But hang on," said Jones, raising a hand. "If every person that got sent into the future made sure that the coin was in a certain place at a certain time, doesn't that mean that someone always knows where it is?"

"The joys of magical paradoxes, Mr Jones," said Jenkins, turning back to the younger man. "I'm afraid not. Once that person is back in their time then their link to the coin is destroyed and anything can happen to it. I understand your concern though: people do tend to assume that time is a strict progression from cause to effect. A very old acquaintance of mine assures me that this is not the case."

"Are they as old as you?" Jones prodded, curiously.

"Not quite," Jenkins replied with a slight, lopsided smile.

"Are we just ignoring the fact that Jules Verne was a Librarian?" Stone asked, still reeling in astonishment.

"I think I've got something!" Cassandra called from above. "The last recorded sighting of the Janus Coin was in Cahors, in France."

"Of course! The Roman coins!" Jenkins smacked his forehead. "Ah, it does get so very difficult to keep track."

"Wh..." Stone began, but was cut off from the voice on the balcony.

"It says here that the report was made by a young woman claiming to be from the thirty-first century, AD, and that she was last heard of heading back to France."

"Alana," said Jenkins. "Yes, I remember her. Kept walking into doors for the first few days, convinced they were all going to open automatically for her. Didn't seem to know how to work a light switch either, or anything else for that matter. Kept telling them what to do. I believe some idiot made a packet out of selling her story, watered down and turned into fiction of course."

"Oh...!" Stone was interrupted again.

"I guess we'll be heading to France then," said Cassandra. "Great! I've always wanted to go!"

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" Called Baird's voice from her desk, hidden behind the stacks of paper it refused to remove. "We'll take care of this one."

"What!" As Cassandra stormed down the stairs, the men wisely retreated in the opposite direction.

"But, Colonel Baird, that's not fair!" Cassandra's last word echoed through the annex.

"You passed out, Cassandra: you need checked out. You have a hospital appointment. You're going!" Baird's stern words resounded though the annex, not quite as loudly, but loud enough for Jenkins, sedately sipping a cup of tea, Jones, playing the latest handheld computer game, and Stone, pretending to read a book, to hear.

The argument had been raging all morning. It was two weeks ago when, in the chatter on their return to the annex, filling Jenkins in on all that had happened during their short stay in Scotland, Stone had let slip Cassandra's unconsciousness following a series of hallucinations. Baird had insisted on making an appointment for her with her specialist. Cassandra hadn't spoken to Stone since.

"But what if you need me, my skills, on this mission?"

"We've been through this, Cassandra: we'll work through it. It might take us a while longer, but we'll survive, and we'll have a much better chance of doing that if we don't have to worry about you!"

Stone winced.

"They can't do anything!" Cassandra raged. "If that's how you feel you'd be as well kicking me off the team right now! I am not going to get any better, be any better than I am right now! It is all downhill from here!"

"You are still going and that is final!" Baird's voice rose. "If Jenkins has to drag you there, you are going! You don't know what they might be able to do. New treatments crop up all the time. Even if it's just some way to keep you here longer..."

The voices dropped out of hearing. Stone looked over at Jenkins, who was mopping spilt tea off his tie, and Jones, still playing his game. He closed his book and got up, neither man paying him much attention. He headed for the shelves, returned the book he had been reading, and wandered through the aisles of books. He was looking for something, but he wasn't sure where he'd find it. Picking one narrow aisle at random, he walked down and turned to the shelves. He was engrossed in a leather-bound tome so old he wondered what the pages were made of - it didn't feel like anything he'd come across before - when he heard a set of footsteps suddenly stop. He looked over his shoulder, saw Cassandra, frozen after having sought refuge in the one set of shelves containing the only other person she was avoiding, and looked back, unsure what to say.

The footsteps turned and started to walk away.

"Cassie, I'm sorry!" Jacob called.

The footsteps halted.

"Please say something," he said, not daring to look round again.

"You knew I didn't want to do anything about it," came the quiet reply. "You knew I wanted to be here, to be useful."

"What if they can help?"

"You know they can't. I know they can't. I have accepted that. I'm ready."

"Maybe I'm not."

Silence.

"I know you're trying to help, Stone, but there's nothing you can do. There's nothing anyone can do. Please, don't make this any more difficult than it already is."

"Please, just go to the appointment. I'll stay. I'll come with you. Anything. Please."

"I don't want you there."

"But you will go?"

Silence.

"Cassie?"

"I'll go."

"Thank you."

"Don't," she whispered. "I'm not doing this for you."

Silence fell, each of them lost for words. Eventually Cassandra was the one to break the silence.

"I trusted you." And her footsteps faded away.

Chapter Text

If Scotland had been warm two weeks ago, France was definitely hot. Gone were the warm jackets and multiple layers. The people surrounding the slightly diminished group now were kitted out in shorts, t-shirts and sun-dresses. Eve Baird felt distinctly overdressed.

"Have either of you two ever been here before?" Baird asked the two men behind her.

"I have, once," volunteered Jones. "Stole a painting, sold it to some collector dude for a packet!"

"Ooh! What painting?" Stone asked, his features momentarily brightening.

"I dunno, it was years ago!"

Stone glowered.

"Where did you steal it from?" Baird asked, still looking around her.

"An art gallery up in the town."

"So you know your way around then?"

"You could say that."

"Great!" Baird turned to face them. "Then you're in charge of finding us those caves Jenkins was talking about. Which way to the bridge?"

"Miss Cillian," said Jenkins softly. "Your cab is waiting."

"Thank you, Jenkins," murmured Cassandra, not moving from her position at the balcony bannister.

Jenkins hesitated. He had seen many Librarians come and go, many Guardians too. He had never known one to die of natural causes. In all his years, and they were many indeed, that had never happened. It struck him that, for once, here was a Librarian that none of them could protect. Not him, not Baird, not Flynn, Stone or Jones, not even all of them together, had the power to stop what was happening in Cassandra's life right now. And none of them knew what it was like either. None of them could empathise, not properly. She had been living with this time-bomb for so long. They had only known of it a fraction of the time, and yet there were days when he, at least, forgot it's existence. Now it seemed that the light on that bomb had started flashing, and had put them all, all except Cassandra, and perhaps Jones - who knew what went on in his head, into a panic.

"I could come with you, if you wish," Jenkins added, as Cassandra still failed to move. "You know there's no shame in being afraid."

"I'm not afraid," she whispered. "I just don't see the point. They've done all they can. All the tests, the scans: all they're going to do is waste more of the limited time I have left. Time I could be spending helping people. Helping my friends. They don't want me there, though. Afraid I'll slow them down."

"They care about you. They just want to look after you. They're not ready to lose you."

"That's what he said."

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter," Cassandra shook her head and turned back to the bookshelves. "I should go. I said I would."

They had walked the length of the small, Roman and Mediaeval town of Cahors, stumbling across hidden gardens, churches, ancient doorways and buildings from at least five different centuries. Now, Jones, Baird and Stone stood in the shadow of the fourteenth century bridge, the Pont Valentré, looking up at a small vineyard growing down the side of the hill.

"Any ideas?" Jones asked, looking around him as if expecting to find cameras in every corner.

"Well, the nineteenth century restoration work stands out like a sore thumb, but when doesn't it," said Stone. "And surely, if there had been a tunnel entrance here, someone would have found it before now. During the restorations, I would have thought."

"Maybe someone did," Baird suggested. "I mean: they would have been a superstitious bunch in the nineteenth century, wouldn't they? Someone disappearing down that hole and never being seen again, not even when search teams went looking, that would be enough to start some stories, right?"

"Well, there certainly are some legends associated with the bridge that would help with that," said Stone. "Story goes, the architect couldn't get it finished on time, so he enlisted the help of the devil, then tricked him out of his fee: the architect's soul. A mysterious tunnel crops up during renovation works and the workers start disappearing down it: I can see how some folks might think it's the devil come back to claim his due."

"Are we sure we're in the right place?" Jones asked, frowning.

"We're sure," said Baird, rather louder than was necessary. "Come on, thief! You're the sneaky one. Where would you hide a secret entrance?"

"Me?" Jones looked round. "I wouldn't. A secret exit on the other hand..."

The other two rolled their eyes and continued looking. An ordinary person had found this tunnel, twice, by the sound of things, and probably more. None of them, as far as Baird or Stone knew, were Librarians, so that meant they must be missing something obvious.

"Course, if I had to choose," said Jones, leaning back against the wall and looking over at them, "I'd probably put it on the inside..."

The back door buzzed, flashed and opened to admit the running figure of Flynn Carsen, pursued by a bear. He slammed the door shut just before the animal reached it, causing an enraged roar to be suddenly cut off as the wormhole closed leaving a very confused bear in the middle of a Canadian forest.

"Having fun, Mr Carsen?" Jenkins asked, sauntering in with a cup of tea in one hand and bottle of water in the other. He handed the water to the Librarian and sat down.

"Where is everyone?" Flynn asked, having drunk nearly three quarters of the bottle in one go.

"Miss Cillian is at the hospital..."

"What? Cassandra? Is she alright?"

"Just a check up. Her tumour has been affecting her more seriously, recently. The others are on a mission."

"Without her?" Flynn frowned, puzzled. "Couldn't it wait?"

"The Janus Coin turned up," said Jenkins simply, before adding with a grimace: "or down, as the case may be."

"Ah. I see. Where?"

"Cahors, France."

"Right."

Flynn was silent for a while, drank the rest of his water, then sat down beside Jenkins.

"They know the dangers?"

"What do you take me for, Librarian," Jenkins growled quietly.

"Of course, yes, of course," muttered Flynn. "I'm sorry, I just... I worry sometimes."

"She'll be fine."

"Oh, I meant the Librarians in Training, of course."

"Of course," said Jenkins with a smile.

"What do we know?" Flynn asked, anxious to change the subject.

"A young gentleman of the French persuasion appears to have disappeared from the face of the Earth," Jenkins replied. "More specifically, he seems to have disappeared from Cahors, and is part of a group of similar unexplained disappearances, of which only roughly every second victim has returned."

"Sounds like the coin," said Flynn.

"Indeed," Jenkins nodded. "It just so happens that we have in the annex the records of the last person who found it: a young woman from a thousand years in the future, sent back to our time and incredibly lucky to be sent home from ours, assuming she made it. She found the last reported sighting of the Coin, followed up the lead and was last heard of heading for Cahors in France."

"So if she was from the future?"

"Yes, our young man could be anywhere. She was sent back in time, so it is possible that he's been sent forward, or, it is just as possible that he has been sent backwards, and that somebody else before him found the Coin and went on a trip to the future, found the Coin and came back all in an afternoon, raising no alarms whatsoever!"

"Does that happen often?"

"Ehh..." Jenkins bobbed his head from side to side. "Not as often as you'd think! Magical time paradoxes. Complicated business."

The interior of the restored bridge had not proved difficult to get into, not with a 'World Class Thief' on the team, as Stone and Baird soon got sick of hearing. Once inside, the stairs descended seamlessly from the twenty-first, to the nineteenth, to the fourteenth century. The temperature dropped sharply, and the walls felt decidedly cooler, as they stepped below the waterline.

"Any idea how much further this'll be?" Jones asked from the back of the group. "I didn't exactly dress for this!"

"You're more dressed for it than the rest of us, stop whining!" Baird snapped.

"The both of us," Stone corrected.

"What?" Baird's tone snapped in his direction now, but he barely seemed to notice.

"The 'rest of us' implies more than two others," he continued simply, without looking back at the other two. "When there is only two, the correct phrase is 'both of us'."

"Don't do that. You don't get to do that. Flynn barely gets to do that and he outranks you!"

"In so many ways!" Jones chipped in.

"Don't make me come back there!" Baird warned.

Stone grumbled something monosyllabic and stopped moving.

"What?" Jones called down to him. "Why have we stopped?"

Ignoring him, Stone backed up a few steps and held his torch close to the wall, shining the light across it at a shallow angle. Something glittered. He took out a knife and started chipping away at the stone in the light.

"This is wrong," he murmured. "This stone ain't from round here."

"You think our missing French guy was a masonry expert?" Baird frowned.

"Nope."

"Then if that's a clue, how did he find it?" Jones asked, stepping down to huddle round the find with the other two. "Even I'd have trouble finding that down here! Not unless I was specifically looking for it!"

"Maybe he was," suggested Baird.

"Or maybe," said Stone, placing his hand firmly against the interloper in the wall, "he lost his footing down here and did this!"

He pushed the stone. There was a movement inward, a small gust of air and a grating sound, then silence.

"Well, that wo..."

The end of Jones' sentence was cut off as the floor opened up beneath him and he disappeared into the depths.

Chapter Text

Cassandra slumped down in her chair in the annex. Her appointment had lasted longer than she had expected, the news had been worse than she expected, and the number of possible treatments had been exactly as she expected. She stretched out a hand to the nearest book on the table. It was about French mediaeval architecture.

"Summer," she murmured, looking around for the source of the scent. Nothing seemed out of place or new.

The sound of voices filtered through from above and she dropped the book, looking up to the source of the noise. Flynn and Jenkins were walking down the stairs, so deep in conversation that they stopped every few steps to argue a new point. They were so focussed on their topic that they didn't even notice her there. She sat quietly, listening to the disjointed phrases that floated across to her.

"...cannot touch it! I cannot lose..."

"...others are no less..."

"...some sort of barrier..."

"...IF... we could MAYBE..."

"...one of them still..."

"Well, which one would you rather lose!" Jenkins yelled, making Cassandra jump with a yelp that brought their attention straight to her.

"Cassandra! You're back!" Flynn called, hurrying down the stairs and over to where the young woman was still gripping the arms of her chair and staring ahead of her.

"We're going to lose someone?" Cassandra cried, shifting her gaze to Jenkins as he circled round the desk into her line of vision. "And you're choosing?"

"We haven't lost anyone yet, Cassandra," soothed Jenkins, "and we're trying to avoid doing so, but it is a possibility."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Everyone who picks up the coin vanishes," explained Flynn. "Doesn't matter if you're wearing gloves or not, from the information we have."

"Back or forward in time, I remember," said Cassandra. "If it's forward, it's easier to come back, but we think that's where the French guy went and he hasn't. So how do we move it?"

"We don't know," said Jenkins. "That's what we were discussing upstairs. The coin is gold, so magnets won't work, and in any case, somebody would have to be holding the magnet."

"We have a theory that the coin interacts with a person's aura," added Flynn. "Once it's within that it has power."

"So... what? You need a set of magical pincer sticks. You know: those grabber things you use for trash?" Cassandra asked, looking at the confused expression on Flynn's face.

"Pincer sticks," cried Flynn. "Pincer sticks! Why didn't I think of that?"

"You've never been a janitor?" Cassandra suggested meekly.

"That's true," admitted Flynn with a nod. "Where could we get some pincer sticks, then Janitor?"

"Flynn?"

"Yes, Cassandra?"

"I may be ill, I may be weak, I may only be a librarian in training, but if you ever consider calling me 'janitor' again, remember I know enough about force ratios to take down a trained killer."

"Duly noted."

"That aside," intervened Jenkins. "Do you happen to know where we might find such an... object?"

Ezekiel Jones groaned. He opened his eyes and blinked. He couldn't see anything. Panic rose. He cast his mind back over the fall. The trapdoor had opened. He had shot straight downward. There had been darkness, and the sound of the trapdoor swinging shut again. Panic subsided. He mentally checked himself for damage: no broken bones, no spinal damage either judging by the pain and the promise of many, many bruises. He was lying on compacted clay, rather than rock, not that it had cushioned his fall that much. He tried to think through the fall. How long had it been? Not long. Not far then, but out of reach of the trapdoor. If they could open it from above again, and keep it open, maybe Baird or Stone could drop a rope down to him.

His thoughts finally turned to the others. Had Baird and Stone fallen too? He had been too busy falling himself to notice. He reached out a hand. Nothing but damp, sticky clay. He tried the other side and found the same. He kicked out first with one foot, then the other, and connected with something yielding.

"Ow!" Baird hissed in the darkness.

"What?" Stone muttered, from a little further away, sounding groggy. "Dark!"

"Oh, thank heavens, I thought it was just me!" Baird whispered.

"The trap door closed behind us," said Jones, in his normal voice. "I'm in one piece, so we can't have fallen that far, but we fell far enough that it's out of reach."

"Great!" Baird sighed. "What exactly do you two geniuses plan on doing now?"

"Genii," mumbled Stone.

"I will hurt you!" Baird sing-songed.

"I landed on my phone," said Jones. "It's dead."

"I can't find mine," said Stone.

"Mine works," said Baird, lighting up the cavern with the phone's torch, "but no signal."

"Light's an improvement," said Jones. "I think it's given us our exit."

Baird and Stone looked to where the thief was standing and pointing. A little bit above his head was a dark patch in the rock: a tunnel. He swung himself up, reached down to take the phone from Baird, then it took both of them to help up Stone, who had landed badly and already had one sleeve torn and turning red with blood. The Guardian was the last to climb up, waving away helping hands. As she joined her charges, she looked critically at Stone's arm.

"That needs bound up properly," she said, taking out her knife and cutting away the ruined sleeve. "Oh."

"I know," said Stone, taking the sleeve and wrapping it round the wound. A dark shard of something was embedded in his arm. "Leave it: the wound will only bleed more if you remove it."

"I know," said Baird, handing the phone to Jones and propping up Stone. "Can you walk? We need to get you to a hospital, or at least a door!"

"Why aren't they answering?" Cassandra said, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. "Where are they?"

"It's nothing to worry about, I'm sure," said Jenkins. "They're probably just exploring some tunnel under the town. There won't be any reception down there."

"Yes," said Flynn, forcefully bright. "We know that's where the coin was last seen, after all. Of course that's where they are. There are probably loads of tunnels under Cahors that need exploring."

"So good to know," crooned a voice behind Flynn. He turned to see Dulaque standing in the doorway, his two flunkies spreading out around the sides of the room, guns raised. Lamia stood directly in front of Flynn just a few meters away, her gun pointing at his head.

"No Guardian to come to your rescue now, Librarian," continued Dulaque smoothly. "Only an old man and a dying girl. Never mind, I'm sure the other three, if they ever get out of those tunnels, will remember you fondly. They'll have to take the long way home though: the annex is mine now."

One of the flunkies had his gun trained on Jenkins now, the other on Cassandra.

"Shame not to use the katana," said Lamia. "I always find a bullet harder to dodge though. Especially at this range!"

"Less talking more shooting, my dear," sneered Dulaque. "We haven't got all day."

"My pleasure," said Lamia, and fired.

The trio had been stumbling along for nearly an hour. Well, Baird and Stone had been stumbling. Stone's blood loss was making his feet unsteady and his increasing weight on Baird's shoulder was having a similar effect on hers. Of course the fact that Jones was five paces ahead of them with the torch wasn't helping either.

"Okay, Jones, stop!" Baird called ahead, bringing the young man to an obedient halt.

"Is he okay?" Jones called back, hurrying over as Baird lowered Stone to the ground, his back to the wall.

"No, he's bleeding out," snapped Baird, "and I can't keep carrying him like this: he's almost a dead weight! You need to go on ahead and get help. We'll stay here and rest."

"Not a good idea. What if I get lost?"

"Don't get lost!"

Jones glanced over at the semiconscious Stone, then nodded.

"I'll be as fast as I can," he said, darting off into the darkness.

"Just imagine the cops are after you!" Baird shouted after the rapidly diminishing point of light.

As she turned her head back round to Stone, something glinted in the last rays of the torch and caught her eye. It was a coin with the prow of a boat on it. She reached out, picked it up and turned it over.

She just caught a glimpse of the two-faced head of Janus before she blacked out.

Chapter Text

"What the..." Eve Baird sat up, raised a hand to her head and looked around. Everything was dark. "Stone?"

There was no reply, and she couldn't feel any trace of him in the darkness. No unconscious body. No blood. What she could see, however, worried her far more than this fact. The coin had been the Janus Coin. She hadn't realised it until it was too late, but then that's why she was a Guardian and they were Librarians. That meant she was either forward or back in time. She hoped it was forward. If it wasn't, she'd have little chance of ever getting home. Also, she couldn't think of many ways to explain the shimmering rectangular line surrounding a darker part of the rock wall. One side of the line broadened and a face appeared. A smile sprung into existence on the face.

"Mom! I mean Eve!"

Eve got to her feet, staring at the teenager with his head sticking through a rock wall.

"I'm in the future, then," she said.

"Yep," said the boy. "I'm Judson. I'm in the office in the library. You have to come through here."

"Says who?" Eve replied warily.

"You do," said Judson, "but I'm the only one here right now because Dad says it's dangerous to know too much about your future. I have the note you wrote when you got back. It's fairly short."

"Okay," said Eve slowly, taking the small postcard and tilting it to read it in the light of the doorway.

It said: 'Do everything he tells you. Exactly!' The handwriting was definitely her own. On the other side was a photograph of her and Stone at the Pont Valentré in Cahors taken, presumably, by Jones when they weren't looking.

"I've never seen this before..."

"Come on: we don't have much time."

She walked through the portal. The office around her had changed, but not much. She didn't have time to look around though, as her son grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the far side of the desk, positioning her on a mark on the floor, facing in the direction of an arrow.

"Wait here," he ordered her, hurrying off to the other side of the room, where Jenkins had always kept a hidden safe. He came back with an iron box. It looked heavy. He took the lid off and came to stand on another mark right in front of her. She looked down: in the box was the Janus Coin, its two heads upwards.

"How did you get the door..." she began.

"Library, not annex. Different rules," he said. "Point your gun at my right eye."

"What?"

"Just do it, it's important."

Baird raised her gun and did as she was told. She raised her eyebrows at her son. "Now what?"

"Today is the seventeenth of May, 2035. The time is 16:32 and you've been here approximately two minutes. When you turn over this coin, as soon as you turn over this coin, you must fire your gun..."

"I'll kill you!" Baird interrupted.

"No, you'll be there. I'll still be here. The coin moves you through time immediately, but not space," Judson explained. "And if you don't do it I'll never be born anyway. Then you..."

"Wait, what?" Even broke in again, her eyes wide.

"You have to do this right," sighed her son, sounding impatient, "or Dad will die and I'll never exist. Once you've fired the first time, you have to turn your arm to exactly in line with your shoulder and fire again, and punch straight left as hard you can with the other hand. Everything else after that will just come naturally."

"Won't I be knocked out again?"

"Not the second time around, not when you're going back to your own time," Judson shook his head. "And you have to remember where you're standing and the date and time, so we can send the door and do this in the future, well now, well your future, my now. You have to go now, by the way."

"Right now?" Eve had so many questions, but she remembered Jenkins' speech about the longer you stay in the future, the longer you're gone from your own time, and timing here, it seemed, was critical. She nodded. "I'm glad I met you." And turned the Coin.

Jones stumbled out of the torch lit darkness of the tunnel into the torch lit darkness of a crypt. At least here there was a bit more air, he thought. He scanned the room and found a staircase hewn into the bare rock, heading upwards. It seemed to be the only exit other than the one he had arrived by. He shrugged and bounded up the stairs.

By the time he reached the top of the staircase, even the nimble thief was gasping for air. The entrance to the stairs, or exit from them in his case, seemed to be hidden behind a side altar. He stuck his head out and spotted people on the other side of a vast, cavernous sanctuary. He looked up and saw the unmistakable three domes of the Cathedral St. Etienne. The faded frescos and twelfth century architecture could wait however: Stone needed help.

Ducking out of the stairwell and into the side chapel, Jones picked out the church sacristan, dutifully sweeping a corner of the choir. He hurried over, shouting for help in both English and French, and a translator in English.

The bang, when Lamia fired her gun, seemed to Flynn unnaturally loud. Maybe it was just closer than usual. It took him a moment to register that he wasn't dead, and another to register that Eve had appeared near him and fired directly across Lamia's line of fire, hitting the gunman holding Cassandra prisoner in the shoulder. It seemed that the bullet she had fired had hit Lamia's bullet in passing too. By this time she had already shot the other gunman in his firing arm, freeing up Jenkins to turn the gun on his captor, and punched Lamia so hard she was staggering, all without seeming to look where she was firing, or punching, and she was now pointing her gun at Lamia, and holding out her hand for the gun Cassandra had liberated.

"What the..." Flynn began.

"Let's get rid of our uninvited guests first, shall we," said Eve. The two flunkies had already been herded back to Lamia by Jenkins and Eve. Dulaque was nowhere to be seen.

"All right, fine: we're going!" Lamia protested, throwing her hands up in the air and turning round. "But there will be a next time and we will be back!"

"And I'll be waiting," said Eve.

When the trio had been escorted from the building at gunpoint, and the doors securely locked against their return, Eve and Jenkins returned to the office. Flynn and Cassandra were still standing where they had left them, looking confused.

"How did you get here?" Flynn started.

"Where are the others?" Cassandra cut in with.

"And how did you know to do that, that... That: with the gun and the punch!" Flynn stuttered, flailing his hands around in vague explanation.

"Are they alright?" Cassandra insisted.

"One thing at a time," said Baird, putting her gun back in its holster and waving them back into chairs. "Flynn, Jones has my phone: you need to call him on it and keep trying until you get him. Jenkins we need to get the door ready to go to wherever in Cahors Jones is. Also, do you have such a thing as an iron box, about the size of a small box of tissues, with a design like Celtic knot work on the top and sides?"

"Actually, I believe I do," said Jenkins in undisguised surprise. It's supposedly iron from the forges of Camelot, enchanted by Merlin to completely contain any magical object placed inside it. It's like a lead box for radioactive materials."

"We need to put the Coin in the box and keep it in Jenkins' safe here until it can be moved to the one in Library. Cassandra I need you to get the first aid equipment ready and tape a mark on the floor exactly where I stood and an arrow pointing which way I'm facing, then another mark right in front of it, about two, maybe three, feet away. So that if I stood on my mark and you, or Flynn, on the other one, with my arm out like when I got here, my gun would almost touch your face."

"What do we need the first aid kit for," asked Cassandra, aware that only one name had so far been mentioned.

"Stone's hurt," Baird replied. Her brusque, business tone softened when she saw Cassandra's eyes widen. "It's just a cut, but it's deep and he's been losing a lot of blood. We stopped to rest while Jones went for help when I picked up the Coin. I didn't realise what it was until I turned it over."

"Where did you go?" Jenkins asked, hurrying back with the box. "Forward or back? Forward I'm guessing?"

"Forward," Eve nodded. "Otherwise I wouldn't have known what to do when I got here, and Flynn at least would be dead."

"You knew what to do because you'd already done it and someone from the future told you what you did?" Flynn asked, phone in hand.

"Something like that," Eve smiled.

"Do you know if we get Jacob back okay?" Cassandra pressed.

"I didn't have time to find out anything much more than I needed to for this," said Eve, still smiling. "But we have a good chance now I'm here. We were stuck underground with no way to get a message to you for help. We can do that now."

"We still need something to pick up the Coin with," said Jenkins, piling travel books up on the desk.

"Switch off the back door a minute, Jenkins," said Cassandra.

Jenkins unhooked the clips from either side of the back door, breaking its connection to the original portal in Cahors and turning it back into a broom closet. Cassandra opened the door and reached inside. Her hand came out holding a set of pincer sticks.

"It always was a janitor's closet in the first place," she shrugged.

"Jones!" Flynn's shout interrupted the busy resource gathering at the desk. Everyone froze, their eyes fixed on the Librarian. "Jones, can you hear me? What's going on there?"

There was silence while the other three strained to hear the insect like buzzing on the other end of the phone call.

"Eve's fine, she's here with us. Long story. We know where the Coin is and how to get it here safely. We need to get Stone back here though. Where exactly are you?"

More buzzing and Flynn hurried over to an old guide book and flicked it open to a page, pointing out a picture to Jenkins. The older man reconnected the door.

Moments later, Jones came running through the door pushing a wheeled ambulance trolley with Stone on it. Jenkins handed Jones the box and pincers and sent him back to get the coin. The doors closed and the others rushed over.

"He's still alive," said Baird, checking Stone's pulse. "I don't suppose you've any of that healing oil lying around in here?"

Flynn shook his head. "No, and we need to stop that bleeding."

"Bleeding, bleeding, bleeding from the brachial artery," Cassandra stuttered, her hands moving invisible data across her field of vision. "Brachial artery. Average blood flow rate seventy two point seven millilitres per minute. Adult human body contains seven percent of its body weight in blood. Roughly four point seven to five point five litres depending on age, gender, size, fitness... Men have more blood than women so say five litres. Five times one thousand is five thousand millilitres. Take off one thousand for the blood he's lost. Four thousand divided by seventy two point seven is fifty point zero two zero six three two seven three..."

"Cassandra how do we stop it," shouted Baird through the haze of lines and numbers.

"Pressure applied to the brachial artery will stop the blood flow," muttered Cassandra. She pointed across Stone's body at his arm just above the cut. "Tourniquet here. Have to get him to a hospital or he'll lose the arm."

She sagged as Baird tied the tourniquet and caught herself on the edge of the trolley, one hand landing on Stone's other arm. "Summer," she smiled to herself.

"Cassie," Stone's voice was hoarse and barely a whisper, but she heard it, they all did.

"I'm still not talking to you," she replied, and passed out.

When Stone woke up, he was lying in a hospital bed, his injured arm wrapped in bandages and receiving blood and saline through an intravenous drip. There was a warm weight on his good hand and he looked down. Fiery red hair was spread out over the side of his bed and Cassandra's head rested on it, her delicate fingers wrapped around his own.

"Cassie?"

"Still not talking to you," she murmured.

Chapter Text

Eve Baird was sitting at the desk she shared with Flynn, daydreaming.

It was not a usual practice for the colonel. Time wasting of any kind was not usually in her nature. But time had been playing a few tricks on Eve Baird recently, and her brain needed time to process them.

Just less than a day ago, she had met her son. Not a son she had now, but a son she would have in the next five years or so, she thought. He had given her a date twenty years into the future, but his age hadn't been mentioned. Around seventeen, she thought, give or take a couple of years. His confidence, his directness, all of his personality reminded her of Ezekiel Jones on his best behaviour. And Ezekiel Jones always made her wonder what Flynn had been like at that age.

The boy had called himself Judson. Well, that name was well known to all of them. It was Library royalty. It had been Judson who had persuaded her to stay, so maybe it was down to her that the boy had been named after him. Judson had also been much more than a mentor to Flynn, though.

Then there was the smile. It was so familiar. The messy light brown hair too. Even the long legs...

The biggest clue, though, and surely the one even she could not argue with, was her return to the annex. She had saved Flynn's life, no two ways about it. There was only one way he was going to get out of that situation and she had been it.

Of course, it could have been her life in danger...

Flynn walked into the office through the back door. He had decided he would stick around while both Stone and Cassandra were in hospital, one recovering from an injury and the other... Flynn wasn't sure why Cassandra was still there - they couldn't do anything about her tumour or seizures and she had always hated spending more time than necessary there - but he had wisely decided that she was the best judge of where she should be right now and left the subject alone.

That just left him with Ezekiel Jones and Eve.

"I found a lead!" Flynn shouted to the annex in general. "Jones! Jenkins! Where are you?"

"A lead to the Library?" Eve asked, startled out of her daydream by his abrupt appearance but now regaining her composure.

"No?" Flynn frowned at her, confused. "A lead on the new clipping we were talking about this morning."

"Oh, of course," Eve shook her head. "Mind on other things."

"You never did tell me what went on when you went to the future," said Flynn, sidling over to her and perching on the desk to look down at her. "You were in the Library, weren't you. We got it back?"

She nodded, smiling, not trusting herself to say more. It was dangerous to know too much about your future.

"You mentioned it when you were giving out orders, but it didn't occur until later that you knew we'd get it back."

"I know."

"Anything else you found out there?" Flynn gave a lopsided smile. "Please tell me Jones wasn't in charge!"

"Are you sure you would want to know if he was?" Eve grinned back.

Jenkins hurried into the room with a book in one hand and box in the other.

"Where's Jones?" Flynn asked.

"Not with me," replied Jenkins, placing the items on the desk.

"Here," said a voice from above.

Jenkins looked up to the shelves upstairs with a look of the deepest suspicion. "And what are you doing up there?"

"I do read, you know!" Jones waved a book in the air as an alibi.

"Hmm," said Jenkins, his eyebrows up.

"We've got a lead on the Book," said Baird, standing up and watching as Jones slid down the bannister to join them. She saw Flynn open his mouth to say something and stopped him with a look. He had the grace to look sheepish.

"What were you reading?" Flynn asked instead.

"Houdini wrote books too, you know," grinned Jones. "I'll never be tied up, locked up or handcuffed again! Actually, scratch that 'again' - I've never met a non-magical lock or knot I couldn't undo. I'm pretty sure he mentioned a few in here I would have found tricky though."

Flynn gritted his teeth, and reached into his satchel with a magnanimous smile.

"Behold," he said, "the course of the river Nile."

"Ever heard of Google maps?" Jones quipped, folding his arms.

"They don't go back this far," snapped Flynn.

He unrolled the map and placed items on each end to stop it rolling back. It did indeed show the course of the river Nile, and that course was ever so slightly different from today. Or, as Jones might have put it, from Google maps.

"The last piece of information we have about the Book of Thoth," said Flynn, "is an old legend from the time of the Ptolemies. It says the book was hidden near here," he pointed to the map. "Nowadays it is called Qift. Then it was called Coptos. We know we're not the first to go looking for it because the story tells of two Egyptian princes who also went looking for it and met predictably sticky ends."

"And nobody's gone looking for it since?" Baird asked.

"They may well have," Flynn smiled, "but without this map they won't have got anywhere. You see the story also tells that the Book was buried at the bottom of the Nile, but the Nile is a river and what do rivers do?"

"They move," said Jones. "This map shows where the river was when the story was written?"

"Better," said Flynn. "It shows you where the river was when the Book was hidden!"

It was the middle of the afternoon. Visiting times were nowhere near and Jacob had woken up alone. Admittedly, visiting times didn't usually make much difference to whether or not he woke up alone, but unlike so many less lucky inhabitants of the hospital that was because he usually always had company. He hadn't been allowed out of bed yet, but the idea that something may have happened while he slept was unbearable. He pushed the covers aside, wincing as his head spun, and grabbed the drip stand. Barefooted, he made his way through the hospital corridor to the nearest desk.

"I'm looking for a friend of mine," he said to the nurse behind the desk. "Cassandra Cillian? We were both brought in at the same time."

"Oh, right your girlfriend! Second corridor on the right and don't stop 'til the last door," said the young nurse without looking up. "She had to be ordered back there to rest a while ago. She should be sleeping just now. So should you, Mr Stone."

Jacob was still frozen with his mouth open, the words "she's not my girlfriend" refusing to come out. He shook his head and blinked. For some reason he was finding it difficult to not grin.

"I won't wake her if she is, and I won't stay too long if she ain't," he promised.

"Hmm," the nurse smiled and raised an eyebrow but let him go.

The corridor was long, but quiet. When he reached the last door he took care to slow down and curb the rattling of his drip's wheels. He peered through the window. Cassandra lay sleeping peacefully. He thought twice about going in, he really did, but every time he had woken up she had been there. It was time to return the favour.

Turning the handle as quietly as possibly, Jacob crept into the room, lifted the chair closer to the bed with his good hand and sat down, making himself as comfortable as possible. She looked so peaceful. He rested his hand over hers. It was so cold his eyes shot open and he stared fixedly at her chest, watching the rise and fall of her breathing and reminding himself that she was still alive. But for how much longer?

"Just let me do the talking!"

"I'm the one in the suit!"

"I'm the Librarian!"

"I can still fix that!"

"How good is your Arabic?"

"Not that bad actually!"

"Better than mine?"

"Not far off!"

"And your knowledge of local dialects?"

"And yours?"

"Exceptional, actually!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Ezekiel rolled his eyes and trailed along behind the squabbling duo. Flynn and Baird weren't used to working together. They were both used to being in charge. It was hard for either one of them to back down. Ezekiel, on the other hand, was used to going with the flow. If he felt like following, he would. Otherwise, he would happily be his own boss without anybody being any the wiser.

He was the thief after all. He was supposed to be sneaky.

He stopped abruptly as Flynn stopped to talk to a local. It took him a couple of tries to get the dialect right, but Ezekiel could tell he'd done so by the grin of understanding that spread across the face of the town elder he was talking to, or possibly at.

Baird wasn't far behind the old man, and when she cottoned on to Flynn's grandiose explanations, Ezekiel saw her eyebrows go up and a glare that could make a stampeding minotaur think twice was levelled at the unheeding Librarian. The questioning glance and gesture the wizened old man threw in his direction didn't fill him with much confidence either.

"What did you tell him?" Jones asked Flynn as they walked away in the direction proffered by the town elder, eventually.

"He told him we were married!" Baird growled.

"That seems reasonably logical..."

"And you're our son!"

"Um..." Jones frowned. "And he bought it?"

"I told him you were adopted," said Flynn, waving his hands around in explanation. "They'll be much less suspicious of a family group: crazy archaeologist Dad, sensible, beautiful, independent thinking Mom, curious son adopted as a troubled teen..."

"You told him I was troubled?"

"You told him I was your wife! Without even asking!"

"Did I mention the amazingly beautiful part?"

"Some wife he must think I am: we're married long enough to adopt him and get him to this age in one piece but I still haven't managed to produce any children of our own? He probably thinks I'm some ice cold, barren, harpy!"

"Then when we see him again, I'll tell him we've got a whole horde of little rug rats back in the states with their nanny!"

"A whole horde?" Baird's eyebrows rose further.

"Two then," shrugged Flynn, with a devilish grin. "Boy and a girl."

"Jenkins would love to hear you call him a nanny!" Baird grinned back, catching the reference. "And exactly why are little Jacob and Cassandra not here?"

"They were too young to get their jabs or something!" Flynn waved a hand dismissively.

"I am not troubled!"

Flynn and Eve looked round at Jones.

"It's a cover story, just go with it!" Baird ordered, dragging the still protesting Jones forward to catch up with them.

It took them a good two hours walk, side-tracking round the verdant patchwork of fields to the West of Qift, to get to the co-ordinates indicated on Flynn's map. By the time they got there, Ezekiel was exhausted and dragging his feet. Baird had removed her light suit jacket before they even left the village, and had gone so far as to unbutton the topmost buttons of her blouse, but her army training meant that she was still dealing with the prolonged exercise far better than Jones. The only one who seemed almost untouched by the exertion was Flynn, whose face shone with sweat, but whose breathing was at least even.

"Spread out," said Flynn. "This is the site. There should be some sort of structure under the sand here."

"If it's under the sand, how will we know?" Baird asked, returning a water bottle to her pack.

"Look for regular shaped drifts, odd depressions or rises, that sort of thing," Ezekiel panted. He saw the look they both gave him. "What? So I've robbed the occasional rich dead guy: it wasn't like he was using it!"

"This is no ordinary tomb, Ezekiel," said Flynn. "There will be traps. There will be tricks. Some will be just like the usual ancient science you find in Egyptian tombs or temples. Others will be magic. The local people believe a djinn haunts this place."

"Djinn?" Baird raised an eyebrow.

"Ancient demon spirit," Flynn replied. "Grants wishes. Protects stuff. Source of the word 'genie'."

"Are we going to have to deal with the Genie's Lamp?" Jones groaned.

"Oh, it's never the Genie's Lamp," Flynn shook his head.

Chapter Text

Eve was definitely beginning to suspect there was something magical about Flynn's satchel. He'd constructed an entire shelter from a few dead trees and its contents. They sat in companionable silence eating a picnic lunch that had also materialised out of the bag.

"Our 'son' is still sulking," Eve murmured, watching Ezekiel mooching about on a nearby sand dune, kicking the sand from side to side.

"He'll come home when he's hungry," sighed Flynn, enjoying having Eve to himself for a change.

Time drifted by silently. Eve let her head rest on Flynn's shoulder.

"You never mentioned you wanted kids," he murmured thoughtfully.

"You never mentioned you wanted a wife," she countered. "Me: I'll take whatever the future sees fit to grant me."

"Ditto," Flynn smiled down at her and kissed the top of her head. "You know you really should have worn something more suitable. You know what the heat is like out here."

"What would you prefer?" Eve murmured, her eyes closed peacefully. "Short shorts on these legs or some awful, great, white, diaphanous dress espoused by alleged heroines that always need rescuing."

"We-ell..."

"Don't you dare..."

"Hey, guys!"

The shout came from Jones, standing atop the ridge of a sand dune. Moments later the couple had joined him on that ridge and looked out at the view.

"Over there!" Jones pointed in the direction of another ridge, this one perpendicular to the one they were standing on. "It stops before it reaches here, but still..."

"It's worth checking out," said Flynn, half running, half sliding down the steep slope on the other side of the ridge.

"Careful!" Baird shouted, her voice half worried, half exasperated.

"You stay there and give me directions!" Flynn called back.

"To where?" Jones replied.

"There should be an entrance on the Eastern side," shouted Flynn, hurrying in that direction. "The Egyptians worshiped the sun god Ra, or Re; or Amon, or Amun; or for that matter any variety of the two combined - they had a very complex polytheism and they did not like writing vowels much. There should be a door facing the sunrise."

"Why would they hide a book of one god in the temple of another?" Baird called over.

"Gods got reused and rehashed all the time in Egyptian mythologies. Fashions change, so did the gods. The Greeks did it too of course, but nobody ever remembers the primordial deities."

"Flynn, focus!" Baird shouted.

"What was Thoth the god of?" Jones asked, watching Flynn follow the line of the ridge at the opposite side of the depression. A depression in sand and stone that was, like a shifting in the clouds that makes a fluffy concentration of water vapour at once look like a dragon, a puppy and a castle, rapidly beginning to take on the shape of a room.

"Thoth was the Ibis headed god," said Flynn. "He was the consort of Maat, the goddess of truth and justice who, when you died, weighed your heart against a feather. If your heart was lighter, then you were allowed to pass on to the next world. If not, you were doomed to the underworld for all eternity. There was no way out of it either, because Thoth would be standing there beside his wife, ready to write down the result in his ledger. He was linked with writing, scribes, the moon, all sorts of things. In fact one legend has him inventing writing and teaching it to the earliest Egyptians. That's where the book comes in. In it, it is said, Thoth wrote down all the knowledge in all the languages of all the world. Knowledge of man and of god, of science and of magic."

"So the book is knowledge," said Jones, "and knowledge is power."

"And that sort of power needs to be locked up safe and sound somewhere the Serpent Brotherhood can never reach it, especially now that wild magic is back in the world."

"But if Thoth was a death god..."

Flynn stopped his search and looked round. Jones was staring at the depression right in front of him, where the perpendicular ridge failed to meet the one he was standing on. It was in the Westernmost corner.

"What?" Baird asked.

"The Egyptians believe that life comes from the sun, and the sun comes from the East, right?"

"Yes," Flynn nodded.

"But all their pyramids are on the West bank of the river."

"Yes," Flynn started walking back over to them. "Those suitable to pass on to the afterlife were ferried off into the West on a great barge."

"And Thoth was about death, not life..."

"So the door," said Flynn breaking into a run, "is on the Western side!"

The other two slid down the short slope into the depression and began brushing and kicking the sand aside. There was a whoop of joy as Flynn was the first to find a carved stone, then an ominous click as part of the stone moved under his hand.

The ground beneath them shuddered. Baird grabbed her charges and hauled them back onto the ridge as a black, cavernous hole opened up between the two ridges.

"What is it with Librarians and trapdoors!" Eve yelled in Flynn's ear. "Stone nearly ended up dead the last time he started pushing random rocks around!"

"Okay! Okay!" Flynn soothed. "I didn't mean to push it: I was just trying to work out what the carving was."

"What was it?" Jones asked, looking up from where he was now hanging over the edge of the precipice staring down into the depths.

"I got the impression it was the head of an ibis," said Flynn calmly.

"Ya think!" Baird glared. Flynn ignored her.

"What do you see?"

"Not a lot," said Jones. "You got one of those glow stick thingies?"

Flynn handed him one. Jones cracked the stick, mixing the chemiluminescent ingredients, and let it fall into the hole. They counted quietly.

1

2

3

Click!

"About thirty five to forty meters," murmured Flynn. "I should have that much rope."

"A fall like that would have killed us all," said Baird quietly, kneeling by his side.

"I promise I won't press any more secret buttons or levers," said Flynn, letting his fingers interlace with hers for a moment.

"How are we getting down there?" Jones interrupted. "I don't see anything secure we could tie a rope onto."

"One of us will have to stay up here," said Flynn. "Not you: you're too light. Eve should go with you, so that means I stay here."

"You have more experience of these places than I do," countered Eve. "You should go, I'll stay."

"Your instincts just saved our lives," Flynn reminded her, brushing a stray hair out of her face. "I can take care of myself," he paused and shrugged. "Well, most of the time anyway. Jones is new to this. Besides, if we both went down there and something did happen you would never forgive me!"

"Don't joke," Eve warned him. "Not about that."

"I stay here. You go with the kid."

"You're sure? I can't read hieroglyphs or spot mystical books."

"He can: he's been tomb robbing, remember!"

"Flynn..."

"I trust you," he whispered, holding her face in both hands. Eve nodded and pulled away.

"Jones, if you get us both killed," she said loudly, "my ghost will be haunting yours for eternity. Just remember that!"

"Did you say haunting or hunting?" Jones grinned.

"Oh, I'll be doing the hunting," said Flynn.

They lowered Baird down first, waited while she checked her cell, gun and torch, then Flynn lowered Jones down to meet her. The rope was tied around his waist and he had been using the opposite side of the ridge as a solid footing. When Jones called up that he was down safe, Flynn relaxed and lay down to wait, his back to the ridge and hat over his eyes. The sun was hot, though, so he reached into his satchel and pulled out a broad parasol. Fixing the shade over his head and torso, he folded his arms and drifted off to sleep.

The air felt old. It was dry and stale in a way that only forgotten buildings can be, at least in hot, dry countries. The intense heat of the Egyptian sun quickly faded as Jones and Baird moved carefully away from the entrance to the temple.

Carved columns punctuated painted reliefs. Some showed Thoth himself, life-sized and striding along beside them. Some showed his wife Maat or one of the other variably-headed pantheon that made up the ancient Egyptian religion.

"Can you read them?" Baird asked Jones, putting the emphasis on the 'can'.

"Some of them," Jones admitted. "Stone and Flynn don't have a monopoly on languages, you know. It's just I tend to only know stuff that helps me steal... Well, other stuff."

"Well, now all you need to steal is a long lost book of ultimate power, possibly protected by a god, or djinn, and almost certainly protected by the ingenuity of whoever built this temple!"

"Exactly!" Jones shrugged. "Walk in the park, when you put it like that."

The thief shot out a hand sideways and stopped Baird in her tracks. She looked down. The floor looked exactly like the one they'd been walking on for five minutes now. She looked from side to side. She couldn't see any dart holes or trap mechanisms. She looked at Jones. He pointed up. She looked up.

The dark ceiling was almost entirely unreadable, but she could make out some sort of pattern. She shone the torch upwards. The light reflected off the tips of sharp metallic spikes, glinting in their dark recesses like a pike watching ducklings. Jones took off his cap and threw it, frisbee style, into the darkness ahead of them. Nothing happened. He took a tennis ball out of his pack and bounced it on the floor beneath the spikes. The spikes fell, skewering the ball mid-bounce. They stayed down. Baird breathed out. It would be a squeeze, but they could just fit through the gaps.

Occasionally, Baird would spot something, but more often than not it was Jones who knew where to look for the traps and, importantly, what to do about them when he found them. Once again, the Guardian was reminded about the benefits of having a thief on the team. He wasn't crowing about it now, though: he was focussed. He was working.

An hour and a half later, they had located, reached and acquired the Book and were on their way back without any magical interference whatsoever. Jones steered them around and through all the traps until finally they squeezed through the fallen spikes and saw the faint light of the outside world diffusing through the dust. Five minutes more brought them to the rope. Jones climbed up first, ascending slowly and steadily after signalling up the rope itself that he was on his way. By the time he reached the top, the light and dust were occluding so much of Baird's vision that she could only see him reach the top safely and scramble out of sight. She gave him time to get into position beside Flynn and signalled that she was on her way up. The climb was straightforward enough, but as she neared the top, something nagged at her. It took her a while to work out what it was, but eventually the penny dropped. It was the silence.

Librarians were, Stone excepted, the chattiest people on the planet she had ever met. So why couldn't she hear the sound of Jones and Flynn comparing notes and berating each other on how they would have done things differently had they exchanged places. And, of course, arguing over who would have been faster, more efficient and simply just more successful.

She eased her gun into a better position, but that was all she could do. She needed both hands for the rope and the climb. She couldn't unclip her holster for fear she would lose her gun back down the hole. She certainly couldn't call up and alert anyone up there that she was suspicious. There was no way she was going back down. Gritting her teeth, she climbed the last few meters and reached up to drag her body over the edge and back onto the relative safety of the ridge.

Unfamiliar hands grabbed her and dragged her to her feet. Her eyes instantly searching out Flynn, she spotted him bound and gagged, seated on the ground a short distance away. Two men were in the process of tying up an already gagged Jones back to back with him. She scanned the faces until she found the one she was looking for now.

"Dulaque!" Baird spat, as the villain sauntered over, smiling gently, in a perfectly laundered white linen suit, Panama hat and cane. In his free hand, he held the Book of Thoth.

"Well now, Guardian," he crooned, "I believe you were warned that there would be the proverbial 'next time', and it appears that this is it. If you look to your left you'll see someone who is rather eager to settle an old score with you."

She could guess what was coming, but Baird looked round regardless, just in time to see Lamia's fist before it collided with her face and darkness descended once more.

Chapter Text

The air was warm and muggy when Baird awoke, and there was a distinct smell of river water. She could hear a quiet muttering outside of her line of vision. It sounded like a hissed argument. Flynn and Jones were okay then. She shifted her head and waited for the room to slow down. A blur hurried over to her.

"Eve!" Flynn's voice sounded far away, as if he was on the other side of a window or a wall. "Eve, are you okay? How do you feel?"

"How long was I out?" Baird slurred. Her second attempt to push herself into a more comfortable position felt easier, until she realised she was being aided by Jones on her other side.

"Longer than I'd like," Flynn admitted ambiguously. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Stop waving your hand around."

"Ah," Flynn's hands joined in the effort to move her and soon she was propped up against a wall, still seated on the ground and with one hand held in Flynn's while he took her pulse with the other, but at least able to see what was going on, sort of.

"You need to sit still, Eve," Flynn ordered her, and it was an order for once. "I'm fairly sure you have a mild concussion but there's not a lot else I can do about it. Not here anyway. Just tell me if your vision gets worse or anything else starts getting weird."

"I've had a concussion before," said Eve, closing her eyes and squeezing his hand. "It's an occupational hazard. In both of my occupations apparently! I'll be fine."

"I know," said Flynn. "Just don't move until you are, or I tell you otherwise."

She felt him raise her hand to his lips, briefly, and then place it back down on the ground. There was a scuffling as the two men hurried over to the other side of whatever room they'd been locked in now. The hissed argument began again. An Argument, she thought. That should be the collective term for a group of Librarians. Put any two of them in a room together for any great length of time and there would always be one. There was at least one argument per Librarian every day in the annex, at least two of which usually involved Jenkins. There had been less recently, but only because Stone and Cassandra weren't even on speaking terms, which tended to mean they avoided everyone for most of the day, just in case.

Jenkins looked at his watch. It had been a while since they had last called in. There had never been an absolute rule set in stone about calling in, but they almost invariably needed his help before now. Flynn was there, though, so maybe that helped.

Still, something at the back of his head nagged him. He tried calling Baird's cell. It went straight to voice mail. Not too surprising, he told himself. They were going after an item in an Egyptian tomb or temple, most of which were not generally known for their wonderful cell signal. Jones' and Flynn's had the same result. They must be underground. He shook his head, annoyed at letting himself give way to sentiment and worry. They hadn't called home once when Flynn took them off to Rome to retrieve that pearl, or apple as it had turned out. With Flynn there, he wasn't as necessary as usual. With Flynn there, he might actually get some peace!

He settled down to work again, but still the little something kept nagging him. He called the hospital and asked for an update on the two invalids. That at least was better news, he thought as he put the receiver down. Maybe they'd actually be on speaking terms when they returned. Or maybe they'd finally work out what everyone else, including, apparently, the hospital staff, had known for ages!

He sighed and sat down again with a chuckle. The nurse on duty had told him they were planning on moving them into adjoining rooms just so the staff didn't have quite so far to move them when they were being ordered to get some proper rest!

About ten minutes later, he was back on his feet, pacing the room. Something was definitely nagging him. He only had two questions, and the second one was 'what was he going to do about it'!

It had taken a while, but Flynn and Jones had, to use Jones' turn of phrase, 'cased the joint' from top to bottom and found absolutely no signs of magic. That wasn't worrying Flynn too much. What worried him was the lack of a door.

The ceiling was high enough to reach, just, if Jones stood on his shoulders, but the walls were solid, or at least semisolid, mud. Not mud brick or mud built walls, like some older dwellings where mud is the easiest and cheapest building material close to hand. They were in a room that had been dug down into the mud, like a pit. Their light source was the electric lantern he had had in his satchel. He had demanded his satchel when they moved them. Lamia had smugly turned it upside down, emptied out its contents and hung the empty bag around his neck. At that time, they were two torches, a couple of bottles of water, a map of the area, several flares and glow sticks, and a pack of wilting sandwiches. She had forgotten it was the Librarian's satchel. She really shouldn't have.

He reached into the bag for another bottle of water and a cereal bar. Jones had grumbled about being hungry and thirsty, so he'd figured there was time to sit down and refresh themselves while they came up with a plan. The way the plan was going, he was beginning to think there would be time for a three course meal, if only he'd packed one!

That was the drawback with the satchel. It had lots of pockets, most of which were not quite in this dimension, and only one could be accessed at a time. What you put in those pockets, however, was up to you. It couldn't magically retrieve his phone from Dulaque's minions: that had been in his pocket, not the bag. Nor could it get back the flares it had dropped, and he wasn't sure it would have been a good idea to try punching through the ceiling with one of them anyway. It would probably just led to a lot of ducking and a fiery rain, followed reasonably quickly by a fiery death. It did contain plenty of food and water though, spread out across several pockets just for safety. He wished the first aid kit he'd packed contained something better than the cooling strip he'd placed on Eve's head. Ice would have been preferable: it worked even with hair in the way. Radios were there, but since they were all there and there were none outside their little prison, that rather made them useless. He had more rope. He had another knife. If they could get up to the ceiling, they could try cutting through it, but even then it would be Jones alone who would have to get out and go find help: he was the lightest and Eve couldn't be moved yet.

"We still here?" Eve groaned. She had fallen asleep a little while ago and had slumped over when he sat down by her, resting her head on his shoulder. Now she opened her eyes warily.

"Still here," Flynn replied. "How d'you feel?"

"I think I'm hallucinating: I can see Jones drinking water and eating something."

"You're not," he passed her a bottle of water. "Small sips. And if you're going to throw up, lean the other way."

She did as she was told, sitting up more as the cool water helped clear her head. It still ached, but the double vision was gone. There was no nausea and she said so.

"That's good," said Flynn, passing her a cereal bar. "Eat slowly though, just in case."

"Where are we?" Eve asked, nibbling at the bar.

"An Egyptian style oubliette," he shrugged. "That's a..."

"I know what an oubliette is, I've seen Labyrinth."

"Okay," smiled Flynn, glad she was sounding more like her old self.

"How exactly are we getting out of this one?"

"Good question: no magical doors here."

"We can't even make one?"

"What?"

"Can't you make one?" Eve turned to look at him. "How did you get the door in the annex to work? You know: when the dragons woke up."

"What?"

"Stop saying 'what' and think: you didn't even know we had the back door working again, so how did you access it?"

From the other side of the room, a shuffle and a movement told Baird that Jones had heard and was coming over. Sure enough he sat down on the other side of Flynn moments later.

"She's right, mate: you have to let us in on that trick!" Jones hissed. "You did the same thing when we first met. I had the sneakiest escape route plotted and yours topped it! It wasn't anywhere on their blueprints or I'd have known."

"Well," Flynn frowned, "with the dragons, I'd just used the same spell I always did, I didn't know where it would bring me out because the Library was gone and it usually brought me out there. With the museum, I'd already set up the door from the other side. In both cases, though, there was a door. We don't have a door!"

"Can we make one?" Jones pressed.

"With what?" Flynn threw up his hands. "I can't magic a 'make-a-door kit' out of my satchel, that's not how it works!"

"Yeah, about that..."

"Like a magician's hat, but you only get out what you put in, and I didn't put that in there, and no, Mr Jones, you cannot borrow it next time you go off on one of your little 'outings'!"

"Aw!"

"What exactly makes a door a door, though?" Eve asked. "I know it sounds stupid, but we've walked out of doors of all shapes and sizes, made from all sorts of materials."

"What are you thinking?" Flynn asked, moving the bag out of Ezekiel's grasp without looking at the hand creeping towards it.

"Why can't we make a mud door?" Eve shrugged. "We seem to have plenty of that."

"It wouldn't work," Flynn shook his head. "You have to be able to open it and walk through it. A mud door wouldn't let you do either."

"A mud doorway might though," said Jones, looking thoughtful. "All you need is two door posts and a lintel, right?"

Flynn stared at him, then at Eve, then at his satchel.

"You'd need something to hang across it as well," he said, reaching into the satchel and handing them two trowels. "But that I think I might have packed. You two build the door posts. I'll make the lintel and door."

Time passed slowly and ambiguously in the oubliette, but eventually there were two, not entirely stable, piles of mud about the height of Jones. Across the top was placed a short, thick length of rope, a bottle of water weighing down each side. Pinned to the rope and falling right to the ground was a large bath towel. It had a laundry tag identifying it as belonging to the Ritz hotel, London. Ezekiel was grinning. Flynn was trying to ignore the questioning glare from Eve.

"What?"

The eyebrows rose.

"Well," Flynn shrugged. "A towel is about the most massively useful thing a Librarian can have!"

"A stolen towel?" Baird asked, with a look that warned Flynn not to try answering that.

"Oh, look, it's working," he said instead, and pulled the towel-curtain aside for the other two. He followed them through, his hand still closed around the towel. Towel, rope and water bottles followed him through and the door winked out of existence.

"Jenkins!" Flynn called into the annex. "We need a collapsible door kit!"

The sound of hurried footsteps thundered down from the stairs and Jenkins arrived red-faced and breathless.

"Oh, thank heavens, you're back!"

"What's wrong?" Baird's eyes went wide. "Is it Cassandra? Stone?"

"No, no," Jenkins waved his hands and shook his head. "They're fine. It was the three of you that were starting to worry me!"

"Aw, Jenkins!" Jones grinned. "I never knew you cared!"

"I'll add it to the list," the older man growled. "It's the annex: it hasn't given me any peace all afternoon! Books shifting. Scrolls unrolling. Things never where you left them."

"What list?" Jones frowned.

"Dulaque has the Book," said Flynn, in the process of rolling up 'his' towel. "We need to get to wherever he's keeping it."

"That's hardly going to be easy," replied Jenkins. "He knows we know his usual style. He won't keep it somewhere like he did Santa."

"Still not calling him Santa," Eve murmured automatically.

"We'll find him," Flynn grinned, fishing a chain out from around his neck. On the end was a metal book. It had hinges. He handed it to Jenkins. "Use that. We'll go get cleaned up."

"Er, why?" Jenkins frowned. As Jones and Eve, both considerably covered in mud, absented themselves. "What link does this have to Dulaque?"

"It doesn't," said Flynn, halfway out the door. "Dulaque has my cell phone. My cell phone has the original."

As the Librarian disappeared, Jenkins opened the book. It was a locket. Inside it was a photograph of Eve.

Half an hour later, Flynn, Eve and Jenkins were ready by the door. They all turned at the sound of tardy footsteps and glared at Jones as he sauntered in, scrubbed and clean.

"Did you have to install your shower first, Jones?" Baird asked.

"I'm here now," said the thief. "Are we doing this or not?"

Jenkins spun the globe and the back door flashed into existence. He took the radio Flynn passed him, just in case, and stood back to let the three cross the wormhole into what looked like another, larger, oubliette.

Baird, leading the way without argument this time, shone a torch around them. They weren't underground again. This time, they were in a warehouse. Stacks of boxes piled high around them. Finding the one with the Book of Thoth was easy: it was the only one covered in a fine layer of sand instead of dust. Flynn prised the top up carefully and retrieved the Book and his cell phone. He looked inside, then lifted the lid off altogether. Carefully packed in straw and supports in the box were several other random items. The only things the ones he could clearly see had in common were the fact that they all looked tremendously old, and that he recognised them.

"These were in the Library!" Flynn gasped.

"They must have been taken when the Serpent Brotherhood attacked," said Jones. "Who knows what they got before they were shut out."

"Who knows what else they got too!" Flynn breathed. "Not all of them were in the library. Some have been lost for centuries!"

Baird looked around. The crates weren't that large, but there were a lot of them.

"I get the feeling," she said, shining her torch up an aisle stacked to head height and more with boxes, "that Dulaque has been at this game a while!"

"For all we know he has a dozen more of these places," added Jones, surveying the cavernous room with an odd look of impressed horror.

"We need to get as much of this back to the annex as possible," said Flynn, replacing the Book and lid. "You take this one. Ezekiel can take the one beneath it. It seems lighter. I'll bring the one from the top of the pile behind."

"Is that wise?" Jones frowned.

"I'll be careful," Flynn replied. "Just get that to Jenkins and come back for more."

Obediently, they lifted their boxes and headed for the door. Flynn eased the top box on to his shoulder just as Baird got back to him. It was heavier than he'd expected and it took both of them to carry it back through the portal where Jones was still massaging his hands. Flynn heard the pop behind them even before he saw Jenkins react. He turned around, already knowing what he would see. On the other side of the door, a startled Baird looked back at him, while on the other side of the box a startled Baird looked across at an unsurprised Flynn. Both Flynns leant down and dragged the box back, leaving room for the doors to swing closed.

"The door was linked to my phone," he said, in answer to Eve's questioning look. "When I crossed through here, with the phone in my pocket, the door flipped back on itself. I confused the door."

"Do we have any idea where we just went," Baird asked Jenkins, not even bothering to comment on Flynn's explanation.

"None, I'm afraid, Colonel Baird," said Jenkins. "I saw a lot of boxes in there, were they all..."

"Magical items collected by Dulaque?" Flynn finished. "So it appears. And my cell phone."

"Well I guess life just got a little more interesting," said Jones from the central desk. "It's certainly the biggest heist I've ever had to start planning!"

Chapter Text

In the week that had passed since their trip to Egypt, Flynn had stayed to help catalogue, research and come up with safe methods of storing each of the items found in the three boxes liberated from Dulaque's warehouse. He had also taken a hand in some of the day to day running of the annex, going out on missions with Baird and Jones, or by himself, or all together, while they waited for their injured comrades to be released from hospital. Jenkins had set his own work aside altogether to focus on storage facilities, both tracking down Dulaque's and working out how to improve their own should they manage to get all the boxes to Portland. Baird was helping him when she wasn't out on a mission. Jones was plotting the heist of his life, and managing to avoid any serious cataloguing work by doing so. Flynn, therefore, was left with the bulk of the work on the boxes, and the car keys to go pick up Jacob and Cassandra when the hospital called to say they could go, earlier that day.

The journey back from the hospital had felt, well, weird, and Flynn hadn't worked out why until he had talked it over with Baird later that evening after dinner in her apartment.

"I can't believe they're still not talking to each other," Eve had laughed when Flynn had finished recounting a half hour drive filled with two separate conversations, each aimed at him, one from the front passenger seat, one from directly behind him.

"How long have they been doing this?" Flynn asked, bemused.

"Ohhh," Eve thought back, curling her feet under her and resting her head on her hand, her elbow already on the back of the sofa they were both sitting on. "Since we got back from Scotland, so must be what, three weeks ago, nearly?"

"I thought everything went well in Scotland?" Flynn frowned, pouring more wine for them both. "What happened? Did Stone flirt with the Selkie?"

Eve shook her head. "Actually, I don't know what he did, or saw. He's being cagey about it. Cassandra saw Lamia. Heaven knows we've all heard plenty about what Jones saw - he wouldn't shut up about it for a week! Stone hasn't said a word. Cassandra said they were checking rooms and then he called her and said he thought they'd found her, and that was that."

Flynn looked thoughtful and a slight smile crossed his face. He shook his head, as if dislodging a train of thought that had been stuck in the wrong direction. "That doesn't explain why they're not talking."

"No," Eve admitted, "but do you remember when we were in France and Cassandra wasn't?"

"She was at the hospital for a check-up wasn't she?" Flynn frowned.

"I booked the appointment and made her go because she passed out after a set of hallucinations in Scotland and didn't come round for hours."

"That might explain her not talking to you but..." Flynn, if anything, now looked more confused.

"I would never have known about the episode, none of us would, if Stone hadn't spilled the beans almost as soon as we got back," Eve explained. "Jones and I were on a stakeout and the cell reception sucked. We didn't see either of them until much, much later and by then she was awake."

"And she hasn't spoken to him since?" This time it was Flynn's turn to raise his eyebrows.

"No more than to tell him she's still not speaking to him, as far as I've heard."

"But that's..."

"More than a little tedious?" Eve finished for him. "I know! As soon as one of them starts getting past his 'trust issues', the other one starts giving him the cold shoulder! Believe me you would not believe the idiocy I have had to deal with from those two! And you should have seen her face when he dared to talk to another woman, well," she paused and pulled a face, "I get the feeling it was more flirting than talking, but still..."

"It's ridiculous!" Flynn finished for her. "They do not work without each other!"

"Say what?" Eve took her turn to look confused.

"How many people do you know that can talk Cassandra through her visions?" Flynn asked, counting out instances on his fingers. "From the day they met, Stone's been able to get through to her. They bounce ideas off each other and together they hit the right answer. Like that thing with the secret entrance and Fibonacci and the pebbles in the Vatican, then later with the Evil Cassandra off switch: how many times have they done that?"

Eve thought for a minute. She had been there when Stone provided the missing link to help Cassandra solve the Labyrinth. She had been there when he froze the truck window to show up the patterns she was only half seeing. That was two, and the Vatican made three, four really. She hadn't been with them for most of the Nick incident. After the Vatican, there had been the whole ridiculous story book affair, with constant bickering between Prince Charming and the Huntsman and everyone relying on Jones to save the day. Then there was STEM fair, and she knew it was the two of them that had come up with the magical Faraday cage. Everyone had really been pushing Cassandra to sit most of the work out when they went ley line hunting, and then ended up relying on her to save them that time. That had been an interesting trip: they'd gone through a period of not talking to each other then too. The flirting with the town archivist at Collins Falls hadn't really helped matters there, and she suspected there had been more that she didn't know behind both Cassandra and Stone's actions and reactions on that trip. When the chips were down, though, she had sided with his decision to help, and he had later sided with her advice to shut the attempt down. He had also been first to, and through, the door to rescue her. Eve relayed all this to Flynn, watching his face change amused to interested to concerned to surprised.

"They're really not an item?" Flynn asked when Eve had finished her debriefing. "Because they had the hospital staff convinced!"

"What?" Eve frowned.

"When I went to pick them up the porter told me they'd been moved into a twin room because it got so impossible to keep both of them lying down at the same time. Even next door to each other, one of them was always sitting by the other. They'd considered sedation, but apparently, as they naturally assumed them to be a couple - and at least one of them had the opportunity to correct that and didn't, by the way - they felt it was okay to go slightly against hospital policy and move them to a twin room with sliding curtains around each bed."

"Who had the opportunity to come clean?" Eve asked, trying to stop laughing.

"Our dear, sweet, innocent Cassandra, would you believe!" Flynn pulled Eve closer to him. "The porter told me he had had a conversation with her one day, when he was taking her down to the scanner, about how his wife had sat by him right through the night when he went in for an operation. He even asked her if they were engaged yet."

"And she said..."

"Well, she didn't lie, exactly," Flynn grinned. "She just said they'd never talked about it!"

"We have got to do something!" Eve wiped her eyes. "They are driving me up the wall! Even more than Jones generally does. I don't think I can take another three weeks of them ignoring each other!"

"What did you have in mind?" Flynn laughed. "I would suggest banging their heads together, but neither one of them is in any condition for that!"

"You're the smart one: you think of something!"

"I am aren't I," said Flynn, receiving a playful punch from Eve. He kissed her forehead. "Have I mentioned how much I've missed you yet?"

"Not nearly enough," she replied.

There were no disturbances, no new items in the clippings book, no cops looking for Jones, nothing for the next two days except sorting out the boxes in the annex. With everyone now there and focussed on the task in hand, a few of the lesser used rooms had been turned into temporary dormitories. Jenkins had crossed that bridge a long time ago, of course, but now everyone seemed to have their own little room to sleep in and, if they so chose, work in. Flynn had managed to catalogue and store three items over the course of the previous week. In those two days he, with the help of Jacob and Cassandra, had got two items completely finished. They had taken one item each to research, items as different as it was possible to find, while he filled in library cards with intricate descriptions of each artefact, then put his mind to the task of storing those pieces, and how to get his two helpers talking to each other again.

He was just finishing up the sign for the Lost Dead Sea Scrolls, Jacob and Cassandra both silently working their way through books at either end of the central desk, when Jones wandered in, yawning.

"It's eleven in the morning, Jones," said Baird from Jenkins' desk. "Please tell me this is not just you waking up!"

"I had a late night," Jones replied, picking an apple out of the fruit bowl that had recently been added to the land of too much work and not enough proper meals.

"Hadn't we all!" Flynn murmured, setting the sign aside for Cassandra and picking up another for Jacob's item: a one-eyed yellow idol from the North of Khatmandu.

"I think I've made a breakthrough with my planning, though," Jones carried on regardless, stopping by the open box and peering into it. "Thought I might give you a hand here. What does this do?"

Before Flynn could stop him, the thief had picked up one of the box items and dangled it from his fingers.

When Jenkins walked in half an hour later to announce a breakthrough of his own, he was greeted by an intricately woven dream catcher rotating silently in mid air in the centre of the room. Scattered around it were the recumbent bodies of all four Librarians and their Guardian, all fast asleep.

Ezekiel Jones looked around the room. The security was poor. Ridiculously poor. There were valuable paintings and historical artefacts everywhere he looked, with nothing around them at all, and with Flynn's satchel over his shoulder he could easily carry them all away with him.

If only he could get out of this bullet-proof glass, triple locked, laser and pressure pad alarmed box...

Cassandra woke up with a start. She felt like she'd been suffocating, like one of those dreams where you think you're drowning then, just as you start to pass out, you wake up. She breathed deeply, staring at the blank ceiling above her. Someone was bending over her, brushing her hair away from her face and calling her name. She blinked her eyes and looked round. It was her mother. The unruly red hair that was usually neatly tied up in a tight bun was starting to come loose and it looked like she hadn't slept in weeks. Cassandra's eyes flicked from her mother to her father: a tall, gaunt man standing behind her mother and reaching down to hold her hand. They were both talking at once. Talking and crying. Immediately, Cassandra thought the worst.

"I'm dying," she said simply. "Aren't I?"

"Oh, my darling girl," her mother cried. "It's all over. You're going to be fine. The operation was a complete success!"

A knock at the door awoke Jacob Stone.

"Professor!"

He frowned.

"Professor, it's time for your lecture!"

He shook his head. He must have dozed off. He'd been spending far too much time on his new project, especially late at night once the students had left. Well, left for the bars and night-clubs anyway.

"I'll be right there!" Professor Stone called back.

He rubbed his eyes, looked around his traditional Oxford rooms with a smile, gathered his lecture notes and headed for the door. There was a momentary panic when the latch stuck and he wondered if he'd locked it and forgotten, and, for that matter, where his keys were, then the door opened and he headed out into the ancient corridors of the university.

"Mom? Hey Mom!"

Eve looked up from her desk as her son bolted though the office doors, skidding so far that he nearly crashed into the central desk.

"Judson, what is it now?" Eve laughed. He reminded her so much of his father when he was younger. She was sure a seventeen-year-old version of Flynn would have been just the same: arms and legs longer than he knew what to do with, brain the size of a planet, attention span of a gnat.

"They're gonna publish my paper!" Judson beamed excitedly, skidding over to the desk. "The one on the origins of the Cult of Aten!"

"That's wonderful, sweetie," Eve replied, catching up with him to demand a motherly hug. "Have you told your father? He'll be so thrilled!"

"I'm looking for him, I can't find him," her son said, wriggling out of his mother's grip as soon as possible and walking over to his father's desk. "Is he out on a mission?"

"Not that I know of," said Eve, shrugging. "He's probably out in the Library somewhere, doing some research."

"I'll go look," Judson said, bounding off again.

Flynn Carsen looked up from the book he was reading. He thought he'd heard someone call his name. It might be nothing, but in a magical library the size of this one, you never could tell.

He flipped open the lid of his pocket watch, pausing to smile at the small version of his favourite wedding photo he had hidden away there. He smiled at his wife's face, smiling back at him out of the picture, then looked down to the clock part of the watch and gasped. He'd been here for hours!

He turned around. Where exactly was here, again? He'd been wandering through the library, following link to link from shelf to shelf until he had managed to get himself quite turned around. He picked a direction and headed in it. He would reach a main aisle soon. That would let him get his bearings back.

Jenkins backed slowly out of the room, pulling the door closed just as the dream catcher rotated round to face him. This could be tricky.

"Oh my," he sighed. "What have they done now!"

Chapter Text

Eve walked around the office, idly taking in all the little changes and differences. There were photographs scattered around: Flynn and Judson, Flynn and herself, all three of them, all at varying ages spanning at least twenty years. There were other photographs too. Jenkins. Jones. Cassandra. Stone. Cassandra and Stone. Jenkins and Judson. Jones being arrested. Cassandra and a baby girl. Stone and a baby girl. Cassandra and Stone and a baby girl.

"Guess I'm not the only one with a future I wasn't expecting," she murmured, picking up a photograph of Stone with a flame-haired girl of about five on his shoulders.

There were framed newspaper clippings too. Odd occurrences in Ohio. Rain of toads in Wisconsin. UFO sighted over Paris. Practical joke terrifies hundreds in Prague. There were clippings of all types and fonts, Jones' mysterious escape from a maximum security prison being the most prominent!

She sat down behind her desk. Back in the annex, it had been Jenkins' desk, but they were in the library now and there was room to spare for a desk of her own, opposite her husband's. She wondered if Judson had found him yet. Maybe she should check. She walked over towards the door through to the library floor, then stopped. There had been something she was going to do, something she was looking for, before Judson had interrupted her. She turned back to her desk. What was it? She frowned. It was a book. A book from upstairs. She turned to the stairs and started climbing. Whatever it was, she would know when she saw it, surely.

Cassandra turned her face to the sun and smiled. She breathed in the scent of summer. She felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her tumour was gone. Her synaesthesia was under control. Her parents were enthusing over every new college prospectus she picked up. It felt like finally, finally, her life had started going right. There was just one little, tiny, niggling voice at the back of her mind that said: something is missing.

She flicked through a new prospectus. Most of the courses that drew her interest would challenge her at the higher levels, maybe, but the first couple of years at least would be too easy. What could she do though: she barely had a high school diploma, thanks to tumours and necessary home schooling.

She looked at courses close to home and further afield. She looked at degrees, diplomas and doctorates. She thought about the time she had gained and what she wanted to do with it. Did she want to spend that time with her parents? She had no real friends and no other family, and the whole world had just laid all its glorious possibilities before her. An idea crossed her mind and she giggled. She picked up all the course guides of all shapes and sizes, walked forward to clear, grassy area of the park, away from the bench she had been sitting at and threw them up into the air, hopping back out of the road as they fell down. She picked up a pebble from the path and threw it over her shoulder at the scattered books.

She could tell from the noise that the stone landed on a book. She turned back round, found the book in question, picked it up and opened it randomly.

"That's where I'm going," she said, thinking aloud. "That's my new course. That and mathematics, of course!"

He was starting to panic. There had never been a lock he couldn't undo. Not ever! And how did he even get in here? And where were the guards? The public? The owner? Heck, even the janitor!

A small noise made Ezekiel's hair stand on end and his heart rate skyrocket. He felt the movement around his feet and looked down.

"Rats," he muttered, his breathing fast and shallow. "Why did it have to be rats!"

Jenkins stood at the workspace laid out in his lab. It had been set up to deal with artefacts, that was true, but usually the artefacts were not active at the time and already safely contained in a box, bell jar, binding or some other container that suited the purpose. Right now, he had one very active artefact hovering right in the middle of the only place he could access that he knew had the information on how to stop it. He also had every single person capable of helping him lying unconscious in the same room, with no way of getting to them without being hit himself.

"I'm getting too old for this," he groaned.

He thumbed through the few books that he kept on a shelf in his lab, but to no avail. He knew the information wasn't there. He sighed and picked up his jacket from the traditional hat, coat and umbrella stand in the corner, tucked a notepad and pen into his inner jacket pocket, and made his way out of the annex. He would have to do this the old fashioned way.

Jenkins had chosen his position in the annex many, many years ago for the express purpose of staying out of the world. Now, more and more, it seemed he was being dragged back into it. He wound his way through quiet streets and busy ones, heading for the only other place he could think of that might be able to track down the knowledge he required.

He was heading for the public library.

The corridors of the library sure were longer than Flynn remembered. Not that it should worry him, though: the library was always adding new areas. He turned a corner and headed in what he thought was the right direction. The voice sounded again. It was closer this time. That was good. He followed the sound of the voice. He passed row upon row of shelves, some with books, most with artefacts. Gradually the voice grew closer, but he still couldn't make it out. Suddenly it was right behind him.

"Dad!"

Flynn snorted and jumped as he woke up.

"Wha..." He looked around, dazed and confused.

"Dad, you were sleeping!"

Flynn looked up. Standing over him was a tall young man of about seventeen. He frowned and blinked.

"It's Judson, Dad," said the boy. "You know, your son? Did you bang your head again?"

"No, no," said Flynn, details becoming clearer now in his mind, "Just still sleepy. Give your old man a hand up."

He held out his hand and let the boy help him up out of the sofa he had been lying along, buried deep in the stacks.

"Were you looking for me in particular?" Flynn asked his son. "Did your Mom send you? Did I miss dinner? Is she mad?"

"No, Dad," Judson laughed. "She's working on something in the office. She thought you might like to know my news though."

"News? You have news? What news?"

"The Journal of Egyptology just called: they're going to publish my paper!"

"On the cult of Aten!" Flynn gave his son a paternal hug. "That is great news, my boy. Absolutely brilliant!"

"I was hoping we could go out to Amarna again, take a last look around before they publish it," said Judson, looking sideways at his father. "I'd hate to find out later that I'd missed something obvious!"

"My boy, there is no way," said Flynn, turning and placing a hand on his son's shoulder, "no way in this world that you would have missed something even remotely obvious at that dig site."

"Thanks, Dad," smiled Judson.

"Certainly not with me helping out around the place, anyway!"

"Can you take those books back to the Bodleian, please Claudia," Jacob said, passing a pile of three art history tomes over to his secretary, "and cancel my third year tutorial this afternoon, turns out I have a meeting to attend."

"Right away, Professor," the young woman piped up. "The Dean called about your meeting and I've cancelled the tutorial already. He faxed over some particulars for you. I put them on your desk. Will you be wanting your usual lunch or are you heading out today?"

"No rest for the wicked," Jacob smiled. "I'll be busy in my office until this darned meeting drags me away, so you'd better get the usual sent up."

"I'll pick it up on my way back from the library."

"You're an angel, thank you," Jacob headed into his office and closed the door behind him.

On his desk lay several piles of papers. Some were waiting to be marked. Some were awaiting return to their trembling authors in the student body. Some were his own notes. Others were just reminders. He didn't know why he bothered with reminders: that was what university secretaries were good at. Their job was not just to organise their professor's work schedule but, at least in the case of Professor Jacob Stone, to organise their professor as well. And he needed organising!

He dragged a pile of marking towards him and sighed. He wouldn't change it for the world.

Jenkins was not fond of public libraries. They were so... public. He preferred to do his researching in private. He found a quiet corner and began searching the online card catalogue. Another benefit of having an IT-savvy thief on the team: he knew a little bit more about modern technology.

The results were not uplifting. There were a number of useful books in the library's catalogue, but many were at different libraries throughout the county. He could order them, but that might take days, even for those that were not out on loan. His other option was to drive all over the county tracking them all down by hand. That could take almost as long!

No point wasting time, he thought. At least he could make a start with the two books currently on the shelves of Portland's library. He stalked through the aisles and grudgingly selected the two manuscripts in question. This was going to be tedious!

Chapter Text

Jenkins rubbed a hand across his eyes. He had become so accustomed to simply asking the annex what it had on whatever new threat they were facing, and receiving either exactly the right book or its card from the catalogue almost immediately, that real, ordinary, slow, page by page, human research had become alien to him. He was tired, feeling his age. It always weighed more heavily on him outside of the annex. But if he couldn't solve this, he wasn't just going to lose his annex entirely, and permanently, but also the five people in this world whom he now held most dear.

He knew he had never been good with people. Heck, he had chosen to eschew the world after one quest! Granted, it was the quest of a lifetime, but still: he hadn't thought about anyone else ever needing him to be around. Not truly needing him. The library had needed him, that was true. It had had a job for him. A mission to accomplish. But that mission could just as easily have gone to another like him. And there were others like him.

But then the library had been lost, and his solitary hermitage had been filled with the joy and colour and vibrancy of life. Five lives, to be precise. And they all now hung in the balance. And they all now needed him. And only he could help them.

He pulled a book telling the histories of the First Nations towards him. The dream catcher was an object of Native American significance, and one tribe he knew to have links with them were the Ojibwe, based around the banks of Lake Superior. If he had known anyone with any links to the tribe, they would have been his first port of call, but his voluntary isolation had left him with very few contacts in the outside world, and most of those with histories as long as his own. Patiently, he read each page, scanning first for the phrase "dream catcher", then reading individual passages and taking notes. After two hours more he sat up, rubbed his stiff neck and shoulders, and packed up his notes. He had a starting point. That was good. He had also exhausted the library's resources on the subject, and the next library was an hour-long drive away. He replaced the books on their shelves and headed back to the annex. He would be needing his car.

Eve was still looking at photographs when Judson and Flynn walked in. Something was bothering her about them. She looked round at the sound of the door and smiled.

"I knew it!" Eve breathed to herself.

"Well, if it isn't my beautiful wife," grinned Flynn, walking over and kissing her cheek. "And how are you, my love?"

"Just looking back at days gone by," she smiled back, waving a hand in the direction of the photographs and clippings.

"Ah, our extended family," Flynn reached out a hand for the picture of Stone and the little girl. He glanced round at the other photos then frowned. "Where's Cassandra?"

"Over here, Dad," said Judson, picking up the photograph of Cassandra, Stone and the baby. "It was the last one we took before the seizure. I remember I wanted in on it. You wouldn't let me down though. Not while Mom was taking the photo: their first family portrait. I was so scared when Aunt Cassie fell like that, I buried my face in your shirt and wouldn't let go for hours."

"You were only five," Flynn said gently, then memory coming back to him like a ghost. "You had no idea what was going on."

"I just remember the noise," said the boy, putting the picture down again. "So much shouting, so much crying."

Eve felt her own throat tighten up as the memory painted itself into her mind. Cassandra seizing uncontrollably on the floor. The blood leaking from her nose. Stone on his knees, one arm holding his daughter, only just named Leonie, the other hand stroking his wife's hair, telling her it would be okay, begging her to hold on, to come back to him.

But it hadn't been okay. And she hadn't come back. Not that time.

They had lost Stone that day too, really. She had never seen him so broken. If it hadn't been for the child, Eve was sure he would have done something stupid. As it was, he was barely functional, refusing to leave the spot long after the EMTs had quietly and sombrely took Cassandra's body away. In the end, it was his daughter's cries that brought him back to the world and gave him someone else to focus on. Someone who needed him, and who only had him now.

It had taken him so long to see what had been staring him in the face, that he blamed himself for all the time he had wasted, for all the years where he had kept her at arms length, only to finally draw her close and lose her after barely two years. It wasn't enough time. Had it been an eternity, it would never have been enough time. It wasn't the only thing he blamed himself for either, as Eve had found out one day, when his increasing recklessness had cost them a mission, and nearly his own life too. Had he spoken up sooner, done something sooner, he had told her, slurring as blood leaked from the spike protruding from his abdomen, maybe they would have had Leonie sooner, and maybe her mother's body would have been able to take the strain. Maybe he would have been able to spend longer looking for a cure. Maybe they would have had more time.

It was after that incident that Eve had suggested he take some time off to raise his daughter properly. They had flown back to Oklahoma the day Stone got out of hospital. For a while, he stayed in contact, phoning Eve or Flynn or Jenkins with an update on the baby's progress - her first steps, words, teeth, day at school. Then one day, when Eve called to check on him, the phone went unanswered. It wasn't answered later that day, or the next, or the one after that, when she and Flynn left Judson with Jenkins and took the door to Stone's front porch. The house was shut up, the car gone. When Flynn got them inside, it was clear that the Jacob Stone they had known was gone. The wardrobes, never overpopulated anyway, were empty. The fridge and cupboards were bare. The bathroom was devoid of its usual paraphernalia. The photographs were gone. All except one. A small portrait photograph of Stone, his daughter on his shoulders. Beside it was a note addressed to Flynn. He opened it, sighed sadly and passed it to Eve.

"Don't look for us," the note read. "We'll be fine. Maybe one day we'll be back. But I can't be here, right now. I can't let my daughter grow up the same way I did, so I can't stay here. And I can't take any more reminders of her mother either, so I can't come back to the Library. I get enough of a reminder just looking at my little girl every day. She is her mother's double, and she's just as smart. More so, maybe. I don't know where we'll go, but we have everything we need with us. I know you'll try to track us down, Baird (yes, I do expect he'll show this to you). And I know you could find us if you tried. I'm not on the run, unlike some, and I'm not hiding, I just need some space. A blank canvas. Somewhere without ghosts to keep me company. And I know I can't order you. I know that. So I'm asking you: please, please, don't look for us."

Eve felt Flynn slip his arm around her and kiss her forehead. And she knew he was thinking of all the times they had almost lost each other, and how important it was not to waste one moment of the precious gifts life had given them.

She sniffed and forced her mind back to the present day. She turned to her son. "So, did you tell him?"

Judson nodded happily, his usual good humour now restored. "We're going back for a look around before they publish it. Do you want to come along?"

Ezekiel Jones was really starting to worry now. The rats had gone.

One minute they'd been up to his knees and he'd been hyperventilating. Then he felt his head start to swim. He'd blinked. When he opened his eyes, he was alone in the box. There were people in the gallery now. People walking around him, looking at him, circling him. It was almost as if he was an exhibit himself.

The lights were starting to flicker. Every now and then, just a tiny bit at first, then gradually getting larger, more noticeable. The people around him didn't seen to notice. They carried on with their nonchalant browsing, the lights flicking off and on around them.

And every time they went off, something was there...

"So, Miss Cillian," said the portly figure of the Dean from the other side of his immaculate desk, "Why do you wish to join us here? I believe I understand your timing, but not your choice of destination. Were I in your shoes, I would hardly want to spend even more time away from my loved ones."

Cassandra smiled and began to talk. She liked this place. It was her. The courses looked challenging, and she needed a new challenge. The people were friendly. The accommodation was affordable, for her, and close at hand. Everything was close at hand really. The only thing not nearby were her parents, and they spent so much time abroad she'd hardly see less of them here than in their own back yard. And the buildings! So much history! So much skill! Such beauty! She didn't mention anything about being able to mentally process, and picture, all the angles, all the volumes, the masses, the loads... everything. And architecture was just art you lived in, right? Now where had she heard that?

Having control of her synaesthesia back was wonderful. She wasn't afraid of the visions spiralling out of control any more, she could just sit back, in a cafe or a park or a university, and let them flow across her mind and sight. Then if someone came over, or talked to her, she could just shut them off again. Just like that. It was a dream come true.

Professor Stone returned from his meeting and closed the door of his secretary's office behind him.

"You're back!" Claudia piped up. "Good: you can help me with this crossword clue!"

"Is it about art?" Stone asked. His secretary shook her head. "History?" Another shake. "Well, as an expert in art history, there's not much else I'm going to be able to help you with. You know what they say about experts: they know more and more about less and less."

"I know, but you should know this one," Claudia continued, unabashed. "You're from Oklahoma, right?"

"For my sins," Stone nodded, pausing at his office door.

"Five down," the secretary read. "State vegetable of Oklahoma. Ten letters."

"Watermelon," the professor growled, heading through to his own office.

"That's a fruit!" Claudia called after him.

"I know," came the muffled reply through the door.

The secretary took a bite of her own sandwich and looked at the next clue that caught her eye.

"Two across," she murmured. "State of awareness usually indicated by rapid eye movements during sleep. Eight letters."

Jenkins sat back with a sigh. Finally, something useful. It had taken three drives of varying lengths to track down all the useful volumes, and as Murphy's Law would have it, the last book had been the one to hold the key. It was an old volume, though not as old as most in his annex, dating from around the time penicillin was discovered. The author, a woman, had painstakingly researched and reported the culture and customs of the Ojibwe people, known to her as the Chippewa, an anglicised version of their name. In her treatise, she had described the legend of the dream catcher, its uses and parts, and, most importantly, the different powers such items were believed to possess.

Jenkins looked down at the 1920's photograph of a traditional Ojibwe dream catcher. It resembled the one Jones had removed from its wrappings all too closely, and neither bore much resemblance to the poor facsimiles paraded in New Age hippie shops and camps. Not that he had ever been to one, of course. He returned the other books to their shelves and tucked the useful one under his arm. He still had to drive back to Portland, and that would take a while, but he couldn't waste any more time here: the sky was darkening, the building emptying and the librarian waiting to lock up. He presented his library card, checked out the book, and began the long drive back.

Chapter Text

The lights had been going off and on for some time now. Every time darkness descended, Ezekiel Jones saw the same figure in the inky blackness, glowing like the ocean at night time. As the periods of darkness grew longer, he saw the shape flit from one part of the room to another. Or maybe there were more of them? It was to difficult to tell. The shape was vaguely humanoid. That much he was sure about. But every time he turned to face it, it moved. Its outline was all he could make out.

When the lights came on again, he would bang on the glass, but nobody seemed to notice. He searched the room for a face he knew. There was always something familiar about each face he caught sight of. Something, but he couldn't say what. Nothing brought any names to mind. He threw himself against the glass. It didn't even rock.

He heard a click.

He looked up. Nothing.

He looked at the walls of the box. Nothing.

He looked down.

Water was seeping into the glass case from somewhere. It moved slowly, but it wasn't draining away. Not, at least, as far as Ezekiel could tell.

"No, no, no, no, no, no!" Ezekiel shouted, feeling the panic rise again. Just like the water.

It was after midnight when Jenkins finally returned to the annex. He hurried to his lab, placed the book on a reading stand nearby and headed over to a locked cupboard. He might not have the resources of the Library. He might not even, at this moment, have most of the resources of the annex, but he did have some resources. And one of them was exactly what he was looking for.

Now came the difficult part, he thought as he crouched outside the doors to the annex's main office. He had the knowledge, he had the necessary artefact. He knew what he had to do and, for the most part, how he was going to do it. The only problem was who to rescue first, and how to get to them. He eased the door open an inch or two and peered in. Flynn and Cassandra were the closest, with Jones in the centre and Baird and Stone on the opposite side of the room. The dream catcher floated round, its feathers shimmering in the magical field it created. Jenkins closed the door while the eye of the spider web of sinews turned towards him. He waited, checked that the danger had passed, for now, tightened his grip on the object in his right hand and bolted through the door to behind Flynn's desk. Sitting with his back to the desk, out of sight of the dream catcher, and breathing rather more heavily than he would like, Jenkins placed one hand flat on the artefact he had brought, and the other hand around Flynn's ankle.

Flynn, Eve and Judson stood atop the cliff of Tel el Amarna, looking down at the famous lost city of Akhenaten. Razed to the ground after the pharaoh's death, it had been more than usually difficult to find the information that had led Flynn's son to spot something even his erudite father had missed. The boy had a gift for archaeology. He saw patterns in the sand and his mind built a city over them. He knew exactly where to look for hidden signs, symbols and entrances. His paper on the famous monotheistic pharaoh, and the cult of worshippers that followed him, had been inspired, and had been backed by evidence that hundreds of years of archaeological study had missed.

And Flynn couldn't be prouder.

They made their way down the cliff by means of a steep path. It was the sort of thing goats might have had trouble with, but they made it down. They'd walked this path before, all three of them. Eve never complained when Flynn took her hand to help her down the last part of the path, especially not when he didn't bother to let go of her hand afterwards. The plain spread out before them, but it wasn't that they had come to see. Following their son, the couple picked their way through fallen rocks and rubble to an area almost entirely hidden from the site of the city. Judson disappeared behind a rock and his voice echoed back to them to join him. They did so, but not before Eve had removed a pair of torches from her bag and handed one to her husband.

Inside the cave, a tunnel wound into the rock. A light danced in the distance, describing patterns and movements no battery powered torch would show. Judson led the way towards the light, his own torch held out in front of him. The three rounded a corner of the tunnel and found an old woman, native to the area, sitting by a fire dealing out large, illustrated cards.

"Salaam alaikum," said the boy.

"Alaikum salaam," replied the old woman. "You are expected, Librarian. You, and your parents."

"You were waiting for us?" Eve asked, relieved the woman spoke English.

"Many have been waiting, many times. Now it is my time, my turn."

"Your turn for what?" Flynn asked.

"To guide you. Be seated," the old woman waved a hand in the direction of the floor in front of her and started pulling the cards back together. When they were a deck again, she handed them to Eve. "Shuffle and cut the cards."

Eve did as she was told, shuffling the oversized deck awkwardly and cutting it into two neat piles. The old woman took the piles and put the one from bottom of the deck on top of the other. She dealt the cards out in an odd pattern, starting with one furthest away from her and surrounding that on three sides with columns of three cards moving towards her. She moved her hands over the cards, pausing at each one and concentrating.

"You do good work, Guardian," said the woman. "But you fear what may yet come to pass."

"Cassandra's dead, Jones is on the run and Stone is in self-enforced exile," Eve began. "I hardly think..."

"You think, and you dream," the woman continued, waving aside her protest. "But is this the dream or the nightmare? You will not be able to protect them from everything. Some things they can only do for themselves. Your guidance will be needed more than your defences. All have many roles to play, not all their own. You must see the truth of the heart and lead it home."

The woman's hand paused over a card. It showed maiden lifting her skirts to carefully step over a serpent. She picked it up.

"This card, in the heart position, says that you must be strong in your beliefs and your compassion. Strong enough to bear more than you know. There will be sacrifice. There will be sorrow. Yours is a strong soul, able to bear such weight without breaking. You must bear it for those who cannot."

Eve took the card the woman handed her and looked round to Flynn, whose attention was riveted on the card. Sensing her movement, his eyes flew up to hers. They were solemn and serious, so different from his usual cheer. Their son was also looking intently at the card, and frowning in puzzlement.

"That's an Etteila Tarot card," said Judson. "They were thought to be based on pages from the Book of Thoth. In the more mainstream decks, that card is replaced by the Hanged Man!"

Eve looked round to the woman again, but she was gone.

Cassandra Cillian was experiencing her first culture shock confusion. She had travelled all this way, been accepted to study three separate degrees after a lengthy interview with the heads of faculty involved and of the university itself. She was undoubtedly intelligent and knowledgeable. And yet she had still managed to get lost on her first day simply because she forgot that what was called the first floor here, was actually what she recognised as the second floor in the States. She smiled to herself as she ascended the stairs leading up to the "first floor" of the Radcliffe Camera in the Bodleian Library. She had been accepted for Mathematics without question. She had only been accepted for her second degree, the one at which the Oxford prospectus had fallen open that day in the park back home, on the agreement that she link the two with a third and that she start at the beginning with everyone else. It would give her time to get to grips with her newest subject, provide a context for it in terms of her oldest and allow her to maintain and refresh her knowledge of that subject, filling any gaps that may have been left by home-schooling as the lectures progressed.

Cassandra's head turned upward as the elegant arches of the upper camera reading room came into view and gradually surrounded her. Safely up the stairs, she let her synaesthesia take over and start measuring angles and ratios. Every arch was perfect. The curve of the dome above her head was perfect. She smiled as the room, already filled with the measured curves and lines of its own geometry, now filled with the scents of summer: flowers, oranges, warmth. A hand touched her arm and she jumped, shutting down her visions and turning to the newcomer. It was one of the dons, decked out in his sombre black professorial gown over everyday jeans and a shirt.

"Are you lost, ma'am?"

Cassandra smiled. "Only in my own mind," she said. "Just admiring the view. I spent ten minutes searching the stacks downstairs before I remembered first floors were upstairs in this country!"

"I had a similar problem myself once upon a time," the professor smiled back. "Are you looking for anything in particular or just an area? I'm getting to know this place fairly well these days."

"Oh, just an area," Cassandra shrugged. "Art history. You wouldn't happen to know where..."

"Right over here," he led the way to a group of shelves. "There's a lot, so you won't be short of reading material. Which university are you visiting from, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, I'm not..." Cassandra stumbled over her words. "I mean, I'm a student. Here. Undergraduate actually. I got held up. Long story. Long, really depressing story. Ancient history now."

"Well, now that's probably over in the Weston Library by now, our new, well newer, building," the professor quipped. "I still have trouble keeping up with what they're moving over there anyway."

"Well, thank you," Cassandra nodded, giggling and holding out her hand. "Cassandra Cillian, by the way. It was nice to hear a sympathetic voice. Perhaps I'll bump into you again up here?"

"It's more than likely," he replied with a lopsided smile. He took her hand and shook it. "It was nice to meet you Cassandra Cillian. I'm Professor Jacob Stone. And I'm your new Art History teacher."

The fixed grin on Cassandra's face stayed in place until the black gown had disappeared down the stairs, then it collapsed into a grimace of horrified embarrassment.

"Oh God," she murmured, shrinking back into the shadow of shelves. "Oh God please tell me I did not just hit on my new professor!"

Jenkins found himself sitting on the floor behind Flynn's desk in the annex, without Flynn.

What had happened? Had it gone wrong? Then he realised something. There was a difference in the air, like the difference you feel when you walk into an old house and stand in the room just before the great hall and you know, you just know, that whatever is on the other side of the door in front of you isn't another cramped corridor or snug antechamber, it's a room so vast you'll have to walk to the other end just to work out what the pictures hanging there are. He wasn't in the annex office. He was in the Library office.

He stood up gingerly, looking over the desk first for any sign of the dream catcher. There was none. He picked his way around the side of the desk and cast his eyes around the room. They lighted on the clippings and photographs. He examined them in more detail.

"He never did think Jones would refrain from grand larceny permanently, then," Jenkins murmured, looking over the framed article of the "Great Escape". "I wonder which one helped him." Jenkins moved on to the next group of frames: the photographs of the two children and their respective parents. "Yes, well, who didn't see that coming," he muttered, raising an eyebrow at the picture of Flynn, Baird and baby Judson. His eyes moved on to Cassandra, Stone and Leonie. "Or that!"

"Jenkins!"

The older man turned round. The voice that had called his name was unfamiliar. It was also younger than any he was familiar with. The sight that greeted him was the returning family trio, led by their precocious son. Jenkins floundered. The idea that he had not been forgotten in this dream threw him. He had assumed Flynn would have dreamt Judson back into existence in his place.

"I'm just here to talk with your father, young man," he said peremptorily. "Mr Carsen, would you follow me."

Without further ado, Jenkins led the way out of the office and into the main hall of the Library. He turned to see, to his dismay, that both Flynn and Baird had followed, although the boy had stayed behind.

"Jenkins, what's going on?" Flynn asked, looking worried.

"You never leave the annex these days," Baird added.

"These days?" Jenkins asked. "What days are those, Mr Carsen, if you please?"

"I don't..."

"What is the date, Flynn!" Jenkins hissed, more urgently now.

"I uh..." Flynn paused. "Not sure, why? Did you touch the Janus Coin or something?"

"No, that item is still perfectly safe in our vaults," he replied patiently. "The original dream catcher of the Ojibwe people, on the other hand..."

"You're not making sense," said Eve.

"Do I usually?" Jenkins sighed. "Mr Carsen, you are dreaming. An act of idiocy by the young Mr Jones has activated the dream catcher and left all five of you in a dream state. I have managed to gain access to your dream to wake you up. If you don't we're all doomed, because I can't try this trick again for a week and by then you'll probably all have dehydrated to death."

"I'm not dreaming..."

"I assure you, sir, you are!"

"But this can't be a dream, Jenkins. It's too real."

"Dreams often appear so."

"But there are things in here I wouldn't have dreamed in a million years!"

"Such as?"

"Cassandra died."

"She was dying, it was a logical progression, if a tragic one."

"I have a son!"

"You didn't want a son?"

"I only just began thinking marriage might be a possibility!"

"Only just?"

Flynn stopped, looked thoughtful for a moment, then leant against the wall with a heavy sigh. "I'm dreaming."

"I don't think you're the only one," said a voice to their side. It was Eve. She too was looking thoughtful and relying on the wall for support.

"You don't?" Jenkins frowned. He had not expected this. "I can only enter one dream at a time, and I chose Flynn's."

"Judson, our son," Eve waved a hand in the direction of the office. "He's the person who sent me back from the future with the Janus Coin."

"That's interesting," said Jenkins, his face frozen in an expressionless stare. He was aware of the look on the face beside him.

"We have a son in the future?" Flynn's voice rose an octave. "You didn't think to tell me this?"

"Apparently you always said you could know too much about your future," Eve shrugged. "Plus, I only knew he was my son. He didn't say who his father was. I only assumed it was you."

"Is there anyone else I should know about?" Flynn's voice was still high. "I mean you and Stone get on really..."

"Do not even go there! He is like my brother!" Eve yelled over the top of Flynn's still rambling voice. "That would be... Just no! And there's Cassandra! We talked about this!"

"Yes, but if something were to happen to me, and as Jenkins says: she's dying..."

"Just stop! There is no world I can conceive of where Stone and I would ever..."

"Can we please stop!" Jenkins yelled over the increasing din. "Whatever the future holds will be utterly irrelevant if the two of you do not wake up!"

"Oh," said Flynn sheepishly.

"Right," agreed Baird.

"Just," Jenkins took a deep breath and sighed. "Just close your eyes and concentrate on waking up!"

Jenkins awoke with a start as Flynn slid down beside him behind the desk. Moments later, Baird joined them.

"Ah, Sigmund Freud's notebook!" Flynn said happily, taking the small book from where it had fallen from Jenkins' hand. "That's how you got in."

"Yes," Jenkins agreed. "It gives you access to the dreams of another simply by holding it in one hand and them in the other. The down side is that, like all psychologists, it limits you to a single trip per week, lasting a maximum of one hour."

"That's why he needed to wake up or we'd all be stuck here?" Baird clarified.

"Indeed, Colonel," Jenkins nodded. "Now, my time with the notebook is spent, but each of you can use it to bring back one of the other three, and one of them can bring back the third."

"Jones looks like he's having a nightmare over there," said Baird, who had passed him on her way to the desk. "We should bring him out first."

"The only problem with that, though," said Flynn, "is who does he wake up. Freud's notebook only works on people who trust you completely. I mean, you'd have to really trust someone, right, to let them into your head?"

"Exactly, but that leads us to another problem," said Jenkins.

"What?" Flynn frowned.

"Cassandra and Stone," said Eve. "They're not talking right now because they don't trust each other."

"That's ridiculous!" Flynn complained. "They're crazy about each other! Of course they trust each other deep down!"

"Deep down is fine inside the dream," Jenkins mused, "but I think Colonel Baird is right: they are not on good terms right now and everyone knows it. They may not be aware how much everyone knows, but still, her betrayal of the library, coupled with his betrayal of her secret about her health getting worse, compounded by their various shenanigans in Europe and Collins Falls..."

"How can anyone be so obviously in love with someone they don't trust?" Flynn asked.

"Love and trust are not the same thing," said Jenkins. "Believe me: I know. I believe Mr Stone does too. I know he trusts none of his family with who he really is. Family is the perfect example of where we are compelled to love, but not to trust."

"Fine," Flynn sighed and turned to Eve. "I'll take Stone, you take Cassandra."

"No offence, but I think he trusts me more," Eve said with a lopsided smile. "And Cassandra idolises you!"

"The other way round then," Flynn nodded. "You take him, I'll take her, and one of them can get Jones when we're done."

Chapter Text

"Do we need to keep a hold of this once we're in?" Baird asked Jenkins.

"I woke up without it," the older man shrugged. "I would assume not. Once you're in, you are there until the dreamer wakes."

"I'll go first," said Flynn, waving away Baird's protests. "Cassandra's closest. You can grab the notepad on the way past."

Eve nodded, admitting the sense in that plan and shuffled out of the way to let Flynn past. The Librarian timed his run carefully, watching as the eye of the dream catcher circled away again, then sprinting over to where Cassandra sat. She was slumped over in her chair, head resting on the main desk, arm dangling by her side. Flynn held the notebook out to one side, easy for Eve to pick up, then grabbed hold of Cassandra's bare forearm.

With Flynn asleep, and the notebook lying loose in his hand, Eve simply had to time her run to beat the dream catcher, barely stopping to pick up the book. She skidded to a halt behind Stone's sleeping form. He hadn't been so thoughtful as to let an arm fall off the table in his sleep. Eve had to choose between trying to move the arm closest to her, which his head was resting on, or trying to work out where, under the jeans, those damned great boots he always wore ended! She plumped for the arm. It took a little bit of time and a bit more force, and he might have a sore head when he eventually work up, but, finally, she got hold of his hand.

The room vanished.

When Eve opened her eyes, she was standing in a corridor. It looked old: the walls were stone, not brick, and the mortar was deeply indented and worn away. She heard whistling up ahead.

Following the sound of the music, Eve turned corner after corner. Finally, when the sound was right around the next turning, she slowed. She crept softly to the edge of the corner, feeling automatically for her gun before she realised it wasn't there. She cursed silently. What if there were dangers here? Stone was an art history major: who knew what he could dream up! She already felt like she was back in the labyrinth, and she didn't much fancy bumping into the minotaur!

Steeling herself for the worst possibility, she moved to the edge of the corner and stepped out.

"Flynn!" Eve's jaw dropped. "Wait, are you..."

"Ah, there you are!" Flynn grinned mischievously. "I was about to decide I'd lost my bet."

"What bet?"

"I had a little wager with myself," he said, offering her his arm, "when I saw where we were, that you'd be joining me soon."

"Where are we?" Eve asked, looking at the grassy quadrangle that stretched out behind Flynn.

"Welcome, my dear," he replied with a smile, "to the dreaming spires of Oxford."

Cassandra tried hard to focus on the picture in front of her. The lines and angles were simple, geometrical patterns, carved into the edges of the ancient Greek pottery in the photograph. They were easily remembered and identifiable, and yet somehow she was still having difficulty remembering the facts she had heard only that morning in her lecture.

Part of the agreement with the heads of faculty that allowed her to take this course had been that she fill in the gaps her science heavy home schooling had missed by attending daily tutorials until her tutor felt she had caught up. They had been going on for a week now. They were not getting easier.

Although the initial embarrassment of the meeting in the library had passed quickly, so had a few other things. For one, she was now on first name terms with her professor. He called her Cassie and insisted she call him Jacob. Secondly, he didn't treat her like the other students: kids just out of school, mostly, and focussing on one area of study only. He respected her knowledge of science, and how she used that in her understanding of history and art. They were friends, too. It was difficult to find anyone else here who was more or less her age, and there were no other Americans in the course, so it was nice to have someone with whom she could swap stories of home.

And all that would be fine, if only he wasn't so darned charming, and gentle, and handsome...

She sighed, closed the book and headed to her tutorial. Maybe she should ask for another tutor. They could still be friends, and there wouldn't be the awkwardness of the fact he was also her teacher. It was highly unlikely he felt the same attraction to her, she told herself, but other people might not see it like that. She knew the rules were not the same as in high school. She wasn't a minor, not by a long shot, and he really wasn't that much older than her. At a pinch there might be the whole 'duty of care' thing, but if he wasn't her teacher any more, would that still count? That might be best, she thought, and decided to go talk to the Dean straight after her hour was up.

"Will you be needing me for anything else?" Claudia asked, sticking her head through the doorway to Jacob's office. He had his head bent over a book, but the glazed look on his face said that his thoughts were far from the page in front of him.

"Huh?" Jacob mumbled, after his secretary repeated her question for the third time.

"Dentist appointment, remember?" Claudia waved a hand at herself, coat on and ready to leave. "Do you need anything before I go?"

"No, nope," said Jacob, blinking. "Sorry, I was miles away. No, I'm fine. You go. Just one more tutorial then I'll be heading home anyway."

"Uh-huh?" Claudia raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Jacob frowned, confused.

"Oh," the secretary shrugged, "nothing. Nothing at all. Enjoy your tutorial."

As first his door, then the outer door, closed, Jacob's eyes wandered over to his black gown, hanging on the coat stand.

"I can't keep doing this," he murmured, sitting back and reaching for the books he would be needing later. He would have to speak to his head of faculty, he thought. She could learn the stuff just as easily without him. She could attend one of his colleagues lectures. She barely needed the tutorials. She didn't have to be in a single one of his classes. Not really. Then maybe...

He blinked. He was being foolish. He had found someone he could treat as an equal, and be friends with, that was all. But even friendship led to bias and he really couldn't be responsible for grading a friend's work. Not fairly. At least, that's how others would see it. Even his secretary seemed to think something more was going on. He picked up the telephone and dialled his head of faculty's number.

Ten minutes later, Professor Jacob Stone got up, walked round his desk and began pacing back and forth across the centre of the room, his head in his hands as he tried to reconcile the personal and the professional.

"Hi," said a small voice at the door.

He turned to see Cassandra standing in the doorway.

"I did knock," she said. "I'm early. Should I go?"

"No, no," he said, leaning back against the desk and folding his arms. "Actually, I'm glad you're here."

"We need to talk," they both said together.

"You first," said Stone.

Cassandra closed the door and leant back against it. They were facing each other, from opposite sides of the room. That was good, she thought. More space to look elsewhere. Less distraction

"I'm going to ask the Dean if I can switch tutor," she said, the words tumbling out one after the other.

"I knew it!" Jacob closed his eyes and took in a long breath. "I make you feel uncomfortable. I could see it every time you looked away from me. I'm sorry. I should have known better. Truth is it's my own fault. I like you Cassie. No way around it: I just do. And I'm sorry for anything that I have done that's made you feel uncomfortable. I swear, it was not my intention."

Silence.

Jacob opened his eyes. Cassandra was watching him with a curious expression.

"You like me?"

"I do," Jacob admitted, letting his eyes slip down to the floor.

"That's not why I wanted to switch tutors."

"It's not?" Jacob looked up. Cassandra had stepped further into the room.

"I wanted to switch because of the way I feel," she said, watching his face as she walked slowly forward. "The way I feel about you."

She stopped right in front of him.

"So I guess, after this tutorial, you won't officially be my professor," said Cassie, putting a hand on his folded arms.

"Here's the thing," said Jacob, looking down at her hand. "I already called and switched your tutorials and lectures to my colleague Monty's list. He's smart, good at his job. You'll learn a lot from him."

"So you're not my professor even now," Cassie clarified, turning his face to hers. "Officially?"

"Officially," he nodded, letting her untangle his arms and move them to her waist.

"Well, then," she smiled, letting her hands slide up his chest. "What rules would we be breaking?"

"Damned if I know," he murmured, closing what little gap remained between her mouth and his.

Ezekiel Jones could feel himself starting to float. Breathing was getting difficult, not just because of the panic, but because of the pressure of the water on his chest. The rats hadn't got this high, he thought. This time, it's going to kill me. It really is. I'm going to drown in a glass box in the middle of a museum, with all these people watching me. And nobody will help me.

The lights went off again. The ghostly shape flashed into life where there had been a previously empty wall. He turned his head to get better look, and it moved. His head snapped back and forth, trying to spot the figure. One second it was there, then it was gone. Suddenly it was right in front of him. He screamed. The lights came on.

"Let me out of here!" Jones bellowed.

The museum people stopped. They turned. They surrounded him. He looked from face to face. Every face was impassive and unmoving. They were all familiar too, but he couldn't place them.

"Who are you people?" Jones shouted, the water now nearly at his chin.

No reply.

The lights went off.

The shape appeared. This time, when he turned to face it, it didn't disappear. Instead it walked towards him, sickly green light surrounding a uniform inky black humanoid figure. It stopped in front of him, it's head level with his own.

"You know who they are," said a voice not quite so much heard as felt. "You have seen them all, studied them all."

"I don't know any of them!" Jones protested.

"A lie through carelessness is still a lie," intoned the voice. The figure tilted its head. "Think."

A spotlight illuminated the face of one man, maybe forty, staring at him with utter contempt.

Another picked out a woman who looked like she'd been crying.

A third picked out another woman, anger dominating her features.

"Oh, bloody hell," Jones swore. "I know who you are! I know you all!"

Baird made her way to the door of Stone's office. It was a big old wooden thing, with a tree carved into the wood from its roots at the base to its leaves rebounding off the lintel. She wondered if Flynn had found Cassandra yet. He'd promised to buy the pizza for everyone if she got Stone to wake up first. Unfortunately that meant she'd be paying if Cassandra woke up first. She raised a hand to knock at the door and froze.

Something heavy had just hit the floor in there.

Again, the reflex to reach for her gun kicked in, but this time she stopped herself and stepped back, ready to launch herself at the door.

"Wait!" Flynn's voice shouted from afar. "Eve, wait!"

"What, Flynn?" Eve turned to face him.

"You were about to break that door down," Flynn panted, catching his breath and leaning on the wall opposite the door. "Why?"

"I heard something fall," she said. "Stone could be in danger."

"I highly doubt that!" Flynn grinned. "But I do guarantee you that you really don't want to open that door."

"What?" Eve's voice grew suspicious. "Why? What do you know? Wait, why are you even..."

Eve looked at the door, looked at the amused expression on Flynn's face, grabbed the piece of paper he was now holding out to her and looked down the list of Professor Jacob Stone's appointments for the day, and a hand-written note of Flynn's marking the pupil he had just asked to stop teaching.

"Really!" Baird's voice reached a new pitch. "They've been sniping at or ignoring each other for months in the real world. One day in dreamland and... Oh, God, thank you for not letting me open that door!"

"It's more like a fortnight really," said Flynn, now openly chuckling at Eve's discomfort. "Time moves differently in dreams. The new students arrived for fresher's week two weeks ago and lectures started one week ago, although I'm willing to bet they'd already bumped into one another by then."

"We have less than one hour to get them out of here: what exactly do you find so funny?"

"I was just thinking," laughed Flynn, "if they weren't talking to each other before this dream..."

"You're that guard from the Louvre," said Jones desperately. "And you're the receptionist from that big house in Kent. And you, you're another guard. And you're the manager of that little art gallery in Barcelona..."

The lights went off.

"Do you see now," said the voice. "Do you understand why they will not help you."

"I stole from them," gasped Jones, now struggling to keep his head above the water level.

"That is not all," the voice warned. "You do not think about how your actions affect others. You make sure there are no ill consequences for yourself, certainly, but your concern is only for yourself, purely selfish. Every person here suffered consequences for your actions. Some merely lost their promotions, others their jobs, their livelihoods, their careers. Some even lost more after that. You may not have stolen their bodies, hypocrite, but you did steal their lives. And what you stole from some of them could never be returned."

"What do you mean?" Jones mumbled, with barely an inch of air between the water and the top of the glass case.

"Not everyone is as resilient as you are, thief," said the voice, as Jones slipped below the water level. "Some could not endure the shame, or the poverty, or the loss. From them, you stole not just their livelihood, but their whole lives."

The glass case shattered, spilling Jones and the water onto the museum floor. When he looked up, the room was empty.

"No more ruining lives," said the voice.

Jones looked round. The dark, glowing shape moved towards him in the lit room. It stopped and held out a hand. He took it and stood up.

"Who are you?" Jones asked the figure.

"You're the thief," it said, the darkness receding to show his own face looking back at him. "I'm the Librarian."

Jenkins looked round at the sudden noise, taking care not to get caught by the still rotating dream catcher.

Jones was sitting up, blinking.

"Mr Jones?" Jenkins called, the curiosity and surprise evident in his tone. "Are you alright?"

"Jenkins?" Jones looked round for the voice, spotted the white head peering out from behind Flynn's desk and scrambled over.

"What are we hiding from?" Jones asked the older man.

"The dream catcher, you imbecile!" Jenkins snarled. "You put everyone in this room to sleep as soon as you picked it up! I was not here, so it has not managed to get me yet. I have spent the entire day searching for the right information to neutralise it and all I came up with was a way to get one person at a time out of their dreams. Mr Carsen is out. Colonel Baird is out. They are both working on getting Mr Stone and Miss Cillian out of their respective dreams. Care to tell me how you managed to wake yourself up?"

Baird stopped looking at her watch after the fifth time. Every time she did, it had barely moved and Flynn felt the need to explain the difference between real time and dream time.

She had already threatened him with physical violence twice. He wasn't taking the hint.

Finally, there was the noise of a door being opened within the closed office.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll grab Cassandra when she comes out. You go hide round that corner and get Stone when we're gone."

Flynn was already moving toward the corner before she finished speaking. After another moment, a rather rumpled Cassandra snuck out of the out office door and turned to find Baird right behind her.

"You really need to wake up, madam!" Baird said, bringing her palm round to slap the younger woman full across the face.

Flynn's eyebrows went up when the pair disappeared. "Well, that worked!"

He hurried back to the door and knocked sharply. It was opened barely seconds later.

"You forget someth... Oh!" Stone said, surprised.

"You're Jacob Stone. You're not a professor, you are a Librarian. Your family don't know about your intelligence. You worked for years on the family oil rig, keeping it running. Now you work for me, or with me, whatever. Magic is real. You are trapped in a magically induced dream state. You need to wake up."

"You're crazy!" Stone said, trying to shut the door. Flynn was already blocking it with his foot.

"You like bar fights, especially at Christmas. You speak a truly ridiculous number of languages. You work with me and Eve Baird, and Jenkins, and Ezekiel Jones and Cassandra Cillian."

"Cassandra?" Stone's eyebrows rose.

"You help her when her synaesthesia takes over. You work side by side. You have done for months. You found the entrance to the lair of the Western dragons together, you fought off people possessed by a magic story book..."

"You are making this up! My family know all about my IQ, I've never been in a bar fight in my life, and my father refused to let me help out on the rigs!"

"You've never been in a bar fight?" Flynn queried, agog.

"Never," Stone shook his head. "Wouldn't know where to start."

"Huh," said Flynn thoughtfully. "Sorry about this," and punched him.

"Pizza guy's here!" Jones called out.

"I believe you owe the man some money," said Eve leaning on the desk as Flynn poured over the book Jenkins had borrowed.

"I believe the bet was: if Stone gets out first I pay, if Cassandra gets out first, you pay," said Flynn without looking up.

"That was before we switched targets," Eve reminded him.

"Split the difference?" Flynn held out a couple of notes. Eve took them and added them to her own.

"Fine," she smiled, leaving him to his study.

Later, when the pizza had been consumed, mostly by Jones, and the group were all sitting round the central desk, Stone, diligently avoiding looking at Cassandra, who was too busy avoiding looking at him to notice, turned to Jenkins.

"I still don't get why Houdini here got to wake up on his own," he said.

"It's quite simple," Jenkins shrugged ineffably. "In the original Ojibwe legends, dreams had great importance. They were the source of prophecies, of spiritual guidance. Some were filled with symbols to help the dreamer more fully understand themselves. Others, it is said, could reveal the names of the dreamer's future children. But dreams could be bad dreams too, harmful and frightening to a child. The dream catcher was a way of catching the bad dreams and only allowing the good dreams to reach the dreamer. It was traditionally hung over the beds of children, adults being thought strong enough to interpret both the bad and the good dreams. You all entered dreams that had been trapped in the dream catcher. They all fitted the bill. Mr Carsen found out the name of his son. Colonel Baird received a prophecy. Mr Jones, it seems, received some spiritual guidance, and once the message was clear to him, he woke up."

"I don't know, I didn't see any symbolism in my dream," Stone shrugged. "And it wasn't a nightmare."

"Just because the other three features were in other dreams, does not mean they can't have been in yours also," Jenkins reminded him. "And you're sure you weren't in, say, a difficult choice situation, or a situation where your worst fear might occur?"

Stone looked thoughtful for a moment. He wasn't the only one.

"Of course, you were woken early. The dream may not have turned sour yet," Jenkins added.

"So what do you think you got, mate?" Jones piped up between mouthfuls. "Symbols, guidance, prophecy or kids?"

"I think Cassandra got a prophecy one," said Baird, watching Cassandra's eyes go wide and burn into her. She smiled sweetly. "She dreamed that her tumour was gone."

"Where is the offending article, anyway?" Flynn asked Jenkins.

"When Mr Stone woke up," he replied, "the dream catcher fell back into the box, its work done. We wrapped it in some bubble wrap and locked it in a box with a warning label."

"Another fine mess cleaned up," Flynn nodded appreciatively. "Once again, Jenkins saves the day."

Jenkins took a sip of tea.

"One does one's best, sir."

Chapter Text

Jenkins placed another card in the catalogue and breathed deeply, enjoying the silence. They had re-anchored the library two weeks ago, thanks to a little help and a lot of interference from his father. The idea to give them all clippings books had been a point of genius on Flynn's part. They had all disappeared: the three newly fledged Librarians to Peru, and Flynn and the Colonel to who knows where. They had all returned, more or less successful and more or less on talking terms. They had disappeared again, taking slightly different groupings this time. They had all returned. And so it had continued for most of the past two weeks.

Then somebody mentioned a bet. Jenkins suspected it was Colonel Baird or Mr Carsen who started the argument, but it was the ebullient Mr Jones who had turned it into a challenge.

"Let's see who gets their next artefact first then," the thief had proposed, waving his clippings book in the air. "Girls versus boys! We each take one clippings item, and the team that's back first wins!"

"Hey, that's two against three!" Cassandra had complained.

"Two and a half," Stone had quipped, earning a glare from Jones.

"Plus you're easily worth two of the boys, Cassandra," said Baird, smiling smugly at Flynn. "And heaven only knows what trouble they'll land themselves in without our common sense to guide them."

"Oh ho ho, that sounds like fighting talk!" Flynn grinned back at his girlfriend.

"What do we win?" Cassandra had asked finally, with a shrug and a roll of the eyes.

"IF you win," Jones had corrected. "And I suggest the losers buy the take out and beer on Friday."

"Why is it always food with you!" Stone had laughed.

"You're on!" Baird had agreed, not taking her eyes off Flynn.

"Deal!" Flynn replied.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Cassandra had shouted. They had all turned to look at her as if expecting her to announce the return of the dragons. "What about Jenkins?"

"Jenkins is neutral," Flynn and Baird had agreed at once.

"So no calling him for help unless it's a travel issue or a life and death situation, agreed," said Flynn.

"Agreed," said Baird.

It had been the quietest two days of Jenkins life since their arrival! He sat down with a cup of tea and sighed happily. Peace and quiet. Finally.

Just as he replaced the teacup in its saucer, the door banged open.

Ah. Peace, shattered.

He put the cup down and turned to face the conquering heroes. He got the conquering heroines instead.

"Are they back?" Baird asked as she and Cassandra carried their trophy, an actual broomstick, into the office and laid it down on the central desk.

"No, Colonel, I do believe you ladies have been triumphant on both counts," said Jenkins, casting a wary eye over the broom. "I suppose that'll save time on the sweeping."

"Are they okay?" Eve asked, almost as quickly as her first question.

"Last I heard, they were fine, Colonel," Jenkins smiled. "Tea?"

Cassandra nodded and received a cup gratefully. Baird shook her head and padded over to the door, pacing back and forward like a caged cat.

"What did you hear last, Jenkins," asked Cassandra, drawing his attention back from the fretting Guardian. "Are they close?"

"Getting there, Miss Cillian," he replied thoughtfully. "Getting there. I believe they have some sort of additional wager in play that may be holding them up."

"Really?" Baird's head snapped back round. "What?"

"I believe," Jenkins cleared his throat and reset his bow tie, "that there was a wager that Mr Jones could not organise a mission alone. He now appears to be in charge of the gentlemen's team."

Cassandra's mouth hung open for a moment, then she laughed out loud. She laughed even more when Baird started muttering about Jones getting them all locked up.

"Looks like we might be here a while," she said, looking over at Baird, who was now sitting at her desk, head in hands, muttering something about having never let them go off alone. "Is there anything left from Dulaque's boxes that still need filing?"

Jenkins had been working through the boxes alone in his lab since Ezekiel's Jones had sent the entire group to sleep for a day simply by lifting an item from the box without thinking. Even with the Library back and the storage problems resolved, it was a slow process.

"You could help me with the last few items, if you wish," Jenkins nodded. "It would certainly help take your minds off the, er, gentlemen."

"I'll help you bring it through," said Baird, welcoming the chance to take her mind off one gentleman in particular. Something had been bugging her over the past few weeks. Something she felt he was not quite saying. Tonight, Friday night, with the promise of a night off, beer, company and a half hour argument between Chinese or Italian take out, she had hoped to pin him down and ask him what was on his mind. She couldn't do that if he wasn't here.

The box, though once heavy, was considerably lighter now and Jenkins and Baird carried it easily between them, setting it down on the central desk with a gentle thud. Jenkins reached in and removed an object, unwrapping it carefully and placing it in front of Cassandra.

"This," he said reverentially, "is the tool of the greatest playwright I ever had the honour to meet. It was one of the items I had thought to be here in the Library, and so, indeed should it have been. I have found the case. The Serpent Brotherhood must have stolen it, back when they invaded. Such a small thing. If handled properly, it would have been easy to remove. The trick is, you see, never to let the ink fall onto anything. You must keep it with the nib pointing upwards at all times. I was going to check it over this afternoon. Make sure no damage has been done. You can do that easily enough, though, Miss Cillian. I'll just get you the card: there should be a detailed description on it.

As Jenkins walked over to the card catalogue, the back door blew open and a wind whistled through the office.

"They're coming back!" Eve called.

In the excitement, nobody noticed the delicate quill pen, unmoved under Cassandra's grip at the first gust of air, pick itself up and roll off the edge of the desk as it was caught by a second one. And a single drop of ink oozed from the cut nib and fell onto the office floor.

There was a sound like the breaking of the thinnest sheet of glass, or the tolling of the tiniest bell.

XXXX

(Enter Jones, carrying a small amphora in his hand, and Flynn.)

Jenkins: What news, gentlemen? Success or bail?

Jones: Success! The bet was won and not a man lost! Flynn may have proved useful. I'll make a thief of him yet!

Jenkins: By bet you mean your own wager, I assume. As you see, the ladies returned before you.

Cassandra: You don't seem to have brought home all your troops. Where is Mr Grumpy?

Jones: Who?

Baird: She means Stone.

Jones: He's on his way. Now he really was useful!

Cassandra: Another bar brawl, I don't doubt.

Jones: So he can fight, what's so bad about that?

Cassandra: Nothing, if he wasn't fighting himself half the time.

Jones: I'd rather have half a fighter than none.

Cassandra: Which half? The half that goes looking for the fight or the half that actually has a brain?

Jenkins: I believe Miss Cillian and Mr Stone had a disagreement on their last mission together.

Cassandra: Disagreement is putting it mildly! He cannot hear an opinion without throwing in five of his own! On our last mission he tried to call me out on six different things. He wasn't happy when all but one of his opinions got blown out of the water by logic!

Jones: I'm guessing someone's not in your good books then!

Cassandra: If he was, I'd burn the whole pile! But he does have his uses, so where is he?

(Enter Stone, followed by doors closing behind him.)

Flynn: Ah, Stone! Are those harpies still following you?

Jenkins: You were being chased by women?

Flynn: No, he was being chased by actual harpies. Stone led them away while we got back here with the amphora.

Cassandra: Makes a change from metaphorical ones.

Stone: Some of us prefer reality to metaphor.

Cassandra: Says the guy who spends half his time with his nose in a poetry book.

Stone: Says the girl who thinks the only difference between a sonnet and a limerick is the number of lines!

Cassandra: I'd rather know the difference between a proton and an electron than a poem and a poem!

Stone: You wouldn't have the words to describe half of your science if it wasn't for literature!

Cassandra: You think you're so smart, but the naked truth is your artists and architects and historians and poets wouldn't have the means to write, build or paint if it wasn't for science!

Stone: That's neither here nor there! You can study the natural world as much as you like, but without the arts you have no way to communicate what you're found or imagine what you haven't!

Cassandra: Hey! My imagination works just fine!

Stone: Your imagination works overtime! Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go change before one of us says something we both regret!

(Exit Stone.)

Cassandra: Fine, walk away! Why am I surprised: I really ought to know better by now than to expect you to fight fire with fire!

Jones: Well that sent him packing!

Jenkins: And thereby hangs a tale! Well, gentlemen, welcome back. I shall take the amphora, if I may, and, as it appears Mr Jones has won his wager, your costumes are waiting in the hallway. I took delivery of the box you ordered a few hours ago.

Eve: Costumes?

Flynn: We made a bet that he couldn't run an operation involving more than himself. We lost. He's taking us to a Venetian masquerade evening at one of the Italian places in town.

Jenkins: Hah! More fool you! Well, I have an evening with an ancient Greek amphora ahead of me, so I shall leave you all to party to your heart's content.

Jones: Oh, you're coming too, Jenkins! There's a costume for everyone!

Eve: Everyone!

Jones: Oh, come on: we're celebrating! The Library's back, we're all chasing down artefacts and not dying, the Serpent Brotherhood seems to have gone, Flynn and Eve get to spend more time together, Jenkins gets more space, Cassandra and Stone are talking again, well, shouting mostly, but still: it's a brave new world! It's high time we all let loose a bit!

Cassandra: Not that I don't love fancy dress, but I usually like to choose my own costumes. What do we have to wear?

Jones: I swear, you will not hate me for this! Besides: it's free food to anyone who turns up in full Venetian costume! Come on, I'll show you.

(Exeunt Jones, Cassandra and Eve.)

Flynn: Jenkins, might I have a word?

Jenkins: You have my full attention, Mr Carsen.

Flynn: Jenkins, in your extensive experience of the Library and of Librarians, have you ever heard of one pursuing, oh, shall we say, a more permanent relationship with his, or her, guardian? Would it be considered, well, bad form if they were to marry?

Jenkins: Marry, sir?

Flynn: Jenkins!

Jenkins: In my heart of hearts, I can honestly say that I do not, sir. But why should that bother you? You have done many unprecedented things since assuming control of the Library. And surely, as we now know from Colonel Baird's trip to the future, such a thing is a foregone conclusion?

Flynn: Perhaps, but that is twenty years away. I don't know how or when we tied the knot! What if I ask her now, and she says yes, and then I screw something up and the future doesn't happen?

Jenkins: Thus conscience does make cowards of us all! One cannot wait for Damocles' sword to fall.

Flynn: Was that a rhyming couplet that I heard?

Jenkins: And in iambic pentameter too!
It's Shakespeare's quill! The ink that must not fall,
Must have been spilt, and maybe doomed us all.

Chapter Text

(Act II. Scene I: "The Rialto" Italian restaurant. Enter Eve, Cassandra, Stone and Jones in Venetian costume.)

Jones: I believe free food is coming our way.
Find a table while I put our order in,
Two double pepperoni, extra cheese,
One quattro stagioni for the girls,
One ham and mushroom and a pot of tea,
One barbecue chicken and four sodas.

(Exit Jones)

Eve: There sure is a lot of people here, Stone.
Do we want to know how he knows this place?

Stone: It is the closest to his apartment,
And we know how he hates to lose money.

Eve: Just what possessed you both to take this bet?
Don't you know by now, Ezekiel Jones,
The great thief extraordinaire, always wins.

Stone: It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Cassandra: You certainly weren't thinking beyond that!
Why exactly did you get us involved?
We had no say in this grand plan of yours.
But then that is just typical of you:
Heaven forbid anyone else should care.

(Enter Flynn and Jenkins.)

Flynn: Eve! Cassandra! Stone! Jones! Where are you all?

Eve: Over here! Jones is ordering the food.

Flynn: We can't stay here. The food must come to us.
Shakespeare's quill has rewritten every word.
Cassandra, play it back: you can see it.
Count the syllables in all that you've heard.

Cassandra: I can see it! There is a pattern there.
Our words form lines of ten beats in the air.

Flynn: I'll see to Jones. Jenkins, please fill them in.
And get them out of here, we just don't know
How fast this spreads, how far we've got to go.

(Exit Flynn)

Jenkins: Expect rhymes and quotes, but that is not all:
The play's the thing when Shakespeare comes to call.
History, comedy, tragedy, we
Must work out just what players we may be.
If the quill writes tragedy, we all die
Unless we find a magic fix to try.
History does not fare much better, but
At least there's a chance our throats won't be cut.
Comedy is the one we want to get.
Everybody lives! It's our safest bet.

Eve: Is there a way to choose which play we're in?

Stone: The play's begun: the chance of that is thin.

Jenkins: One thing more! Before we go, there's this:
Comedy always ends with true love's kiss.
Whate'er we're in, it is the only one
Where you can end the play before it's done.
And if our story moves outwith this day,
I fear that we'll all have to stay this way.

Cassandra: But that leaves less than four hours left to spare!
That time will vanish out into thin air.

Jenkins: The time is out of joint! Oh, cursed spite!
Let's pray the play plays out before midnight!

(Act II. Scene II. Another part of the restaurant. Enter Flynn, Johnny Prince - a soldier - and two other soldiers, and Hounsdlow - an MP - in Venetian costume behind the others.)

Johnny: A word in your ear, sir.

Flynn: Of course, my friend.
Words are my very business in the end.

Johnny: That group you're with: would they be friends of yours?

Flynn: They are. We work together. What of it?

Johnny: The tall woman: you see her? Name's Eve Baird.

Flynn: I know who you mean. How do you know her?

Johnny: Just tell her: her brother-in-law is here.
Say he was asking after her, that's all.

Flynn: Her brother-in-law? But Eve's not married?
Nor does she have any siblings, I know!

Johnny: No siblings maybe, yet I speak the truth.
My brother and Eve married in their youth.
I was his best man, I gave them the rings.
I set them on the path that marriage brings.
Give her this note. I'll be at River Drive,
If she wants to talk, admit that I'm alive.

(Exeunt Johnny Prince and soldiers.)

Flynn: Can this be true? Surely such a secret would be shared, at least by now? But I know now that Eve can keep a secret, and our marriage in our dream did come from me. Perhaps it only came from me, not both of us as I once thought.

(Enter Jones.)

Jones: What's up, Flynn. You look like you've seen a ghost.

Flynn: A ghost from the past perhaps. More than that, I cannot say. In truth the secret is not mine to tell, though perhaps it should have been told to me.

Jones: The pizza won't take long. I'd called ahead.
They're even throwing in some garlic bread!
The plan's in place. She doesn't suspect a thing.
Just tell me you remembered the darn ring!

Flynn: The plan is off. There is something I must find out first. Get the food to go. The party is cancelled. Tonight is cancelled. Get everyone back to the Library.

Jones: Dude! You did not just cancel my Friday!

Flynn: Shakespeare cancelled it when you started ordering pizza in iambic pentameter and commenting on it in rhyming couplets!

(Exeunt Flynn and Jones.)

Houndslow: At last, the most desertless man I see
Before my eyes, in this old town. And he
May be marked as urgent, but he can wait
While I do justice to this pizza plate.
For finding AWOL soldiers earns my pay,
But decent pizza's worth it's price today.

(Act II. Scene III. The office. Enter Jenkins and Flynn)

Jenkins: What's wrong with you? You've barely said a word!
Having second thoughts about what we two
Discussed? I don't believe this would change her
Answer to you, though it might make you more
Eloquent in the asking part of it.

Flynn: Another matter has arisen. Something that needs dealt with first, before I can think about that again.

Jenkins: Don't mess that girl about! I ought to say
I feel a father to her. While I may
Not show much care for any one of you,
Yet she cares deeply; therefore do I too.
You brought these people to my quiet life.
Filled it with noise and danger, and with strife.
You left them in my care and I believe,
No matter what, you truly care for Eve.
If you should hurt her now, believe me sir:
The only person hurting won't be her!
Now find that quill, and do what must be done.
For it now seems a tragedy's begun.
If any wish to leave this place alive
We find it ere dark midnight doth arrive.

(Enter Jones, Stone, Cassandra and Eve, out of costume.)

Cassandra: Eve look: a note was left upon your desk.

Eve: In here? Let me read it without the rest.

(Exit Eve, with note)

Stone: Couldn't that have waited? We need her here.

Cassandra: In case some scary monster should appear?
It's not like you to hide behind a girl,
But then you're always hiding from something,
Aren't you? You wear your mask e'en now.
And every little thing that happens in
This job could not dent in thine armour!
Do you e'en have a heart in thy broad chest?
Or are you just the tin man out of Oz.

Stone: Don't tell me what to feel or what to show!
I may not wear my heart upon my sleeve
But this I know: what we are fighting now
Does not have time for any distractions.
If we die, the Library dies with us!
Eve could have read it later without us.

Jones: Either way, your sniping gets us nowhere.
Find the quill: it must be round here somewhere.

Jenkins: Actually, Mr Jones, I think I need
Mr Stone with me. We will have to read
All of Shakespeare's plays until we have found
A clue to tell us which we're in. Around
Thirty seven plays that we know and love
Or hate were written, fitting hand in glove
With life and all its triumphs and sad trials
From love and laughter through to poisoned vials.
And if I have to speak in rhyme much longer,
I may explode: this headache's getting stronger!

(Exit Stone)

Jenkins: As for you, Miss Cillian, I suggest
You start your search far over to the West.
The wind that found its way in through our door
Blew round that way, but also, what is more
It's furthest from the mezzanine above,
And Mr Stone.

(Exit Cassandra)

Jones: Whom we both know you love.
We have to use this, Jenkins: it's a gift!
Surely Shakespeare can heal that gaping rift!
If we can push the story down the road
To comedy, we can break the Shakespeare code!
With Flynn and Eve to help, we each take one
And connive to make them think that love's begun
To blossom in the other's secret heart.
I think I even know just where to start!
You take Flynn, then let Stone hear you talking
Behind the bookcase where he will be walking.
Convince him that Cassandra has begun
To fall for him. You'll know if you have won.
Baird 'n'I will play the selfsame trick down here.
She'll help with this, I know, so never fear.
We simply need to get them to believe
Our ruse, then kiss. And there is our reprieve!

Jenkins: That just might work! I think I know a play
That follows lovers more or less that way.
If I am right, and usually one is,
The first romantic comedy it is.
I'm starting to repeat myself, I know.
I'll get Flynn. You get Colonel Baird. Let's go!

(Exeunt Jenkins and Jones)

(Act II Scene IV. The mezzanine. Enter Stone.)

Stone: Shakespeare, Shakespeare, Shakespeare: what have you done?
From thirty seven plays, I must find one
That fits with all the crazy going on
In here. This story's only just begun.
And worse yet, what with my personal harpy
Chasing down each error in my hist'ry,
Calling me out when she is in the wrong,
And never even thinking she's the one
That's starting all the arguments in here.
Not knowing that I miss her being near.

(Enter Flynn and Jenkins, behind bookcase.)

Jenkins: How goes the quest to ask for Eve Baird's hand?
You seem to have another challenge planned.

Flynn: There are other considerations now
That I must make. I'll think about it all
Much later. I'm far more worried, concerned
I guess, about our dear Miss Cillian.

Jenkins: She has been down, and not her usual self.
She misses him. It hardly takes genii
To see it from the outside looking in.
Whenever they're not speaking, it's like this,
But worse. For them at least: the arguing
Keeps them there in each other's company,
Even if it does give us all headaches.
The silence splits the pair further apart
And pervades the peace within our ev'ry heart.

Flynn: Is Stone blind? Can't he see how much she hurts
With ev'ry careless comment and blank look?
She's dying! She deserves the man she loves
To grow up and admit he loves her too?

Jenkins: But does he? That's the thing that I don't know.
With her it's obvious. Him: not really so.
He keeps her at arms length and I get why,
But he needs to wake up soon or say goodbye.
She needs him, more than ever now I fear.
But he can't see it, and wastes away the year.

Flynn: If he doesn't, he's a fool, but even still,
She needs a friend to count on. And he will
Be there for her when she really needs him,
Or he is not the man I took him for.

Jenkins: He may have once. Believe me when I say:
He was not then the man he is today.

(Exeunt Jenkins and Flynn)

Stone: Am I a fool? They certainly think so.
A fool in love, now that I surely know.
And am I blind, to miss the love I crave,
As she creeps ever nearer to the grave?
I'd sell my soul, walk there and back from hell,
For just one chance to make Cassandra well.

(Act II. Scene V. The lower stacks. Enter Cassandra.)

Cassandra: My word! What a piece of work is that man!
He rushes in full steam without a plan,
Then blames it on the rest when it goes wrong.
I cannot start to think that I belong
With someone who'll risk all except his heart
When I just don't have time before I start
To leave this life, and everyone I love
Must watch me fade, like passing clouds above.
I know he doesn't know how much I care
That he no longer notices I'm there,
But God, if you are watching from on high,
Give me my friend back, please! Before I die.

(Enter Jones and Eve, behind the bookcase.)

Jones: If I have to listen to one more word
Of that guy's moaning, I just will not be
Responsible for my actions. Trust me!

Eve: You really don't expect me to believe
He was that bad! If so, he'd never leave!
If he can't bear to be apart from her,
Then why keep leaving? Doesn't it occur
To him that if they'd just sit down and talk
It through, then neither one would have to walk
Alone in whatever they're going through.
I know I'm right! They're perfect, are those two!

Jones: He loves her, right enough, but she won't hear
Of letting him talk to her, or come near.
She's pushing him away, just like he did.
They'll never get it right! Bet you ten quid!

Eve: Well, if he loves her, why can't he just say?

Jones: It's not their time. It's never the right day!
Besides: she'll only turn his love aside.
The one thing they've in common is their pride!

Eve: She'd have to be much prouder than I thought
To turn Stone down. By now she surely ought
To know how brave and true a love he is.
If not for Flynn, I'd probably be his!

Jones: I won't tell Flynn you said that, but please know:
I ever I need blackmail you...

Eve: Just go!
Get out my sight, and don't you dare tell Flynn!
You don't do punchy, Jones: you know I'll win!

(Exeunt Jones, pursued by an Eve.)

Cassandra: They must think I'm an idiot if they
Think they can make me fall in love this way.
I'm too far gone already to believe
He loves me back. He never could receive
Me as an equal. All his trust was gone.
That's my own fault, and now my hope is done.

Chapter Text

(Act III. Scene I. River Drive.)

(Enter Johnny Prince and Eve, with Flynn far off.)

Flynn: I shouldn't be here. How long has it been since I last tailed someone? Ten years? More? She should have spotted me by now. She's not herself. Can she really know this guy? Is he really who he says he is? But if he's not, then why would she be here?

Eve: You shouldn't be here. We talked about this.
You promised at the service we were done.
It has been ten years since your brother died...

Johnny: He disappeared, and it was on your watch!
You were deployed together. You came back,
He did not, and nobody can give me
A satisfactory explanation
For what happened to my brother out there
Among the wind and heat and dusty air.

Eve: You're army too, you ought to know the score.
You know, no matter what, I can't say more!
I loved him too, I had to deal with that.
With losing him, and with your stupid crap.
I just don't know what happened on that day.
It was pure fate that let me get away.
The blast took out three buildings and a road.
I'd never seen a bomb that big explode!
And afterwards, we couldn't find the jeep.
The crater that it left was twelve feet deep!
There were no bodies left, no signs at all,
Of human life, or death, no roll to call.

Johnny: That doesn't even begin to explain
How that trip catapulted the grieving
Widow up the greasy pole. You sure did
Move fast, Eve Baird, once all was said and done.
New job, new house, new name, new state, new friends.
No family ties. You tied up all loose ends.

Eve: Don't lecture me about the job I earned.
I did not do anything I'd not learned.
I greased no palms, blackmailed no officials.
No matter how much you may tell your pals.
I wanted a change. It seemed the right call.
Finding those devices, finding them all,
It put me on the track to where I am
So frankly, Johnny, I don't give a damn.

Flynn: She knows him well enough, that much I can see from here. Nobody spends such time and energy on someone they don't. I'll head back now, and beat her back to the office. There's time yet to argue this point once we've fixed our own problems.

(Act III. Scene II. The mezzanine bookshelves in the office.)

(Enter Stone.)

Stone: This guy wrote way too much! No way could he
Be just one kid from Stratford! Working class,
But son of a leather merchant and an
Alderman, so access to learning but
No university, a wife at just
Eighteen. Writing courtly life and common,
While based in London with a wife and kids
Left behind in Stratford-upon-Avon.
We're talking four hundred years and more of
Gathering magic. A quill that wrote each
Human emotion, character or thought,
Condensed into a simple five act plot.
The guy was genius. The chances that he...

(Enter Cassandra)

Cassandra: Wrote all of these? Oh, what an irony!
Are you really going to say to me
That you cannot believe the Shakespeare we
Have known and read for all these centuries
Could be a genius, just like you and me?

Stone: I might have known you'd stick with science there!
The evidence of time is all you care
About. How dare a scholar to presume
That history is not what you assume.
We have not got a time machine, I know
I cannot prove to you which way to go.
But science is not just the only way
To look at hist'ry. Art must have its day.

Cassandra: Science is objective. It's not confused
By what a number feels or how it's used.
The evidence suggest that only he
Wrote all those plays, and sonnets, all that we
Can read today in his completed works.
That's why the quill somewhere in this place lurks
Dripping ink that has charmed ten thousand souls
Without so much as giant popcorn bowls!
The working classes watching with the rich
The vagabond, the prince, the fool, the witch.
The evidence that history provides
Speaks volumes of the author and besides
The testimony of his peers and those
Who criticised him proves beyond your prose
That Shakespeare was a genius born, like you,
Into a world that genius soon outgrew.
Don't hold against his work the simple fact
That London gave his men the chance to act,
Or that he was considered, for his wit,
The greatest playwright. Oh, you hypocrite!

Stone: I may not be a scientist like you
But do I not deserve opinions too?
Or have we just decided to concede
To common thought because I disagreed?
You know, I never can decide where I
Am at with you. Should I just say goodbye?

Cassandra: And what? Run back to what you left behind?
You hiding in your job from that great mind?
I thought that you were braver now than that,
But maybe not, and that is where we're at.

(Exit Cassandra)

Stone: I'm not a coward! Don't you know: it's you
That makes me think and feel the way I do.

(Act III. Scene III. The lower bookshelves.)

(Enter Jones and Jenkins)

Jenkins: It must be round here somewhere! I declare,
That from now on all artefacts in here
Get opened and unwrapped in solitude
By me, myself and I. Do not intrude
With thieving hands or gusts of gales galore.
I'm judging just on what has gone before.
You stick to planning out your heist of dreams
And normalcy will stay as normal seems.

Jones: It's hardly my fault! How could I have known
That Hades winds had minds all of their own.
We stole that vial from off the gates of hell
At your request, as you know bloody well!

Jenkins: I didn't ask for all the hosts of hell
To storm my gates, as you also know well!

Jones: Be that as it may be, how goes our plan?
Is our Cassandra talking to her man?

Jenkins: Talking to him, I think, but just to be
Civil in our companionship. Do we
Continue in our farce to bring them close
Or up the ante with another dose
Of rumour whispered in the other's ear?
Where they are now, I doubt we could get near!

Jones: I can't believe two people, likes of them,
Can be so dense! I know their problems stem
From both their pasts, but surely they can grow
Beyond the hurt and hist'ry that they know?

Jenkins: Don't bet on it! I know the human heart
Is no experiment or work of art!
You cannot quantify the love you feel
In turns about a simple potter's wheel
Not any more than can you qualify
Your love's perfection in the number Pi!

Jones: I never met two people more in tune,
Each to the other's mind, than those who soon
Will doom us all to rhyming in this way
If they don't give it up and kiss today!

Jenkins: I must admit: I truly never knew
A couple who could argue all day through.
But these two take the task to a new height!
I've never heard a better couple fight!

(Enter Eve)

Eve: Did you find the darned quill, gents, please tell me
That we can soon close up this play-to-be.

Jenkins: Alas, we have no happier news to tell.
And we've just kicked the fighting off as well!

Eve: Oh not again! If only you knew how
I got them calm! What's got them rattled now?

Jones: Our plans to plant the seeds of love backfired.
We need to fix this now, or stand retired.
Cassandra still does not believe our tale,
But Jacob sure does, and his proof cannot fail.
I know where he keeps all his favourite books
When he's not busy show'ring her with looks.

Eve: Jones, you amaze me! Is there no-one who
Can beat your sneakiness or stoop unto
The depths to which the human brain will go
To hide their truth from those who love them so.

Jenkins: What daring thievery are we planning now?
To steal some books? I really don't see how
That solves our problem. What can art books show
That none of us in here already know?

Jones: Not art, nor history, but books of rhyme
And poetry, he reads in his spare time.
And old, romantic, mushy stuff at that!
We'll find a useful one in seconds flat!
I'll bet that I can eas'ly lift that pile
And get it out of here in minutes while
You and Eve distract our merry pair
By dropping hints, or corner them somewhere.
Then meet me in the lab where we'll decide
A poem for our Mr Stone to hide
Where then Cassandra surely cannot miss
To find it. Then I swear we'll get our kiss!

(Exeunt)

(Enter Flynn, from behind a bookcase.)

Flynn: I know I ought to help those three to search
This room: I feel I left them in the lurch.
I'll search alone, but my heart cannot cope
With working with the loss of future hope.
The dream was mine. She only wished to see
Her future son, here in the Library.
I cannot find the words to ask her now
To be my wife. To fate we all must bow.

(Exit Flynn)

(Act III. Scene IV. River Drive.)

(Enter Johnny Prince and Military Police Officer Houndslow with two colleagues some distance behind.)

Houndslow: I've tracked my hunter to his hideout, men; and we already have his co-consipirations in cuffs. You watch him while I take this honest villain down a peg. Be ready, when I give the word, to grab him, all of a sudden. Do not let him excape us now. For even a villain such as he has brains enough to run when he's surrounded.

Junior MP Officer 1: D'you think he will? He surely should lie low!
Or lead us a wild goose chase should he go!

Houndslow: Johnny Prince? You'll have to come with us. We already have your friends and we have warrants for your arrest.

Johnny: On what charge? We have not done anything
To attract the interest of you boys here.

Houndslow: You're all AWOL for starters. And then there's claims that you did steal this truck. That's saying nothing of the Doc, who's anxious to have you back on base for morning. You've got some psych evals due for next week, I believe. You and your friends.

Johnny: I don't need psych evals to help me read
The evidence I found with that new lead
That brought me here and to my sister's side
To find my brother's killer here inside
A riddle in puzzle in a box
Surrounded by a score of magic locks.

Houndslow: [Aside to MPs] Get him! Mr Prince, do you doubt my sanity? Or that of my men? Do you really think that magic killed your brother? And thinking that, do you really think that psych eval is needless?

Chapter Text

(Act IV. Scene I. The mezzanine bookshelves.)

(Enter Eve and Stone.)

Eve: I hear you're talking to Cassandra now?
Or are we back to fighting and yelling?

Stone: I just can't win with her! I never know
Which way to turn. Or what to say or do.
I try, but it all seems to turn out wrong.
Maybe, one day, my chance will come along.

Eve: You never thought to tell her how you feel?
Or whether she might love you back for real?
You might not get another chance, you know,
To use some Shakespeare tactics here to show
That girl there, whom you obviously adore,
How much she means to you. It's even score!
She hurt you once, and now you've hurt her too.
For Pete's sake tell her, Stone: I'm begging you!

Stone: She did hurt me, but that was then; and she hurt me because I let her in before I barely knew her. Now I now her. Really know her. And she's still hurting me. Only now it's not her fault, it's mine. She's hurting me because I'm not letting her in. And I'm not letting her in because I'm terrified! If it hurts this much to watch her fade at arms length, how much more will it hurt if I let her in again?

Eve: Two things. First: nothing hurts more than regret!
Second: you just stopped speaking in Shakespeare!

Stone: I probably didn't. Shakespeare used both verse and prose in his plays to show differences in character. When a character was being sane or mad, or lying or honest, or if they were common or noble, smart or stupid, courtier or fool.

Eve: So you were being honest with me there?

Stone: Eve, you're like a sister to me. I trust you more than my own family. You're probably my closest friend here, especially with Cassandra shutting me out. If I can't be honest with you, who can I be honest with?

Eve: Then why is everyone still stuck in verse?
Do we all have some secrets hidden deep
That we can't tell each other? I can see
That Jones' list is far too long for me!

Stone: Just be yourself. There's probably only one thing that each person is currently lying about. I lie about my feelings for Cassie. Maybe she lies about her feelings for me, I don't know. Jones doesn't lie about what he steals, not to us anyway, so who knows what he's holding back, although I might have an idea. Flynn, Jenkins, they're full of secrets: could be any of them. That just leaves you.

Eve: I'll try. And I'll talk to Cassandra too.

Stone: Don't!

Eve: About the lying, not about you!

(Act IV. Scene II. The Lower Bookshelves)

(Enter Cassandra and Jenkins)

Jenkins: Have you thought any more about the way
Your work here impacts on your health? Each day
You spend on following your clippings book
Might be taking three off your lifetime. Look:
I could use some help around this place here,
Tracking ley lines when the new cracks appear.
If we could find enough raw magic then
We possibly could make you well again!

Cassandra: My health is the least of all my worries now, Jenkins. If I can't find a cure, and we know the ley lines themselves won't work, then I'd rather not waste my time.

Jenkins: The offer is always open. You will always be welcome here, whether as an adventuress or a researcher. Although, personally, I have always found them to be very similar professions! But if you ever need to take a break, from the running, and the math, and the monsters: you tell them I need you here, and I'll make sure I do.

(Enter Eve and Stone.)

Eve: We've found the quill! It's on that bookcase there!
The wind must have lifted it through the air.
I'll go find Flynn. He must be somewhere near.

(Exit Eve.)

Jenkins: I'll get the case. You two get that down here!

(Exit Jenkins.)

Cassandra: You'd think they'd have a ladder in this place!

Stone: I'll lift you up. It's just on that bookcase.
It's out of reach, but not by much I hope.

Cassandra: Then pass a chair to me: I think I'll cope!
And don't you glare at me with that old frown!

Stone: You're gonna need me here to lift you down.
You'll need your hands to hold the quill upright.

Cassandra: I know what I am doing, Stone, all right!
Just help me up, then hold this chair steady.
And move it left or right when I'm ready.

Stone: It should be where you are, did you forget
Who told you where it was?

Cassandra: Are you upset
Because I dared to think you might be wrong?
It's two feet left, so move the chair along!

Stone: [Aside] She's never gonna let me live that down!
You ought to know better by now, you clown!

Cassandra: Got it! Just a bit closer then I'll be
Exactly where I need and want to be!

Stone: You and me both! Perhaps when this is done
We can get food: turns out the pizza's gone!

Cassandra: Speak for yourself! Jones only took the two
That he had ordered for the two of you.

Stone: [Aside] Be that as it may be, I might have guessed
You'd miss the point.

Cassandra: Oh please give it a rest!
If I am stuck with all your mumbling groans,
First lift me down, and then go after Jones!

Stone: Fine! Stand still and let me help you for once!
Steady the quill on me, don't be a dunce.
You can't risk jumping down or jolting arms,
You'll spill the ink and start off further harms.

Cassandra: Just don't think, as I land in your embrace,
This fight is over. This is just the case.
[Aside] And being in your arms I cannot hide
The fact that I am turning weak inside.
You're far too close for comfort. Not when I
Can't let their rumours sway me. Love me? Why?

Stone: [Aside] I wonder if I'll get this chance again
To hold you close, like this; but until then
The perfect gentleman I choose to be,
In hopes that you will one day see through me.

Cassandra: You can let go now. I'm here and the quill
Is safe and sound, let's say goodbye to Will.

(Exeunt.)

(Act IV. Scene III. Eve's apartment.)

(Enter Flynn, swaying, holding a photograph.)

Flynn: Is this a dagger I see before me?
It's tip pointed directly at my heart?

(Enter Eve.)

Eve: Flynn! There you are! We need you back on site!
We've found the quill. We can end this tonight!

Flynn: There's other endings that I have in mind.
And questions needing answered. Please be kind
And tell me that you really did forget
The guy whom it appears to me you met
And married once, before you then kissed me.
I'm not the kind of guy who likes to be
The other man, the home wrecker, the guy
Who causes someone's wedding vows to die.
You know the guys and I had this thing planned
To set me up to ask you for your hand.
But now it seems I always was too late.

Eve: Why do you always end up in this state
Of melancholic drunkenness when you
Could just as easily have asked that too.
I married young, you fool. I'm single now.
I never broke a single marriage vow.
My husband was my high school sweetheart we
Signed up together, married and then he
Was killed in action, right before my eyes.
A bomb went off. It took us by surprise.
His brother's back in town, he thinks I know
More than I say. I swear, I'm a widow.

Flynn: Then I truly am a fool. I swear: I'll make this up to you. Without magic messing with my brain or yours. The green eyed monster got his claws into me, but he is gone. I love you, Eve. Believe me. This never could have happened if I didn't.

(Exeunt.)

(Act V. Scene I. The office.)

(Enter Jones.)

Jones: I found the perfect poem to leave here.
I forged his writing and his signature.
Nothing else can screw this plan up tonight.
If it doesn't make her confront him then
I don't know what will. It's taken all night
To get that bloody cowboy's scrawl all right!
I hear them coming. Time that I was gone.
Let's give the lovers privacy, and run!

(Exit Jones.)

(Enter Cassandra, followed by Stone.)

Cassandra: Has it stopped yet? We locked the quill away
With magic locks. There's minutes left today
Before the spell dooms all of us to years
Of rhyming couplets coming out our ears!

Stone: Jenkins did say the damage might be done.
It doesn't help that three of us are gone!
Both Flynn and Eve, and Jones have disappeared!

Cassandra: Whereas it seems more notes have reappeared!
This one's for me, that one's to ev'ryone.
You read it, I'll read mine, and then we're done.
Unless these have some clues that we have missed
The bard has won...

Stone: And his words will persist.

Cassandra: [Reads]

In love's dances, in love's dances
One retreats and one advances
One grows warmer and one colder,
One more hesitant, one bolder.
One gives what the other needed
Once, or will need, now unheeded.
One is clenched, compact, ingrowing
While the other's melting, flowing.
One is smiling and concealing
While the other's asking, kneeling.
One is arguing or sleeping
While the other's weeping, weeping.

And the question finds no answer
And the tune misleads the dancer
And the lost look finds no other
And the lost hand finds no brother
And the word is left unspoken
Till the theme and thread are broken.

When shall these divisions alter?
Echo's answer seems to falter:
'Oh the unperplexed, unvexed time
Next time... one day... one day... next time!'

Stone: A.S.J. Tessimond.

Cassandra: You know it? But of course you do: you sent it!

Stone: I did?

Cassandra: It's in your handwriting. Look!

Stone: It is! Here's my own hand against my heart!

Cassandra: What does that mean? Did you write this or not?

Stone: We've bigger problems now: this note's from Flynn.
He's leaving all of us, especially Eve.
He doesn't say why, or if he'll return.
He doesn't seem to care about the curse.
It seems that Shakespeare's Quill has made him worse.

Cassandra: Poor Eve! She'll be distraught without him here.
We need to end this now! Midnight is near!

Stone: But how: we have nowhere to turn!

Cassandra: I do
Love nothing in the world so well as you.
Is not that strange?

Stone: As strange as I might say
I love you too, in ev'ry single way.
I'm betting Jones had left that poem there.
He forged my writing when I didn't dare
To say the words that linger in my heart
To bridge the gulf that's tearing us apart.

Cassandra: You talk too much, like all men from the South.
Come here, you stupid fool: I'll stop thy mouth.

XXXX

Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed midnight. Flynn pulled back from the kiss and looked up.

"'Tis now the very witching hour of night..."

"Don't you dare!" Eve grinned, punching him on the arm playfully.

"Well, we're not being swallowed up by Shakespeare's characters or speeches, so somebody somewhere did something right."

"My money's on Jones," said Eve, searching for her phone. "Or his plan at least."

"Getting Jacob and Cassandra together?" Flynn considered for a moment. "Yes, I can see how that might work, assuming they were already becoming avatars of certain characters. Might make life interesting for them now though..."

"What's your bet, then, Librarian?" Eve pulled his face back round to hers.

"I think I've had enough of wagers for the time being, Guardian," said Flynn, grinning.

"I can live with that."

XXXX

Ezekiel Jones sat up in his chair in the lab. He looked over at Jenkins. The older man looked back.

"Do you think it worked," the thief asked. "It's past midnight."

"No rhythm, no rhyme. I think we're okay," said Jenkins.

"That had ten beats."

"Coincidence," Jenkins glared over. "You planted the poem. Colonel Baird and I planted the ideas, with some help from yourself and Mr Carsen. We've given them plenty time alone, and in a crisis too. Neither of us has the urge to spout a rhyming couplet. I think we can assume it worked."

"Does this mean we can say goodbye to arguments and awkward silences now, finally?"

"Probably not," Jenkins rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Unfortunately, if anything, it's just as likely to make them feel more awkward around each other, at least for now. Later, it might help, once they're past the initial embarrassment."

"Great!" Jones slumped back in his chair. "I am sick of playing peacemaker!"

XXXX

Jacob Stone sat up, trying to shake the ringing out of his head. His eyes focussed on the figure of Cassandra, still unconscious on the floor beside him.

"Cassie?" Jacob called, leaning over her. "Cassie, wake up!"

"What?" Cassandra's frown and quiet grumble made Jacob smile far more than he had been expecting.

"You back with us?" Jacob asked, helping her up into a seated position.

"My head hurts," Cassandra frowned. "And I think I was dreaming."

"Shakespeare's Quill," he murmured, vague memories impressing themselves less vaguely than he'd like upon his memory.

"The others!" Cassandra was fully awake now.

"I'm sure they're fine," he sighed. "We ain't quoting Shakespeare. We must have stopped it."

"Yeah," said Cassandra, looking over at the bookshelves and trying hard not to think about how they'd done so.

"Yeah," Jacob echoed softly, watching her.

Eventually, he dropped his eyes and began to stand up.

"I guess we should check on them then," he said, holding out a hand to help her up.

"I guess so," said Cassandra, knowing full well what the result of that would be.

Chapter Text

Ezekiel Jones was hiding in the bookshelves. There was no particular reason for him to be hiding there. Nobody was looking for him, not as far as he was aware anyway. He just didn't feel like talking to anyone.

It was Monday morning. They had all dispersed to their various apartments in the early hours of the Saturday morning, those that hadn't already been there and simply called in once the urge to say everything in iambic pentameter, and to blatantly meddle in other people's lives, had worn off. He hadn't seen any of them since then. He had looked in to the office after leaving Jenkins' lab, hoping to see his two best friends happy for once. What he'd seen, though were two people even less comfortable around each other than before. He remembered every moment of the Shakespeare incident, so he was fairly sure they did. He was also fairly sure how they broke the curse. They'd been acting like they were scared to even look at each other.

Ezekiel leant forward from his seat on the floor, resting his head in his hands. He'd made two more people miserable. Another two to add to the tally of lives he'd screwed up without even thinking about it.

He'd talked about the nightmare the dream catcher had shown him, but only to Jenkins. He'd spent a lot of time talking to Jenkins recently. The older man listened with a patience he hadn't expected, and only gave advice that he either really needed to hear, or asked for. Part of that advice had been to consider what the nightmare had told him about himself. Ezekiel still wasn't too sure about that. It had told him he had hurt people, he had said. It had shown him people whose lives had ended because of him.

"It also showed you that you cared," said the old caretaker during one of their long conversations. "It showed you that, when you realised the extent of the consequences of your actions, you were horrified. That shows you have a conscience. I think it showed more than that too."

"What?" Ezekiel had asked morosely.

"I have a theory about those dreams," Jenkins had explained. "The number three doesn't just come up in magic as a way of exacting a cost on users. It creeps in everywhere. Take the three of you for example: what are the chances there would be just three left on that list to be rescued? Or so many? There only needs to be one. It's the same with getting magic to work in the first place: you need three things, not two, not five. Then it crops up again in the dreams. Three of them."

"I thought there were five?"

"There were five dreamers, only three dreams," Jenkins had said, sitting down in his lab with a cup of tea. "Flynn and Eve shared a dream. That I did not expect, but once I knew about it, it didn't surprise me to find that Mr Stone and Miss Cillian were also similarly linked."

"Their dreams don't sound the same," Ezekiel had pointed out.

"They focus on different aspects when they talk about them, both pairs do, but more so those two. In the case of Flynn and Eve, they knew they were in each other's dream because I went in there and told them, together, so they are quite happy to compare notes on it - what they shared, what they didn't. Jacob and Cassandra didn't find out they were dreaming that way, so it's less likely that they realise it was the same dream, although the clues are there if you know where to look. I don't know what they dreamt about, and neither one has been particularly forthcoming with details, but since Flynn went in to Cassandra's dream to wake her and came out with Jacob, and Eve went in to Jacob's dream to wake him and came out with Cassandra, I think I can reasonably assume they were linked in some way."

"So what were the dreams about?"

"The stories of the dream catchers are true, but there's an even greater truth that pervades our psyches. Three things the human heart needs. I believe each of the dreams focussed on one of those needs. Eve and Flynn dreamt of the future - a future where they are together. So far, they've each watched the other die and they haven't even known each other a year yet. They needed hope that their relationship would last. The dream showed them that. You, on the other hand, full of bravado and jolly quips about stealing this and 'borrowing' that, you needed to have more faith in the part of you that doesn't do that any more. You've spent your life defining yourself by your ability to steal. Now you have other people to think about. The Librarian side of you is starting to assert itself and it's triggered a crisis of confidence, deep down."

"So the dream was telling me to have more faith in myself?"

"More faith in your ability to change, to be better, to help rather than harm."

In the time since that conversation, he had tried to help. He had tried, with Shakespeare's help, to end the deadlock between two people he knew would only be happy once they were properly together. Everyone knew that. Except the two involved, of course! And now, instead of helping, he had harmed. He had made things worse. Again.

He had a lot of making up to do. His mind wandered back over the faces he had seen in his dream, erroneously adding Jacob and Cassandra to the crowd.

A lot of making up.

The clippings book rattled against its stand and Eve Baird looked up from her desk. Over at the main desk, Cassandra looked up from a ley lines map as her own, smaller, clippings book glowed.

"New case?" Baird asked, looking from the large book to the smaller version now open in Cassandra's hand.

"There's nothing new," Cassandra frowned. "That's weird."

Both women got up and headed for the main clippings book. Their heads were bent over, backs to the door, it as Jacob walked in, his own mini version in hand, followed by Jenkins. They didn't see him hesitate and deliberately hang back by the Guardian's desk. Jenkins did.

"What have we got today, then?" Jenkins asked, casting an eye around the room and what could be seen of the floor above as he joined the two ladies by the book.

"Nothing, apparently," said Baird. "Cassandra's book glowed, this one jumped about a bit, but neither has any new pages."

"That's impossible, there must be something," said Jenkins, quickly thumbing through the larger tome.

"There isn't, we checked," said Cassandra. She looked thoughtful for a moment, then looked down again. "There was nothing in my own book either. Did anyone else find anything in theirs?"

"Nothing in Mr Stone's," Jenkins admitted. "I cannot seem to find Mr Jones, however."

"What do you think it means?" Baird asked the older man. Flynn had gone off again and no matter how many weird things happened in his absence, she still worried. She worried that it would be something to do with him. She worried that it would be something she would need his help with. Either way, she worried. She always worried. She did her best to hide it from the others, but she knew she wasn't fooling Jenkins.

"Could mean any number of things," the old man shrugged. "Something hidden. Maybe something the book can't find a clipping of. Not yet, anyway..."

"The book tells fortunes now?" Baird's voice grew suddenly suspicious.

"Not as such, no," said Jenkins, pulling a face, "but it is supposed to find magical disturbances for us, that is its purpose. If such a disturbance arose, close enough for the book to sense it without waiting on a newspaper article to surface, or perhaps if there isn't an article to surface, then it's conceivable that it might do something like this."

"Like a magical piece of seaweed?"

"As using such things to predict the weather has never been that accurate a process, Colonel," sighed Jenkins, "one might venture to suggest the book is considerably better than, as you so colloquially put it, 'a magical piece of seaweed'."

"You know what I mean," intoned Baird with narrowed eyes.

"So it's something local?" Cassandra asked, both hands on the edge of the desk, nails digging into the wood and eyes fixed on the book.

"It would appear so, yes," nodded Jenkins. "If Mr Carsen were here, we could use the globe to identify a surge in the ley lines nearby, but..."

"Can the clippings book interact with things?" Cassandra cut in.

"In what way?" Jenkins looked down at her, frowning in puzzlement.

"I may have an idea."

Walking back over to where she was working a few steps further along the desk, Cassandra picked up the ley lines map and backtracked to her spot beside Jenkins.

"I've been working on this for months," she said, placing it over the open pages of the book. "I know I can read it. What if the clippings book can too?"

"That might work but..." Jenkins was cut short this time by the book itself.

A bright golden light illuminated the map from below in shimmering waves. As the waves settled, Cassandra giggled.

"It's working," she said, a smile brightening her face for the first time all morning.

"You can read it?" Baird asked, watching her charge's face.

"I can read it," Cassandra nodded, automatically reaching up to the drip of blood edging its way out from her nose. Jenkins silently handed her a tissue.

Baird heard the door swing closed behind them and looked round, but there was nobody there. From the mezzanine above, Ezekiel winced and started heading for the stairs. There had been nothing in his book either, but now it looked as though there might be a case after all, and it looked like he might be needed.

As fast as the thief was, he wasn't even half way down the stairs before Cassandra's knees buckled. Jenkins, being closest to her, was quick enough to stop her knocking herself out on the desk, but not enough to catch her entirely. By the time Ezekiel joined the trio, Cassandra was sitting on the floor with Baird on one side and Jenkins on the other. The two men exchanged a glance and said nothing.

"What did you see?" Jenkins asked, knowing any other questions were pointless.

"There's a surge," said Cassandra quietly, her head down as she held the tissue to her nose, hair falling across on either side like shimmering curtains of fire. "It's right on top of us, by the look of it."

"Could it be the Library?" Baird looked over to Jenkins.

"No," he shook his head. "The Library may now be anchored here, but it's still in its own dimension. No, if there's a magical threat right on our doorstep, it's in Portland, not the Library."

"Jones, you're with me," said Baird, dragging the young man to his feet and leaving Cassandra to be propped up by Jenkins.

They made their way out into the annex corridors, leading away from the Library and up to the real world. As they turned a corner, they almost walked into Jacob. He was holding an open box in one hand and its lid the other.

"Stone, what is that?" Baird's voice rang with suspicion again.

"I went up to get some air," rumbled the sullen reply. "Found this on our doorstep."

Handing the box to Baird he made to walk around the two but found his path blocked by Ezekiel.

"Cassandra got the book to light up her map," said the slight figure keeping his eyes on the older man. "She could read it too. Told us there was a magic surge right on our doorstep. Right before she hit the deck, that is. First time for everything, I guess."

"Don't push me, boy," growled Stone, almost nose to nose with Jones. The thief held his ground silently until the cowboy side-stepped around him and disappeared into the gloom.

"What the heck was all that about?" Baird asked, once she was sure Stone was gone. "Two librarians fighting or ignoring each other I can just about take, but all three of you!"

"He walked away," said Jones icily, turning and heading back towards the office.

Chapter Text

Cassandra was seated in a chair by the time Baird re-entered the office carrying the box. Stone was nowhere in sight, but a glance at Jenkins told the Guardian that the quietest member of their little group was upstairs.

"What have you there, Colonel?" Jenkins asked, nodding at the box, attention divided between it and the mezzanine.

"Left on our doorstep," said Baird, passing the box over. "You'd better have a look."

Jenkins took the box from her gingerly and set it down on the central desk. Waving away a curious Ezekiel, he eased up the lid Baird had loosely replaced and peered down, patting his pockets for a pair of gloves.

"Hmm," he said, pulling on the gloves and holding up a finger to Ezekiel, who had been edging closer behind him. "It appears to be a book."

"Somebody brought a book to the Library?" Ezekiel asked, trying to peer over Jenkins shoulder from where he was standing.

"Dragons, monsters, legends, mad scientists," intoned Baird. "All these things we accept as perfectly normal. Yet when something that would be normal in any other library happens..."

"This isn't any other library, Colonel Baird," Jenkins reminded her. "What is more the only people not in this room who know it is the Library are not likely to leave such a thing on our doorstep without some kind of note, or, indeed, at all, come to think of it. No, this is, quite possibly, the oddest occurrence we have as yet encountered."

"Which book is it?" Cassandra asked from her chair, her eyes downcast, focussing on the bloodstained tissue she was turning over and over between her fingers. Her voice sounded odd.

"It appears to be a collection of tales by the English author Agatha Christie," said Jenkins, lifting the book and opening it to its contents page. He read down the list of stories. "The Mysterious Affair at Styles. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. Curtain. Spider's Web. The Mysterious Mr Quin - twelve short stories. The best of Partners in Crime - four favourite Beresford mysteries: The Unbreakable Alibi, The Clergyman's Daughter, The Red House, The Ambassador's Boots."

"That's a lot of stories," said Baird.

"The Mysterious Mr Quin is short even with all twelve stories put together," said Ezekiel, edging round again to get a better view. "Not exactly crime fiction, but highly underrated in my opinion. A series of short mysteries that fit seamlessly together to make one, larger, novella. The same goes for Partners In Crime. Odd it has those two sets of short stories, three Poirots and a play, but no Miss Marple..."

"Another play?" Baird's eyebrows rose.

"Quite a good one, actually," shrugged Ezekiel. "Almost had me for a bit."

"You didn't work it out until the last act?" Baird teased.

"Oh I worked it out way before that," Ezekiel nodded. "I just usually get these things as soon as the murderer or whoever turns up. I actually considered the possibility I might be wrong with that one. I wasn't, but it did make me consider it. Actually, come to mention it, those Poirots kind of did the same..."

"I didn't know you liked murder mysteries," said Baird, twisting her face into a puzzled grin.

"Whodunits," he corrected her. "They're called whodunits. Or Classic Crime. Half the time, there is no murder. In fact, in the Sherlock Holmes stories, most of the mysteries do not involve murder. Theft, kidnapping, fraud, mistaken identity and attempted murder make up way more of the backgrounds than just murder!"

"And of course, anything about theft..."

"Old ways to steal new things," grinned the thief. Only Jenkins noticed the look that crossed his features once Baird turned back to the book.

"Well, I'm sure I can find a home for this, anyway," said the old man as he placed the book down on the desk and turned over a few more pages. "I might even read a tale or two in my tea break."

The clippings book beside them glowed again, each of the smaller versions mimicking their larger counterpart.

"Another one?" Baird asked. "Is this going to be like magical earthquake season: one big surge sets off lots of little ones?"

"No, this one's actually a clipping," said Jones, looking down at the page. "It's an advertisement for an auction. There's a web address for the auction house."

Baird and Jenkins hovered behind Ezekiel as he brought up the auctioneers on his tablet and began flicking through the listings for the auction in question.

"There! Stop! Go back!" Jenkins barked out suddenly. Ezekiel did so and brought up the picture of a necklace of gold and jewels. The necklace was old - a large, intricately detailed collar - but it sparkled.

"What is it?" Baird asked. "Crown jewels again? Which country this time?"

"No country, however poor, would auction off their crown jewels," said Jenkins. "Especially not here! No, this is something far older, far more precious, and far, far more magical. That, ladies and gentlemen, is Brisinga-men."

"The necklace of the Norse goddess Freyia," cut in a gruff voice from the stairs. The three around the tablet looked over and saw Stone, his mini clippings book open in his hand. He waved it at them. "I got the page too."

"Great, a full family outing!" Jones sighed, moving the tablet screen to a map showing the location of the auction house. He handed it to Jenkins. "Can you use this for the door?"

"You'll have to leave it here," he replied with a nod.

"I've got my phone," shrugged Jones, leaving the tablet in Jenkins' hands and heading over to the 'B' drawer of the card catalogue.

Jenkins and Baird looked at Stone and Cassandra and exchanged a glance.

"Oh joy!" Baird sighed.

The auction house was already busy when the four stepped out of a closet door onto the upper landing of a broad staircase. The balcony before them looked down into a tiled and crowded entrance hall, and on either side carpeted stairs swept down and around, meeting at the opposite wall and proceeding back towards the balcony wall as they reached the floor.

Stone muttered something about a Robert Adam and wandered off to look at the ceiling.

"Cassandra and I will check out security," announced Jones before Baird could open her mouth. "Why don't you and Stone go look for the necklace."

"Who's in charge here?" Baird muttered at Jones and Cassandra's receding backs. She turned to Stone. "Please tell me you know what we're looking for."

"Yeah, yeah," Stone grumbled. "Brisinga-men. Necklace of Freyia, Norse goddess of love and war."

"Another pair of words that seem to go hand in hand around here," she muttered under her breath.

"What's that?" Stone looked round.

"Nothing," she waved him towards the stairs. "We know that. You said as much before. I meant did you see the picture on Jones' tablet?"

"I'll know it when I see it," he shrugged. "A golden necklace or collar, although some say torc, inlaid with amber and gemstones. Bought from its four dwarfish creators for a scandalous price."

"Oh really?" Baird asked. "How much?"

He told her.

"For a necklace?" Baird's voice rose. "Seriously!"

Stone shrugged and pulled a face. "I didn't write that story!"

"Yeah, speaking of stories," said Eve, falling into step beside him as they headed for the stairs. "I know the curse ended because I stopped talking weird, but you and Cassandra seem even less talkative than when we encountered that magic house, or for that matter after you two landed yourselves in hospital for a week! At least then you could stand being around each other, now it's like pulling teeth to get you in the same room! How'd that happen?"

"We broke the spell," said Stone, his voice curt and sharp. "Now she won't look at me. I'm just trying to make that a little less difficult to do."

"Really," said Eve, dubiously, "she won't look at you? So you're removing yourself from her presence at every opportunity? What, like she did when you refused to look at her after Collins Falls? Oh, no, wait: she didn't."

"Hey!"

"You're being an ass!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Hey, she turned away from me, okay! She kissed me, not the other way around. We came round on the floor, ears ringing like some magical bomb had gone off between us. I went over to her and she turned away."

"What, just like that?" Eve pressed. "She wouldn't speak to you, wouldn't look at you, not at all?"

"Well, no," Jacob floundered. "I mean, she spoke to me, but just to answer my questions and ask about everyone else. And once she came round fully, she couldn't find enough other places to look!"

"You're an ass," Eve grinned.

"Maybe I'm just not as good a kisser as I thought," Jacob joked, smiling despite himself.

"Nope, pretty sure you're just an ass."

"Oh yeah, and how would you know?"

"Because I know you're an ass."

Ezekiel and Cassandra reached the bottom of the staircase arm in arm. Ezekiel had scanned the upper and lower levels from above before they started their descent, not willing to risk his friend's footing on their stairs. Now it barely took seconds to register the few corners that had been invisible from above. He looked over at Cassandra, her head down, paying more attention to the many and varied shoes surrounding them than the faces. He had done this to them. He was responsible. It stung him more than he cared to admit.

"Want to talk about it?" Ezekiel asked as they wandered, seemingly aimlessly, through the crowd.

"Talk about what?" Cassandra asked innocently.

"About whatever is going on with you and Stone," the young man clarified, as blunt as a butter knife.

"Nothing is going on with me and Stone," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Nothing new anyway. I just keep giving him reasons to push me away. Same old, same old..."

"And yet this is the first time I've ever actually seen him do that," he pointed out with a sigh. "What did you do this time?"

"You know full well what I did. What I had to do, that is," she turned her head to glare at her friend.

"I might have left a few hints lying around," he admitted.

"A few? Hints?" The glare continued. "You forged a love poem to look like it was from him to me. You and Eve also dropped some fairly large hints from the opposite side of a bookcase. I'm willing to bet Jenkins and Flynn did the same to him, and at your bidding."

"I couldn't help myself: it was the play!"

"And now that's exactly what he thinks of me!"

"Why would he think that?"

"Because it's true for one," that statement actually made Ezekiel stop walking and turn to look at her. She smirked and continued. "I have read my fair share of Shakespeare, you know: you get through a lot of books in hospital. I know who we were turning into. The kiss was inevitable. I just sped things up a bit before we got stuck like that."

"Any other reason?" Ezekiel asked slowly.

"Well, did you pass out and wake up confused when the spell broke?"

"Ah... No."

"And now he can't bear to be in the same room as me!"

"Well..."

"Not if he thinks I know he's there!"

"But..."

"I mean: heaven forbid we should actually have to speak to each other!"

"Yeah, about earlier: are you okay?"

"Earlier?" Cassandra stopped her rant at the segue and turned to look at Ezekiel, frowning.

"Cassandra, I've never seen you drop like that before," he said, his tone more serious than before. "I mean, call him what you like, Stone's always..."

"Not always," she shrugged sadly. "Not in Slovakia. But I knew he wasn't coming to my rescue then."

"We were all trapped in the dollhouse..."

"I know," she said. "This time, though... It's my own fault. I forgot what it's like to not feel sure someone's going to be there to catch me."

"How the heck is that your fault?"

It took Stone and Baird half an hour to find the necklace. The item was encased in a clear box they assumed was toughened glass or something similar. Something that would require a thief's skill and finesse.

"I'll stay here, you fetch Jones," said Baird, her hand hovering near her gun.

Stone gave her a look. She sighed and glared back.

"Fine," Eve gave in eventually. "You can't keep this up forever, you know."

"I can try," he replied.

"And how do you think you'll feel if you manage it?" Eve retorted harshly, pushing past him.

She didn't turn and look back. She knew the look on his face would be enough to make her go back and apologise if she did. And he did not deserve that apology. Not yet.

She found Jones and Cassandra sipping complementary champagne in yet another hall of expensive items she was still cursing herself for letting Jones loose anywhere near. He was quietly pointing out to Cassandra the various reasons why the purported diamond, white gold and sapphire tiara they were looking at was absolutely worthless.

"Jones, you're needed two rooms over," said Baird, removing his glass and handing it to Cassandra. "Come on, you two, Stone's keeping an eye on it."

As Jones headed off into the melee, Cassandra hung back. Baird looked at her. The younger woman shook her head. Baird rolled her eyes and hurried off after Jones.

The thief was half way across the first of the two rooms when he collided with his fellow librarian.

"What the! I thought you were looking after the necklace!" Ezekiel frowned as Stone helped him to his feet.

"I was," he replied. "They've started taking in all the lots. We need to hurry."

The two men turned and headed for the third room. By the time they got there, half the cases had been removed already. The necklace case was among them.

"Did you see where they were taking them?" Jones asked, scanning the room.

"Through that door there," said Stone, pointing out two suited men carrying a case through a doorway under the watchful eyes of two very large men. The case was handcuffed to each of the porters. A third man closed the door behind them and a woman strolled past, exchanging a glance with the door man.

"We're not getting through there any time soon," said Jones, running his eyes over the door and the security guards.

"So now what?" Baird asked, following their gaze as she joined them. "Do we have to try and buy the thing?"

Jones snorted a derisive laugh. "No way!"

"And you're great plan is, oh maestro?" Stone quipped.

"Glad to see I'm finally getting the recognition I deserve here," grinned Jones. "No, my plan is to wait and see who does buy it, then steal it off of them! We'd be doing them a favour, after all: who knows what that thing could do!"

Chapter Text

The room allocated to the auction was busy, but they had managed to get four seats right at the back, next to the wall, where they had a clear view of the entire room. Cassandra was sitting on her hands at the end of the short line, followed by Jones, busily hacking into the security cameras to get a better view of faces in the room, followed by Baird, then Stone, both with their arms folded.

"You're not going to accidentally buy something, Cassandra," Ezekiel sing-songed under his breath.

"I really think I should wait outside," she whispered back. "Me in a room full of numbers and facts being shouted out is not a good idea."

"Fine," Baird hissed. "Go wait outside. Take Stone with you."

"The more eyes in here the better," Stone growled as Cassandra hurried out before the auction began.

"And with Ezekiel's help, we've got all the electronic eyes in the room," Baird replied "Go. That was an order."

Stone grumbled an inaudible reply and followed Cassandra out of the room. He found her in the now otherwise empty hallway, sitting on the stairs. Without the crowd, it was easier to appreciate the elegance of the Robert Adam designs dominating the room. Plenty to keep his eyes and mind occupied. So why did they both insist on returning, every now and then, to the bright, tumbling curls and slight frame sitting on the stairs staring at her shoes?

He wandered below the stairs, taking his eyes out of the equation at least, but he still found her impossible to exorcise from his mind. He stopped and leant back, resting his head against the underside of the stairs themselves, and cursed himself for not being able to think of a single thing to say. What could he say?

"I'm sorry," echoed Cassandra's voice from the other side of the staircase.

"What the heck for?" Stone mumbled back with a sigh. That was one thing he could have, should have, said, and she'd beaten him to it.

"I know me kissing you is the last thing you wanted," she said, her voice shaking, "especially after the way I spoke to you that night; but I couldn't see any other way around the spell before midnight."

"You don't have to be sorry for that. I know why you did it," he said softly. "We were all being affected by that spell, you know, not just you."

"But I do have to be sorry for something?" Cassandra frowned, running back over the previous days in her mind.

"No! No, that's not what I meant!" Stone's voice echoed quietly through the room. "You don't have to be sorry for anything. If anything I am the one that should be apologising!"

"If that's true," she sighed, "why can't you stand to be in the same room as me?"

"You didn't want me around," he answered. "When we woke up after... midnight, you couldn't even look at me. I just didn't want to make that harder for you. So I stayed away."

"When 'we' woke up?" Cassandra sat up, focussing on entirely the wrong part of that speech.

"Yes," Stone said carefully. "I came to first and then... Oh! You didn't know. You thought it was just you?"

"What else was I going to think? You were already there, helping me up, and everyone else said they hadn't even blinked when the spell broke. Wait," she said, her hearing catching up with the rest of her brain. "You thought I didn't want you around? Why?"

"You refused point blank to look at me, for one!"

"I... What?" Cassandra shook her head in exasperation. "You may not realise this, Jacob Stone, but I am not in the habit of grabbing men and kissing them! Especially not friends, whom I also work with! It was a little embarrassing. It didn't mean I wanted you to start avoiding me like the plague!"

"Oh," Jacob hung his head sheepishly. "Of course, right."

"So can we at least agree to try and act like friends again?" Cassandra sighed.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven for telling Baird what happened in Scotland?" Jacob grinned.

"Not entirely, but at least I think we're now even," she shrugged.

"And the next time you feel like seducing me you'll at least warn me first?"

"Hey, I did not...!" Cassandra stopped herself and drew in a deep breath, shaking her head and trying to feel more offended. The memory of an entirely other occasion forced its way back into her memory and her grin widened. She was so glad he could not see her face. She had no idea that, on the other side of the stairs, Jacob was currently smiling at the exact same memory. Neither, of course, did he.

Cassandra shook her head again and let her hand fall to the edge of the stair she was perched on. On the way down, it brushed past Jacob's hand, wrapped around the wrought iron baluster. She jumped as a surge like electricity flowed through her in that instant. With the echoing reverberations in the hall, she hadn't realised he was so close. She let her hand rest on the edge of the stair, staring straight ahead, not willing to look round, to find out if he had moved away. Closing her eyes and paying more attention to her breathing than she could ever remember doing previously, she let her hand slide forward a few millimetres, then a few millimetres more, until she could feel the heat of his hand radiating to her own. She focussed on remembering to breathe. He was still there. They were okay again. For now. She felt his hand move to cover hers and her eyes shot open. She looked round as he lifted her hand and interwove their fingers. He was facing her now, looking up at her through the balustrade.

"Let's stop doing this whole falling out nonsense," he said quietly, searching her face for her thoughts.

"Okay," she replied, holding his gaze as he raised her hand to his lips in an all too brief peace offering.

"It's gone!" Baird's voice called from the side of the hall. "The necklace has been stolen!"

Cassandra and Jacob looked round, startled, each moving away from the other, but still reluctant to let go of the other's hand.

"What?" Jacob said, as Baird and Jones hurried over.

Cassandra flashed a warning look at Ezekiel, who had already spotted their newly-recovered proximity and looked like he was gearing up to make a comment. He caught her glance and closed his mouth, still grinning.

"The porters brought the box out and locked it to the display desk," said Jones, rather more cheerily than was entirely appropriate. "But when they took the velvet cover off, the case was empty."

"You're saying there's a better thief out there than you?" Stone asked, pointing at the young man.

"That's a scary thought!" Baird quipped.

"Not better," said Jones in horrified offence. "Just better prepared. I could have got that thing out of there easily, along with half the inventory, if I'd had enough warning!"

"Are we sure it wasn't Flynn?" Cassandra asked, looking to Eve.

"We're sure," she replied. "He's busy elsewhere. I'd know if he were here. He'd have told me."

"So what now?" Stone wondered aloud. "We can't get into that room to look for clues. We have no idea who took it."

"I don't know," murmured Jones thoughtfully. "I didn't like the look of that woman we saw talking to the guy on the door. And I'm fairly sure I could get into that room, if I had a couple of things from home."

"Fine, then," said Baird, taking charge and dishing out jobs. "We go back through the door and do some research. Jones, you get what you need and come back here. I'll come with you..."

"Must you?" Jones winced.

"I'll talk to the security teams and management. You go snoop around and see what you can find out," she finished. "Stone, Cassandra: find out what this thing does and why anyone might want to steal it in the first place."

"We look for the motive," said Cassandra, "while you and Jones look into the means and opportunity."

"Exactly," Baird nodded, turning to walk to the foot of the stairs, followed by Jones. They missed the minor confusion as Jacob and Cassandra remembered too late to disentangle their hands before trying to move apart.

"Brisinga-men was the necklace of a Norse goddess," sighed Jenkins as Baird, Stone and Cassandra finished filling him in on the details of their trip. "There is no telling what it would do and no end of people who might want to steal it!"

"So no suggestions of what to look out for?" Baird clarified. "No ideas at all?"

"Oh, I have plenty of ideas!" Jenkins retorted. "You just don't have time to hear all of them. You need to get back there and find that thing!"

"Jones and I are heading back right now," she said, waving an arm in the direction of the doorway as Jones, bag over his shoulder, came back into the room.

"Just you two?" Jenkins asked acidly.

"We need to know more about what to look for," replied Baird, standing her ground. "Stone and Cassandra are better at that kind of research than Jones and I. Especially when they're working together."

Jenkins caught the look that accompanied Baird's last sentence. With narrowed eyes, he grumbled his reluctant agreement.

"Start upstairs," he told the waiting pair. "Section D."

As he watched them hurry off, without complaint, he spotted Jacob hold out his hand to help Cassandra up the stairs. He turned back to Eve with raised eyebrows. She smiled and shrugged smugly. Jenkins nodded his silent approval and praise, then waved them to the door.

"The longer we waste here, the further away our thief gets," he said, shooing them out.

"It'll be fun!" Jones grinned. "I've never had the chance to properly try out my detecting skills!"

"Your detecting skills?" Baird asked with a sarcastic curl of a smile.

"I've been reading about crimes, from the simplest to the weirdest, all my life," Ezekiel shrugged cheerfully. "And as Holmes says: 'if you have all the details of a thousand at your finger ends, it is odd if you can't unravel the thousand and first'!"

"I guess it'll make a change from being the criminal they're trying to detect," sighed Baird turning back to the door.

Ezekiel glanced over at Jenkins and shrugged despondently. The old man smiled sadly and nodded to the door.

"Go save some lives, Librarian," said Jenkins as the younger man turned to go.

Cassandra stared blankly at the book in her hands. She had found a niche in the wall of bookshelves lined with cushions and had settled herself, knees up slightly and feet resting against the far end of the niche, with a book entitled "Tales of Norse Gods and Heroes" by Barbara Leonie Picard. It had been easy to find the stories about Freyia, and even easier to become engrossed in reading them, but her mind had eventually wandered. Something was nagging at her brain. Something she just couldn't quite make out.

"What about this?" Jacob asked, bringing over a book. He lifted her ankles, sat down at the opposite end of the niche and put her legs down again on top of his, then rested the book on them, open at a page. "Freija was a goddess of springtime, fertility and love. She was also given the charge of half of those who die in battle. Different spelling. More directly linked to Frigg in this text. Same goddess, though. What if someone wants to use the necklace for one of those options? Not springtime, maybe, but to bring sun or rain? Or to make someone love them? Bring back a loved one from the dead? Something like that."

"You can't just make someone love you, not even with magic, surely," said Cassandra carefully, watching his free hand, the one not holding the book open, as it ran its thumb back and forth over her ankle. Was he even aware he was doing that? "There has to be something there first. Something for the magic to work on?"

"You had plenty of girls falling in love with you when you were Prince Charming, as I recall," he smiled, then turned back to the book.

"That wasn't love, that was infatuation," she said, pulling a face at the memory. "Hero worship: nothing more. Love, real love, that can't be so easily manipulated. I don't... I can't believe that."

He stopped then. Frozen with eyes staring at nothingness. She watched him. Had he spotted something in the book, or had he heard, really heard, what she had just said? He sat back, closing the book and letting it slide down her shins to be caught by his free hand. She still couldn't read his face. He turned and she looked into eyes full of questions.

"We have a problem!" Jenkins' voice bellowed from the floor below.

Damn!

"Be right there!" Jacob shouted back, turning away from her again.

Cassandra swung her feet down and stood up, walking away towards the stairs before he could see her face. Jenkins, however, got the full force of her glare.

"Ah, there you are," he said, looking away quickly and wincing. "It's just as well Colonel Baird left you both here. I'm afraid we have a rather larger problem than just the missing necklace."

"What could possibly be more important than a necklace that might be able to go around bringing the dead back to life?" Cassandra snapped, leaning her hands, and the book they were still holding, on the table.

"Ah, um, interesting possibility, certainly," frowned Jenkins in confusion. He glanced down at the book and rallied magnificently. "What's that? The children's version? How... appropriate!"

"I liked the author's name," she shrugged. "And it was more interesting than just books of facts."

"What larger problem?" Jacob asked, catching up.

"It appears that our delivery this morning is not all it appeared to be," said Jenkins, turning to reveal the Christie book on a stand behind him. "I've been examining it all morning and I can finally say for certain that it is not, in fact, a book of Agatha Christie mysteries."

"What is it, then?" Jacob frowned. "They look like Agatha Christie stories to me. Well, as much as anything else..."

"Are you familiar with any of the stories?" Jenkins asked, looking from one to the other. They both shook their heads. "All of them are particularly known for their misdirection, a theme common in mysteries of course, but especially in these ones, and for puzzles, some regarding identity, such as the identity of the Mysterious Mr Quin, or the location of something, such as the treasure of the Red House. It was an odd mix, too: unbalanced and missing one of the writer's most famous sleuths entirely. And then there is the simple fact of it arriving here how and when it did. It, shall we say, pinged my radar. I examined it in minute detail, and I am now certain, absolutely certain, that this book is actually the manuscript of another, possibly single, story that has been carefully, possibly magically, written over."

"A palimpsest?" Cassandra looked round at the book in surprise and interest.

"I thought that was only done with ancient manuscripts on vellum," said Jacob. "That book is paper pages."

"Technically speaking," said Jenkins, waggling a finger, "although the term did originally apply to such manuscripts and the process of carefully washing and scraping out the ink to allow the vellum to be reused, the process of overlaying any manuscript, ancient or modern, or painting or anything else, for that matter, on top of an older one is now known as a palimpsest."

"Do we know what the original manuscript was?" Cassandra asked.

"Ah, now that is a bit more problematic," admitted the old man. "All I can clearly find are a few lines here and there. The clearest, about half way through, reads 'Contributed by Mathew Bruff, Solicitor, of Gray's Inn Square'."

"Doesn't ring any bells," Jacob shook his head.

"I don't know it either," agreed Cassandra.

"I didn't expect either of you would," said Jenkins with a pitying look. "That's why I need you two to go and find our resident crime fiction expert, who is currently refusing to answer his phone."

Chapter Text

The auction was still continuing when Jacob and Cassandra returned to the Adam staircase and made their way down in search of Baird and Jones. Baird was easy to find. She was talking to the security guards at the door she, and the two men of the group, had watched the boxes disappearing through.

"They've been useless!" Baird commented, walking away from the guards. "The management were a bit more helpful, but the guards said about as much as a statue, and probably thought less!"

"I highly doubt they were hired for their cognitive ability," said Cassandra.

"We need to find Jones," said Jacob, looking around. "Any idea where he is?"

"He headed outside," Baird nodded towards the outer door of the establishment. "Said he was going to have a look around. I haven't heard from him since."

"He's not answering his phone," Cassandra explained.

"And we need him to come and have a look at something," added Jacob.

"Turns out the book we got this morning is actually another book in disguise..."

"And we think he might know which one."

Baird looked from one to the other, feeling like a spectator in a tennis match. She laughed, much to the confusion of her two charges, and shook her head. "When is a book in a library not a book in a library," she muttered. "Fine, follow me."

She led the way out of the building and into the street outside. It was a cold day and Cassandra was glad that, for once, she had brought a jacket with her. It was only a short jacket though, and she shivered nevertheless. Baird stopped when she reached the street.

"Okay, you two: you head that way round the block," she said, pointing to their left, "and I'll head this way. Whoever finds him first, calls it in and brings him back here. Agreed?"

Jacob and Cassandra nodded obediently and headed off, Cassandra with her arms wrapped around her for warmth. Baird watched them go, counting on her fingers. She'd got to four before she saw Jacob wrap his jacket over the redhead's shoulders too.

"Yep," Baird muttered to herself with a smile, turning to her own path. "They're back."

Ezekiel Jones, ex-World Class Thief now turned Librarian, surveyed the room below him. It was the strong room where the lots had been housed between being on display and the auction itself. As the auction was still going on, most of the lots were still there, each covered with a red velvet cloth. There did appear to be a system, he noted, watching the guards and porters moving and removing each case in turn. There was also, as he now knew for certain, a way in that did not involve either door. Given time, either by knowledge of the guards routines, or by a suitable distraction, it would also be easy enough to drop down on a cable, pick a lock, retrieve an item and return to the safety of the ceiling, if you were right over the right box. That's where the difficulty lay. There was no use playing the fairground grab-a-toy game if you didn't know which box your target was in. And it wasn't random either. There would be more gone if it was.

Ezekiel wondered if the guards had been so numerous or so vigilant before the theft. He made a mental note to ask Baird to find out later, if she hadn't already done so. He edged back along to the open skylight, silently pulled himself up and out of the room, closed the panel again and was gone. Nobody in the room had ever known he was there.

Once out of the strong room and back on the roof, getting down was easy. The fire escape provided him with a route to ground level, just as it had provided him with the means of getting to the roof. He was half way down before he spotted the three upturned faces watching his descent. He stopped and waved cheerily, grinned broader when he saw Baird set her hands on her hips and start glaring, then darted down the last few flights.

"To what do I owe this honour?" Jones smiled as he dropped to the ground.

"You're needed back home," said Baird. "Jenkins has something he needs you to see."

"Then I go where I am needed," grinned the youngest Librarian. "By the way, do you know if they changed anything about the security in the room where the lots were after the theft was discovered?"

"They doubled the guards," replied the Colonel, leading the way back to the main entrance to the auction house. "I'd say they probably doubled their vigilance too, but that doesn't mean much for them, I think."

"They certainly only seemed to expect an attack from the most obvious and impossible of angles," Jones agreed. "No imagination."

Jenkins had moved the book into his lab by the time they returned, so Baird and Jones joined him there. Jones looked through the short scraps of text Jenkins pointed out, coming finally to the longest piece in the middle of the book: the quote he, Jenkins, had read out to Jacob and Cassandra previously.

"It's the Moonstone!" Ezekiel exclaimed, realisation dawning. "Written by Wilkie Collins in 1868! It's generally thought to be the first ever detective story written!"

"Ah..." Jenkins drew out the syllable into a groan of despair.

"What?" Baird looked at him in concern.

"Firsts are important," said the old man. "You record them all the time: first word, first step, first love, first kiss. It's the same in the world of magic: first monster of it's type is always the most powerful, first magical sword again the most powerful..."

"You mean there were others?" Ezekiel looked round sharply.

"Indeed," Jenkins continued with a nod. "First edition of a book or a play, or anything else for that matter, holds a power of its own. And books and plays are the worst for it too: it's the words you see. Words have the power to change our world. They, they have a magic all their own, even in the ordinary world. And stories, well: they're even worse! A story can transport you to another time, another place, without having left the comfort of your own armchair. They can bring heroes and villains to life, monsters and maidens, angels and demons, entire worlds and cities!"

"Like Shakespeare's Quill, or the Libris Fabula?" Baird nodded.

"Exactly," said Jenkins. "And the type of book, or book related artefact, determines the effect it will have. The Libris Fabula changed you all into fairy tale characters. The Quill drew on characters from Shakespeare's plays instead. I have no doubt that this book has not only sent us upon but indeed caused the mystery we are now investigating."

"What does that mean?" Baird frowned.

"It means we're looking in the wrong place for the necklace," said Ezekiel. "If I remember rightly: the theft of the moonstone was carried out by one of the people from the household where it was kept. Somebody who had only thought to protect the stone, and actively helped look for it afterwards."

"That's a little two-faced isn't it?" Baird commented, thinking exactly who she'd put her money on in the circumstances.

"They didn't know they'd taken the stone," said Ezekiel, shaking his head. "They'd been hypnotised beforehand."

"Then the culprit is one of the four of you, Colonel," said Jenkins. "You are the only people the book has come into contact with."

"The five of us, Jenkins," replied Baird with a grimace. "Don't forget you're the only one to handle the book, even with gloves, and none of us know what you were doing while we were at the auction."

"We should make a timeline of our movements," said Jenkins with an air of wounded dignity. "Find out who was with whom and when, and if there are any times when anyone else was unaccounted for."

"We already know that," said Ezekiel, sketching a rough floor plan of the auction house on a pad of paper. "We were all alone at one point. When Baird came and got me to unlock the case, she left Stone on his own. When I left her and Cassandra to do that, I was on my own. When Baird left Cassandra to join us, both she and Cassandra were left on their own. And you have been by yourself all the time that we were there. No alibis anywhere. We all had the opportunity, albeit not a very large one in some cases."

"Stone and Cassandra wouldn't have the skills to..." Baird began.

"They might," interjected Jenkins. "If they'd been affected by a book like that, they might. So might you, Colonel."

"I still think it makes you two the most likely suspects," she growled in reply.

"It could be any one of us," Ezekiel reiterated. "We need to go tell the lovebirds. They'll have to keep even more of an eye on each other than usual."

"Don't push it, Jones," sighed Baird wearily. "We've only just got them speaking again. The last thing we need is one of your stupid nicknames putting a spanner in the works!"

"I wasn't planning on saying it to their faces!" Ezekiel protested. "We all know they're perfect for each other. We all know the pair of them are head over heels already, if they'd only admit it! The only things standing in their way are themselves!"

Quietly, and unnoticed by the two at the desk, Jenkins shut the door and sighed. He'd wondered when that elephant was going to be brought up. He groaned, leant back and prepared for the debate to commence.

"Real relationships are a bit more complicated than that," Eve stated, rolling her eyes. "You can't just tell two people they're in love and expect it to be happy ever after! They have to work it out themselves. You have no idea what sort of walls either one of them has up!"

"I know Cassandra's," he said, waving a hand in the direction of the main office. "I'm willing to bet you know, or can find out, Stone's."

"Doesn't matter!" Eve exclaimed, her voice rising. "If we interfere like that, we'll just make matters worse!"

"You interfered when you ordered Stone out into that hallway!" Ezekiel's voice was rising now too. "Don't tell me you didn't really send him out there to talk to her: you've been grinning like a Cheshire cat since we caught them!"

"Every reason I gave Stone for sending him out there was genuine!" Baird parried. "I needed your tech skills in the auction and there was only one other person to send out with Cassandra! The fact that it also forced them to be alone in the same room for more than five seconds is entirely coincidental!"

"You know how stubborn they are! If we do nothing, they'll just get stuck in this recursive loop of circling round each other, closer and closer until they have some almighty blow-out about something stupid and don't talk for ages! They've done this four times already! Every time they get a bit closer, and every time the argument ends up even bigger! The worst thing Cassandra ever did was sell us out when we first met and they were talking again the same day! I have no frelling clue what happened in Slovakia to start off the silent treatment, but that lasted most of the trip. Then he goes off flirting with Mabel so Cassandra's not so much talking to him as sniping, then they're working together to save everyone, then it goes wrong and he won't even look at her when she asks him to join us at the pub! It took a whole week before they were back to normal then, and don't even get me started on the whole stupid hospital thing! If we hadn't intervened, who knows how long this run of avoiding each other would last!"

"Are you done?" Baird said sternly. "You do not try and push those two together Jones, do you hear me?" She waited for him to sullenly nod before continuing. "You can give them space. You can try and get them to talk to you, individually. You can even try and talk to them, individually. But you do not, under any circumstances, tell either one anything that the other has said about them. You can be their confidante as much as you like, but if you dare try to use those confidences to manipulate those two people together I will make sure the next one in hospital is you because you will not only have seriously embarrassed and possibly permanently damaged the relationship of two of our closest friends, you will also have abused their very, very, very fragile trust to the highest degree. I do not care how well-intentioned you may think you are being, it will not work. It will backfire on everyone involved and, what is even worse for you, it will lose you more than half the few friends you currently have!"

"I wouldn't..." Ezekiel stuttered. "I didn't mean..."

"Don't," said Baird with an air of finality. "Just don't."

Jenkins stepped aside to let the Colonel storm out of the room.

"Well, that went well," Ezekiel sighed, dropping down into a chair as Jenkins shut the door again.

"She has a point," said the old man gently. "Playing with people's hearts is never a good idea."

"But they could be so much happier!"

"They are happy," Jenkins walked over and stood, leaning against the table, in front of the young man. "And yes, they have fights, and they deal with that, and they move on. That's life, Ezekiel. That's family. That's friendship. That's love. They get annoyed, get hurt by each other, because they care. That's why the arguments can go on so long. The more they care, the more they hurt, and they haven't got to that point where they feel safe being totally honest with each other yet, not about how they really feel, because they're scared of being hurt worse. They will get there, though. In their own way, and their own time, without our help. And once they do, yes, they will still argue, and fight, but they'll fight it out to the end instead of leaving things festering unsaid for weeks. They might not have spoken in the hospital, but they were still there for each other. When it mattered, they were there for each other. Just like they were at Collins Falls, regardless of what went on between them before and after that. Just like they have been a dozen times before and will be countless times again. I know you want to help, but you can't. The only people who can help them through this are themselves. You just have to have patience, and a little faith."

"There's that word again," scoffed the boy. "Some librarian me: can't even understand people. How the heck am I supposed to understand magic?"

"That's not any flaw on your part," smiled the old man sadly. "That's the curse of youth. We live and learn, but to learn, first we have to live a while. You'll get there. It's not easy being called to a life like this at your age. It would have been even tougher on you had you actually got the job when you got your first envelope. Life isn't easy for a Librarian at the best of times. It's even worse for a teenage one."

"Speaking from personal experience?" Ezekiel half laughed, but the smile didn't quite last.

"Actually, yes," replied Jenkins softly, and that made the boy look round. "I was just fifteen when I found my first magical artefact. I was sixteen when the Library, as it was then, recruited me."

"What did you find?" Ezekiel asked, his mind now fully occupied by Jenkins' tale.

"It was a sword, stuck in a block of marble, which was floating in a river. It was my sword, that much had been foretold to me, but any other who tried to take it would receive a hurt from it. That much was told to them by words emblazoned on the marble block. I still have it. The sword, that is, not the marble. It's a constant reminder to me that I have my own destiny, my own calling, and I have all the wit and tools I need to perform it. Just like you do."

"Sometimes I wonder..."

"I don't," Jenkins cut him off. "You've seen more of the world than I had when I came to this life, but I don't think you've ever had a moment like I had that day. You didn't choose this life, Ezekiel. It chose you. And it chose you for who you are, and who you have the potential to become, not for some lofty ideal of the perfect Librarian. We may start out perfect, but time stains all of us eventually. The best we can do is deal with the task in front of us, in the best way that we can. You have a task in front of you now. A task that you, out of all of us, is best fit to perform. So get up, stop moping about things you cannot change, and start working on things you can."

Chapter Text

When Jenkins and Ezekiel joined the others, Baird had already finished briefing them on the new situation. To Ezekiel, it felt like three pairs of suspicious eyes turned his way, but then Cassandra smiled and beckoned him over.

"So what's the plan, oh great detective? Find the necklace or find the thief?"

"Both, preferably," said Baird dryly. She caught a look from Cassandra and sighed, closing her eyes in resignation. "Okay, fine, whatever."

"She's just cranky 'cause Flynn's away," muttered Stone as the Colonel stalked over to her desk.

"I heard that!" Baird called back over her shoulder.

"We need to make a timeline of everything we did, especially when we were on our own," said Ezekiel, ignoring Baird. "It has to be one of us. We're the only ones that came into contact with the book."

"I didn't come into contact with it," said Cassandra, raising a hand. "I barely even saw it."

"You didn't come into contact with the dream catcher either," Jenkins reminded her. "And Mr Stone didn't even happen to be in the room when the Quill activated, to say nothing of all those people at the restaurant who appeared to be affected."

"Whoever took it will have no recollection of doing so," explained Ezekiel. "The whole basis of the Moonstone solution is hypnosis. In the book, the thief was observed by his intended, who shielded him until someone finally worked out the only possibility and they confirmed their theory by making the guy relive that night exactly. We can't do that, so we need to look for any chunks of missing time that cannot be otherwise accounted for."

"Well, I was with you, until Baird came and got you," Cassandra pointed out, "which only rules me out up until then, I guess, but surely it rules you out completely? I mean, Baird was only a few seconds behind you. That's not enough time..."

"I lost him in the crowd," cut in Baird from her desk. "And since none of us knows how the necklace was stolen, exactly, none of us know how long it took to steal it."

"Well, it wasn't taken before they came to take it into that strong room," said Stone. "I had eyes on it right up until they put the red cloth over it."

"If you could get into and out of the strong room without being seen, it would have been easy enough to remove from its case," shrugged Ezekiel. "I know how I would have done it, but even with Baird losing track of me in the crowd I don't think I'd have had the time to steal it that way."

"I wouldn't know where to start..." Cassandra pulled a face.

"Like you didn't know how to make up iambic pentameter on the spot?" Jenkins suggested. Cassandra pulled another face in agreement.

"Let's go write our timelines anyway," said Stone, his eyes studying the pattern of the floor in thought. "See what that turns up."

Ezekiel watched his friends turn to their own workspaces and settle down. Baird was way ahead of them already. He thought for a moment.

"Jenkins I'm going to need..." Ezekiel turned to see his new mentor wheeling in the chalkboard from his lab.

"Something to collate the details on?" Jenkins asked, handing him the chalk and duster. "Feel free."

Drawing up the timeline with his details added took almost as much time as it took everyone else to return with their own details. Cassandra's was the least vague about timings: apparently having a photographic memory coupled to a brain grape was like having your very own personal stopwatch, and it was always on.

"I think we can rule you out," grinned Ezekiel as they got to the end of the litany of minutes and seconds. "That just leaves the four of us."

"I've been here the whole time, as far as I'm aware," said Jenkins. He stepped forward and made some marks on the board. "In my lab from when you left until when you returned, with the exception of my tea break."

"I can't see how this is helping," groaned Stone. "The only one of us who couldn't possibly have taken it is Cassie, and, besides Jenkins, she's the one with the greatest opportunity!"

"Hey!" Cassandra cried indignantly.

"What?" Jacob grinned back.

Ezekiel looked at the board. It could have been him, he thought. The time was there, if he could have got to the box before it was taken in to the strong room. The same could be said of Baird and Stone though, not to mention Jenkins. The board really only ruled out Cassandra, as Stone had pointed out.

"We should go back there," he said, rubbing his chin in thought. "The auction should be finished by now. There'll be fewer people."

"Might be more police," warned Baird.

"That's okay: they haven't got my picture there yet," Ezekiel grinned back.

As it turned out, both of them were right. The unsuccessful buyers had long since departed the auction house, and only a few successful ones remained to finalise their purchases. The police were much more evident and distant flashes through the clouded glass of the main doors to the hall spoke of gossip-hungry journalists outside.

"We are not going out there!" Baird hissed a warning before the five, now including Jenkins, descended the staircase.

"This really is a beautiful piece of architecture," commented Jenkins on the way down. "It makes such an elegant use of the dimensions of the room."

"Robert Adam," murmured Stone in agreement. "Scottish architect. Eighteenth Century. Had a big impact."

"Indeed," nodded Jenkins. "And such a humble man too. He always felt he was in the shadow of his father and brothers, you know. Have you ever been to Culzean Castle?"

Stone, bereft of speech, merely shook his head.

"You really should visit some time," the old man told him. "So much to see there. Wonderful staircase there too."

"I'll do that," Stone managed in strangled tones.

"Okay, we need to walk through everything we all did, starting with you and Stone," Jones told Baird. "Where did you go first? How did you find the necklace? All of that."

It was clear from her expression that Colonel Eve Baird was not used to taking orders from ex-thieves, but she straightened her shoulders and pointed in the direction of the room she and Stone had tried first.

"This way," she said, leading the group through the room in question, and the one beyond, with a concise summary of all she had seen.

Now and then, Stone added details to her descriptions of the many glass cases and their contents, but there was no noticeable difference in their accounts. They stopped by the wall where the necklace and its case had been.

"As soon as we found it, I headed off in search of you," Baird finished.

"I stayed here, maybe five minutes," Stone continued. "Then they started covering the boxes and taking them in. They did the row over there first," he indicated the far wall with a wave of his hand, "then these. As soon as they covered it, I went looking for you too. We collided and you know the rest."

"That sounds about right time-wise," Baird shrugged. "It took me a few minutes to find you, then you were out of sight for maybe another two minutes while I pushed through the crowd."

"That just leaves you," said Stone with a sneer. "You keep telling us how fast you are. How long did it take you to get through here?"

"A couple of minutes, maybe, but I can't be sure," admitted Ezekiel.

"Why don't Mr Jones and I go through to the other room," said Jenkins. "Colonel Baird can make her way through at the pace she thinks she used earlier when I call her cell. I'll start a timer. She can collect Mr Jones and they can both return at the appropriate speeds. You call me when they get there and I stop the timer. Agreed?"

Following a chorus of nods and grumbled assents, Jones and Jenkins hurried off. A minute and change later, Baird's cell phone rang and she answered with a curt "on my way" before heading off at a sedate pace, weaving through imaginary crowds. Soon, she was out of sight.

"What is going on with you?" Cassandra hissed, turning to Jacob and leaning back against the wall, her brow furrowed in confusion. "You can't seriously think Ezekiel would steal the necklace, then not own up if he worked it out?"

"It's not like it would be that out of character," he shrugged, leaning sideways beside her.

"Then why not just ask him," she argued. "If you asked him outright, and he knew surely he'd tell you then."

"I can't say," shrugged Jacob.

"That's not an answer," she told him, raising her voice slightly. "Ezekiel's earned more from you than just a gut reaction to the fact he was a thief before the Library."

"He was a thief long after too," he scoffed. "Probably still is."

"That's not fair!" Cassandra's voice was definitely louder now. "Either give me a clear cut, logical reason for talking to him like that!"

"I can't tell you!" Jacob's voice rose to meet hers.

"Not good enough!" Cassandra said sternly. "Try again."

"I... I can't tell you!" Jacob threw up his hands in frustration. "I actually cannot tell you!"

"What? You still don't trust me?" Cassandra's voice rose further in disbelief. "After everything we've been through already?"

"No... I do... I just... I can't..." He dragged a hand through his hair and sighed. "Ah, dammit!"

Before she could say anything else, Cassandra found her face cupped in his hands, his lips pressed hard to hers. Before she could recover from the shock, he was gone. She put a hand out to the wall behind her to steady herself, her thoughts turning inward as Jones, then Baird hurried into the room.

"We think we know what happened," said Baird, oblivious to the distracted look on Cassandra's face.

"Jacob took it," she replied, not looking up. "He's under a spell... Again."

"How did you..." Baird trailed off.

"He kissed me," Cassandra shrugged, looking up with a shy smile.

"The guy does not have to be under a spell to want to kiss you, you know," grinned Ezekiel. "What makes you think..."

"Take my word for it," she said, meeting the young man's gaze with her jaw set. "I know."

Cassandra looked over to Baird to find her watching her with narrowed eyes.

"You'd know if it was Flynn, wouldn't you," the redhead shrugged.

Baird seemed to consider this for a moment. "Fair enough," she said slowly. "How do we get him out of this one, then?"

"In the book, the story ended with the finding of the stone," said Ezekiel. "I say we work out where he hid the thing, then get it somewhere safe. Maybe that will break the hypnosis."

"Confronting him about it directly might help," suggested Cassandra as Jenkins joined them. "He was fighting it's hold on him. That's why... He couldn't tell me what was going on, when I asked him why he was being odd. It seemed like something was actually stopping him owning up, even though he'd worked it out and wanted to."

"I think both of those need to start with actually finding him," said Baird. "Which way did he go?"

"Umm..." Cassandra looked up at the ceiling, frowning in feigned thought and blushing profusely.

"Okay," sighed Eve. "Been there, done that, know the feeling. Jones, you and Cassandra head through to the hall and back to the office just in case. Jenkins, I believe you're with me."

"As what? Your antiques expert?" Jenkins quipped sardonically as the other two sped off in the direction of the stairs.

"That'll do," shrugged Baird, taking him at his word and blatantly ignoring the sigh and rolled eyes that followed.

"Want to tell me how you knew it was Stone just from a kiss?" Ezekiel piped up as soon as the others were out of sight.

"You first," she replied. "How did you and Baird figure it out?"

"The timings fitted," Ezekiel shrugged. "The only person with the opportunity to take the necklace, other than, possibly, Jenkins, was the person closest. That was Stone. We figured we would have spotted Jenkins, even in this tweed coated and bow-tied lot, or at least somebody, or some camera, would have."

"Sounds logical enough," Cassandra admitted.

"Your turn," grinned the unabashed young man.

"Hmm," she grumbled, grimacing. She was probably going to regret this. "When we were talking on the stairs before," she began, "he said something about giving him a warning next time I felt like kissing him. When he kissed me it was the last thing I expected him to do. No warning at all. Just like the kiss we'd joked about earlier, when we were both under a spell."

"Okay," said Ezekiel slowly. "But that still doesn't..."

"Then it dawned on me what had been bugging me about him today," she continued.

"Right," Ezekiel cast his mind back over the day's many events.

"I have this thing, with the synaesthesia and the brain grape, that means I link memories and emotions to smells. Usually breakfast."

"Okay."

"And you remember how my brain figured out we were in a labyrinth before the rest of me did?"

"Yes."

"So my brain takes in all the sensory evidence from all around me and processes it, without me actually having to think about it."

"Following you so far."

"It does that for Jacob," Cassandra stopped. They were half way up the stairs. "It knows the sound of his footsteps, his voice, even at a distance, the books he reads, everything. And when it senses him, it triggers a memory response."

"Which one?" Ezekiel frowned with a smile.

"The first one," Cassandra smiled back. "The first time Jacob helped me through my hallucinations we were at the henge in the Black Forest."

"I was stealing a helicopter, sort of," he recalled.

"Right," she nodded. "I used my synaesthesia to work out where the crown was hidden, but I spiralled and Jacob helped me out of it. He grounded me. And the smell that the hallucinations brought on was the smell of summer, and oranges. Ever since then, increasingly so, that's what I smell when my brain knows he's around."

"How does this...?"

"I didn't smell summer. All day, since that book arrived, I haven't been able to tell he's there. I could before. When he thought I didn't know and he walked away? That's how I knew. After that, I couldn't. Not even when he was right there in front of me on the stairs, or later in the bookshelves when he came over to sit with me. And especially not when he kissed me."

"But maybe if you knew he was there..."

"It's been there every time whether I knew he was there or not."

Ezekiel looked thoughtful for a moment and they continued climbing the stairs in companionable silence. They were about to open the door back to the office when he froze, a thought striking him.

"Did you say he came over to you in the bookshelves?"

"After we got back from the auction, yes," Cassandra nodded. "We went upstairs and started out looking out books for research. I found one and went and sat down to read it. He joined me later."

"The guy who probably knows every ancient artwork book in that place took longer to find one than you," said Ezekiel, grinning again, "and you don't think that's weird?"

"He hid the necklace in the books!" Cassandra cried. "How did I miss that!"

"Come on!"

They raced through the door and up the stairs, ransacking the shelves in the area Cassandra pointed out. It took Ezekiel barely a minute to find the necklace, inexpertly hidden in a vase.

"Now all we need is our thief," he laughed, texting the news to Baird and Jenkins. "Piece of cake!"

They found Jacob standing in Jenkins' lab, looking down at the palimpsest that had caused all their problems that day. Baird and Jenkins hadn't quite caught up with them yet, but they exchanged a glance and decided to go ahead with the plan anyway.

"Hey, cowboy!" Ezekiel called across the room, holding up the necklace. "Look what we found!"

Jacob's eyes swung round to them, lighted on the necklace and glazed over. He hit the floor before they were even halfway across the room.

"Should have seen that coming!" Ezekiel berated himself. "Blake does exactly the same in the book once he's shown them how he stole the diamond."

"Does he wake up?" Cassandra's voice shook as she asked the question.

"Oh yeah, he's just been dosed with laudanum. He comes round again the next morning. Face to face with his intended, actually, so..."

"Do not finish that sentence, Ezekiel," Cassandra warned, her eyes still on the sleeping figure on the floor. She leant forward and kissed his forehead. "Stubborn idiot," she muttered.

"Jones?" Baird's voice echoed through the corridors to the lab.

"In here!" Ezekiel called back.

"What did you do?" Baird remonstrated as she caught sight of Stone, unconscious on the floor.

"Saved the day, of course," Ezekiel beamed.

"He passed out when the spell lifted," Cassandra explained patiently. "We tried to catch him. We missed. He'll come round."

"You planning on leaving him there?"

"Wasn't planning on trying to move him by myself," Ezekiel winced at the thought. He hated heavy lifting of any kind. Trying to lift a guy almost twice his size fell dead centre into that category.

"He'll be fine," said Cassandra, dreamily, settling herself more comfortably on the floor. "I'll stay."

"I..." Eve caught Ezekiel's look and closed her mouth.

"I'll get a couple of blankets and pillows," said Jenkins from the doorway. "It gets cold in here, especially later."

The three shuffled out of the room, Ezekiel holding the closed box with its spellbound contents in one hand, and Brisinga-men in the other. He wordlessly passed the items to Jenkins and turned towards the exit. It had been a long day. He hadn't stopped for lunch. Somewhere, out there, was a pepperoni pizza with his name on it, and extra cheese.

Chapter Text

Eve Baird stood outside the annex doors, arms folded across her chest, enjoying the feeling of sunshine on her face. The spring was giving way to summer and the weather was growing warmer every day, more or less. She breathed in deeply and sighed a sigh of peace and contentment. Almost two weeks had passed since their day of playing amateur detective. Two weeks of simple, straightforward cases, or no cases at all. Two weeks of Cassandra and Jacob actually talking to each other like civilised human beings, without any more fall outs or arguments. No other developments either, but at least one of them seemed to be willing to admit their feelings now, if only to everyone except the one person they really needed to tell. Eve could understand Cassandra's reticence. Although the two had been back to being on speaking terms, there was still a shy awkwardness that hovered around them sometimes, like they weren't yet completely back to being comfortable around each other. At other times, they were so unconsciously close that Eve thought it was a miracle they didn't trip over each other.

She jumped as two arms snaked around her waist and pulled her close. Realisation dawned quickly and she relaxed back against Flynn.

"You came back alive then," she murmured.

"Always," he whispered back, kissing her ear. Then adding, by way of explanation: "I love you."

"I should hope so too," she smiled, closing her eyes and drinking in the peace and perfect harmony of the moment. All too soon it was going to pass. All too soon she would have to break it. All too soon, she would have to ask him.

They stood in peaceful silence, enjoying the time alone, the sunshine, the morning. Up on the road, a lone car roared past, breaking the moment. Eve smiled, glad that she hadn't had to do it. But her eyes remained sad. What she had to do next would hurt her, even now, but like any piece of sticking plaster, it had to be ripped off, and ripped off quickly. She felt Flynn's arms tighten round her for a moment, and his breath was warm against her cheek.

"Ask me," he murmured into her ear.

She took a deep breath. It had to be now.

"What did you find out?"

"I looked at it from every angle," said Flynn, his voice low and quiet, soothing. "There may well have been magic involved, in fact I'm almost certain there was, but whatever did happen, there is no trace of him now."

"You're sure?" Eve asked, turning her head to the side to glance round at her lover. "He's definitely dead?"

"As sure as I, or anyone for that matter, can be," Flynn assured her. "It looks exactly as you described: like a bomb went off in the middle of the street. If, as you say, there was nothing at the central point of the explosion, then it does suggest magic was used. Whether it was or it wasn't though... An explosion that big: nobody could have survived that."

Eve swallowed down the tears that were threatening. She had done her mourning years ago, back when the possibility of magical interference had not even considered crossing her mind. Her encounter with her brother-in-law, however, had reopened old wounds, and had raised new possibilities. Everyone had thought Johnny was mad when he started raving about magic and monsters. Now Eve knew better. Not that she'd ever tell him though. She turned in Flynn's arms and looked up at him. He held her gaze solemnly. It was so rare to see him serious that she just took a moment to commit the sight to memory, letting her fingers tangle in the edges of his dust-stained collarless shirt.

"He's gone," said Flynn softly. "You're free."

"I'm not," she breathed. "I'm free from my first marriage, maybe, but I'm not free." She watched as a look of confusion crossed his face. Reaching up, she turned his face to hers, looking him directly in the eyes. "I haven't been for a while. I don't think I will be again."

He stared at her, reading her thoughts in her features. A smile spread across his face like light over the ocean at sunrise. Taking both her hands in his, he stepped back and sank slowly to one knee.

"In that case, Eve Baird," he said, fishing a small box out of his pocket, "would you do me the honour of starting your second marriage with me."

"I love you," she gulped, dragging him back to his feet. "I've never loved anyone the way I love you. I can't imagine a day not loving you."

"Is that a yes, then?" Flynn smiled, wrapping his arms around her again.

"Of course it's a yes!" Eve laughed. "Now give me that darn ring, Librarian!"

Ezekiel slowed to a halt as he turned the final corner that led through the tunnels to the outer door of the annex. The intertwining figures silhouetted in the doorway were indistinct, but unmistakable. For a start, he'd left Stone and Cassandra in the office when Jenkins sent him to fetch the Colonel. That meant the other figure could only be their oft-absent senior colleague, Flynn. He was back then.

Fully aware that he could sneak up on the lovers and announce his presence on the opposite side of them from the door, if he chose, Ezekiel backtracked, casually stepping out of sight behind the bend in the wall, and back a little further. He started whistling. He knew these tunnels. He'd hidden in them from one or more of the others many times. He knew exactly how much sound echoed and bounced around and up to the outside world, especially with the doors open. Sure enough, by the time he reached the corner, Eve and Flynn had broken apart and were making their way towards him.

"You're sounding very cheerful today, Jones," said Eve, smiling much brighter than she had for a long time.

"We have a case, Colonel," Ezekiel replied. "You might like this one: you might get the opportunity to shoot something!"

"You make me sound so violent, Jones!" Eve smiled sweetly. A little too sweetly for Ezekiel's liking.

"Must be all those broken bones you keep threatening me with," grinned the young man.

"Hmm," said Baird, raising her eyebrows as she watched him turn and precede them down the corridor at a rapid, yet walking, pace.

"You know he didn't seem very surprised to see me..." Flynn muttered thoughtfully, head on one side.

Eve's smile flickered at her fiancé's comment, then warmed again. "Oh, that boy is far too sneaky!"

The other four were all crowded around the desk when they walked in, Jenkins hovering possessively over the clippings book and everyone watching the door, the three junior Librarians all from his other side.

"Mr Carsen!" Jenkins smiled brightly before anyone else could comment. "How nice to have you back! I dare say, with you around, these ragamuffins will not be bothering me quite so much for this case!"

Flynn opened his mouth to reply then shut it again with a frown in Cassandra's direction. The eyes were wide and the hands flapping about in front of her as if she'd just eaten the world's hottest chilli. He was half sure he'd actually heard her squeak. She was certainly getting a strange look from Jacob. Beside him, Flynn heard Eve burst out laughing, and felt her arm unlink from his. This time it was Eve the redhead cannoned into, enveloping in a huge hug, then demanding to get a closer look at the ring.

Light dawned on the three confused males all at once, and they hurried over to congratulate the couple and shake their hands.

Even Jenkins was in a better mood when they all eventually returned to the book. The article this time was an advertisement for an archery fayre. It promised a display of mediaeval longbows in action, archery lessons for all ages and levels, games, stalls, opportunities to try on mediaeval costumes and, as the highlight of the day, the European Longbow Championship final. All of this was set to take place in the buildings and gardens of York Museum, York, England.

"You'll love it, I promise," Jenkins told Stone. "You at least will appreciate what they're trying to do there. I find they do get a bit annoyed if you correct them too much though."

"Well, I guess there's no substitute for actually living through a time," Stone nodded, ready, this time, for the old man's allusion to his own extended life span.

"Mr Stone, you wouldn't be trying to work out my age, would you?" Jenkins smiled in mock offence. "How very ungallant of you!"

Jacob Stone sighed and shook his head, grinning at the ceiling as Jenkins carried a small pile of books over from the lower bookshelves and his own desk. The books hit the central desk with a soft thud, and Jenkins began passing them out.

"We don't know what we're going to find here," he said, "but we know we've come across people using magic to win competitions before, however unknowingly. There are plenty of possibilities in an archery competition, though, so it might be worthwhile to know what to look out for."

"Robin Hood's bow?" Ezekiel piped up.

"Well, yes, maybe," Jenkins nodded, giving the idea serious consideration. "But there are plenty of famous bowmen, and women, throughout history. England itself, once upon a time, was indeed famed for having the best longbowmen in the known world."

"Not just history, but mythology too," added Flynn. "Most cultures have at least one archer god, goddess or hero. The Norse have Ullr, the Chinese have Houyi, then there's Karna - a hero from Hindu mythology - and Shiva - a god. Not to mention the dozen or so from Greco-Roman mythologies."

"Indeed!" Jenkins nodded. "Cupid; Diana, or Artemis to the Greeks; Apollo; Atalanta; Heracles, or Hercules to the Romans; and that's just for starters!

"What if it isn't a bow we're looking for?" Cassandra asked. "You said it yourself: it could be anything."

"Unfortunately 'anything' isn't in the card catalogue," Jenkins sighed. "Archers are. We start with the archers. Once we've ruled them out, then we worry about all the other possibilities." He waved his hands at them irritably. "Go do research! Find out about mythological or famous archers. I'll set up the door for you and come get you when I'm done."

Jacob Stone, Cassandra Cillian and Ezekiel Jones sat among the bookshelves upstairs. Cassandra had had to be dragged away from an increasingly girly conversation with Eve about wedding venues and dresses and receptions and flowers and dresses and shoes and hair and dresses... Eventually Jacob had given up trying to drop subtle hints and lifted the younger woman off her feet entirely, turning her round and shepherding her, with Ezekiel's highly amused help, towards the stairs. They each had one or more of the books Jenkins had given out, plus a scattering of others those had led to, beside them on the floor.

"So this is where you two have been disappearing to," Ezekiel mused, putting down his latest volume and looking around him and over to the niche in the wall opposite. Cassandra, as was her custom, was sitting side on in the niche itself, her back against one side and her feet resting on the side opposite. Jacob was seated on the floor below the niche, his back to the wall, legs straight out in front of him and ankles crossed. Ezekiel, sitting cross-legged with his back at a bookcase end, thought the cowboy reminded him of a guard dog sitting sentinel in front of its home.

"We haven't been disappearing," Stone muttered without looking up. "We've been working. It's that thing we get paid for."

"Really? That's what that money is for?" Ezekiel grinned. "There was me thinking the world had just decided to give in and finally pay me for gracing the planet with my awesomeness!"

"You could have joined us any time," said Cassandra. One look at Stone's face told Ezekiel the historian didn't agree with that statement.

"I wouldn't have dared," smiled the ex-thief slyly, earning himself a glare from both parties. "You two are so much better at this books stuff."

"It's a library, you're a librarian," said Stone, waving a hand at the bookshelves. "You can't expect to avoid books forever! No more than you can expect to walk up here and have the right book just fall into your lap!"

He knew he shouldn't have said it. The Library had chosen Jones as much as it had him. A statement like that was almost as direct as a dare. He groaned audibly as a book landed beside the boy. The Library was taking sides now. Great!

Chapter Text

When Jenkins called everyone back to the door, the only person carrying any evidence of research was Cassandra, notebook in hand.

"And what exactly were you two doing?" Baird asked folding her arms and looking expectantly at the two men.

"All up here," said Jones, tapping his head.

"I didn't actually find anything I didn't already know, so..." Stone shrugged

"I just don't like having to rely on my memory," Cassandra chipped in with an apologetic shrug. "Not for lots of facts like this."

The Colonel rolled her eyes and held out her hand to Flynn, turning to face the door. Together they stepped forward and pulled the double doors open to reveal a dark, dusty room. Frowning slightly, they led the way, the other three following like ducklings, into the dry, dingy room. Flynn looked around him, then back at the door, which had swung closed now to give the appearance of a single door into a broom cupboard.

"Never going to get used to that," he muttered, dusting down his dust-covered jacket.

"Where are we?" Cassandra muttered in distaste.

"Museum storeroom," everyone else answered in coincidental chorus.

Cassandra turned and looked at each of them in turn. Eve looked slightly smug, but she hadn't stopped looking like that since walking through the office doors with Flynn on her arm an hour or so ago. Flynn was wincing in sympathy, Ezekiel was grinning with unconcealed amusement and Stone was shuffling his feet and watching the little swirls of dust that spiralled up. Cassandra folded her arms and raised an eyebrow at them expectantly.

"I once tracked down a cache of missiles being smuggled into the country as archaeological finds," said Eve, holding up a hand.

"It's kinda in my job description," offered Flynn.

"It's so much easier to steal stuff not on display," admitted Ezekiel.

Silence.

Everyone turned to Stone. Noticing the lengthening silence, he looked up. He reluctantly caught on to their silent questions.

"Old girlfriend worked in one," he muttered with a shrug.

Flynn and Eve's eyes flicked surreptitiously from Stone to Cassandra to each other then back to Cassandra. Ezekiel, standing behind Stone in full view of the redhead, didn't even bother trying to hide his grin. Cassandra threw him a bored look while Stone studied the dust.

"Okay, let's go find this artefact," said Baird, interrupting the non-verbal argument going on between Cassandra and Ezekiel whenever Stone was looking elsewhere. Following Flynn, she shepherded her three charges out into the light.

There were people all over the room they walked into, although it was by no means crowded, but none of them looking their way. All of them were engrossed in the various museum displays lining the walls and in the centre of the room.

"If you're about to tell us to look for something really old..." Ezekiel began.

"Actually, I was about to suggest I do the rounds in here," said Flynn. "Eve, why don't you take Jacob and check out the archery displays and competitions. Ezekiel and Cassandra can have a look round the various stalls."

"Don't steal anything!" Baird warned Jones, pointing to the hall door before anyone could protest Flynn's suggestions.

"You know, if you're that worried about..." Jacob started.

"Surely you'd be better able to..." Cassandra began at the same time.

Colonel Baird folded her arms and raised an eyebrow at Cassandra. With a muttered apology, the younger woman hurried after Jones. When Baird looked back round to Stone, she caught him watching the disappearing fiery hair thoughtfully. Shaking her head, she felt Flynn brush a kiss against her cheek and whisper that he would meet them outside later. By the time she had turned, he'd vanished.

"So," she said, looking back round to Stone, "let's go find us some archers."

"Where shall we start?" Cassandra asked as she and Ezekiel came to a halt in front of the museum colonnade. Before them, the gardens sloped down to a tall half timbered building near the river, with gardens of its own laid out among the ruins of an older, less well weathered, part of the building. To their right were the ruins of a church. To their left were other ruins of what looked like part of the city wall. A wooden signpost pointed the way to the various activities on offer.

"I say we try out the interactive exhibition on mediaeval life in the hospitium," replied Ezekiel, smiling. "Who knows what old stuff they've got lying around there, and for anyone to play with too!"

"You know if there's the slightest hint of anything going missing here, Baird will probably dangle you over the balcony by your ankles for a while, then sort through what falls out."

"Hand on my heart," said Ezekiel, suiting the gesture to the words, "if there is the slightest hint of anything going missing here it will not be because of me."

"Glad to hear it," Cassandra nodded.

"If it was," he continued, his grin broadening, "it wouldn't be something that would cause a slight hint: it would be a massive outcry of sheer amazement!"

Cassandra sighed, but couldn't help the smile that invaded her features as she followed her friend down the hill to the half-timbered building at the bottom. As they drew nearer, they could see people entering and leaving the building from a door on the upper level, the half-timbered level, that was joined to the ground by a simple wooden staircase. Others came and went by the door on the lower, stonewalled, level. Ezekiel dragged a coin out of his pocket.

"Heads we go up, tails we stay down," he suggested. Cassandra nodded and watched as he flipped the coin. "Tails it is!"

They climbed the few steps to the great age-blackened oak door and found themselves in a large hall filled with tables and stalls. Some stalls held everyday, ordinary, craft fair items. Etched wood, turned wood, crochet, felt work, knitting, needlepoint, wool craft. Other stalls, tended by costumed vendors, brought the mediaeval into the marketplace. There was a large stall at one end, filled with herbs and spices, with an apothecary's sign hanging above it. Another stall appeared to be run by an actual cobbler. Beside the cobbler, a woman was busily making leather purses. On the other side of the hall, a woman was explaining to a small group the history of the building they were standing in. Beside the group was a stall selling traditionally made candles. Scattered around the room were various, simple tabletop games. Their eyes flitted from table to table, stall to stall, as they made their way around the room. For once it wasn't just Ezekiel who was looking up too though.

"Y'know, this would make a lovely wedding venue," Cassandra mused.

"For Baird or for you?" Ezekiel asked easily, receiving an elbow in the ribs for his trouble.

"Ooh, look! There's the clothing display!" Cassandra said suddenly, and headed off to the corner of the room opposite where they had entered.

Ezekiel followed at a more sedate pace. When he caught up, Cassandra was already admiring a long flowing gown with a square neckline and sleeves that followed the usual shape until the elbow, then flared out into a opening almost as wide as the sleeve was long. Waist, neckline and arms were bound by a braid of pattered damask, and the back was pulled in with long lacing from one side to the other. The sign by the stall invited visitors to ask to try on the items of their choice, and perhaps hire them for the day.

"How do you know we won't just walk off with them?" Ezekiel asked the proprietor.

"There are only so many ways into or out of this park," the woman smiled. "There are people on every one to collect tickets and fees, and to make sure that doesn't happen."

Not quite every one, thought the thief.

"Can I try this one on?" Cassandra asked, pointing at the dress she had been admiring.

"Bit long for you, isn't it?" Ezekiel remarked, his eyebrows up as he surveyed the collection.

"Oh, I'm sure it'll fit you perfectly," said the dressmaker to Cassandra, ignoring Ezekiel and missing entirely the point of his comment.

"Okay, but blue's more her colour," Ezekiel persisted. "Anything like it in blue?"

The woman sighed and exchanged a look with Cassandra. She bustled off to the back of the stall and brought out an identical dress, the main part of which was a medium indigo blue, the sleeves a light blue and the braid and laces a very pale blue.

"Perfect!" Ezekiel grinned. "Go try it on. I'll wait here."

Cassandra took the dress and disappeared into a small changing room behind the stall, emerging shortly afterwards enveloped in the voluminous garment. The wide skirt hem and sleeves made her waist look even smaller than usual. The colour brought out her eyes and both Ezekiel and the dressmaker felt it necessary to say so.

"We'll hire it for the day," smiled Cassandra, picking up the matching cloth bag that now held her own clothes.

"We?" Jones raised an eyebrow.

"You chose it," she reminded him. "And you're carrying our share of spending money."

Grumbling half-heartedly, Ezekiel paid the dressmaker and turned back to Cassandra.

"Next stop: upstairs," he said. "Are you going to be able to climb stairs without breaking your neck in that thing?"

The archery was being held in the ruined foundations of St Mary's Abbey, which ran alongside the side of the museum, from the edge of the gardens down to the two and a half ruined walls of the abbey church. A series of targets in various states of perforation had been set up in front of high-stacked bales of hay and a display of high speed bowmanship was taking place. The crowd mostly came and went, but some remained with an engrossed look of fascination on their faces. On the opposite side from the crowd, a marquee and series of stools housed the championship competitors not taking part in the current display. Stone nodded his head in the direction of the tent and Baird followed him over.

"Can I help you?"

Stone froze, his hand halfway to the doorway of the marquee. He looked round to see a dark haired woman, with dark eyes and tanned skin, watching him. She was also holding a gracefully curving shortbow but not, thankfully, pointing it at anyone.

"We're the Librarians," said Stone automatically. Behind him Baird turned her eyes skyward and silently started counting. She got to three. "We're just here to get some background research for our mediaeval weaponry section."

"It's competitors only in here, I'm afraid," said the woman, standing her ground. She spun the bow in her fingers like a cheerleader's baton, giving Stone the distinct impression it could quite easily spin his way at any given moment.

"I can't help noticing that ain't exactly a longbow," he said, pointing at the rotating article.

"I'm not a competitor," she replied. "I don't take part in the rat race, I just organise things, stand back, watch and judge. Accuracy is all well and good, but at this level sometimes picking the winners takes a bit more... Finesse. I'm Erin, by the way."

"Jacob Stone," said Stone, shaking Erin's hand and turning to introduce Baird. "My colleague, Colonel Eve Baird. Perhaps you could help us then?"

"I thought I already was?" Erin replied with a smile.

"Can we step inside the tent?" Baird cut in.

"I'd rather not," said Erin. "I hate breaking the rules."

"Okay..." Baird frowned slightly, then recovered. "We have reason to believe that one of your competitors is using... unusual... methods to win."

"Cheating?" Erin's eyebrows rose. "If they are, they'll soon wish they hadn't!"

"Do you have any idea how a longbow archer would go about doing that?" Baird asked.

"None," Erin shook her head. "I know nothing of cheating: I've never had to in my life!"

"How long have you been organising this competition?" Baird continued her interrogation.

"Oh, many years now," she replied. "Too many to remember!"

"You ever compete?"

"Not for a long time," Erin shook her head. "I thought it would be a good idea to give everyone else a shot at winning for a change."

"You used to win these things?" Stone asked, inclining his head towards the archery ground.

"I never miss," she replied with a smile.

Chapter Text

The upper level of the hospitium had been set up as a mediaeval hall, with long trestle tables along either wall and a dais at the far end supporting a group of minstrels. The music jangled strangely in Cassandra's ears. She had managed the stairs with the minimum of tripping, once she'd got the skirt of her gown out of the way. She may have been inelegant, but at least she'd got there! Now, in front of her, in the clear space between the tables, costumed dancers flitted, much more elegantly, back and forth. She watched how the ladies held the trailing fabric away from their feet as they danced. She would have to practise that.

"I'm hungry," said Ezekiel beside her, ignoring the dancers in favour of the freshly baked bread being passed around, along with something in wooden bowls. "Let's have some lunch!"

"You're always hungry," muttered Cassandra, allowing herself to be led to one of the trestle tables. She seated herself on the end of the bench, unsure how to get both legs and skirts over a midpoint without doing herself or someone nearby an injury.

"You know, you could have gone for the peasant costume," Ezekiel grinned, easily stepping over the bench and seating himself beside her.

"I am an intelligent woman, Ezekiel," she snapped. "I can work out how to deal with a long skirt."

"Really? When was the last time you wore one?"

Cassandra ignored him and turned to face the musicians on the dais. She closed her eyes and listened as the music changed and the crowd quietened. Her hallucinations had always caused her to hear musical notes when there were none, but her synaesthesia also allowed her to see them when they were there. As the tune built, each new instrument taking its place in the melody, new shapes and colours filled her vision. The bowed strings were there from the start, bouncing across the middle of her vision in a rough edged line of egg yolk yellow for the higher ones and a similar but thicker line of rust brown for the lower ones. The lute popped into view as isolated dots of bright leaf green, dancing up and down with the pitch of the note. The pipes, high and clear, drew a sinuous blue-white line across the top of her vision, starting from the opposite side to the strings as were the musicians playing them. The drum beat joined in from the centre of the bottom of her view, like a heartbeat, rippling outward in two concentric semicircles of burnt orange. The music ended to rapturous applause, filling her vision like prolonged sheet lightning. She blinked and shook her head, looking back round to the table and Ezekiel, who was busily devouring a bowl of stew with a wooden spoon and what looked like half a small loaf of white bread.

"This is good, you should try some," he mumbled, noticing that she had turned round again. "The bread is called pandemain, made traditionally of course, although it's not what people of our station would usually eat, it's what the rich would eat. The upper classes. The middle classes would be more likely to be eating something called wastrel, which was made from less finely milled flour, but that's really difficult to get in the quantities they need it for these things. The poorer you were, the coarser the flour. Only the poor ate brown bread. They used it as bowls too. Called it a trencher. Wooden bowls were more often used for mixing than eating out of by them. We'd have been drinking weak beer then too, not water."

"When did you find this out?" Cassandra frowned with a smile, breaking off a chunk of the bread and dipping it in the stew.

"Our table's serving wench told me while you were listening to that cacophony," he said with a smug grin. "Took quite a shine to me I think."

"You only think?" Cassandra asked innocently.

"Well, she didn't give me her number, but she did tell me what time she would be finished here," he explained.

The stew was good, as was the bread, but Cassandra wasn't quite as hungry as Ezekiel and he ended up finishing her portion too. When she was quite sure he was done, she stood up and lifted the hem of her skirts slightly off the floor, as she had watched the dancers doing.

"Come on then," she said, looking down at him. "Baird will be wondering where we've got to and it's time I had another go at stairs in this."

"And I'm sure it's just Baird you're worrying about," smirked Ezekiel as he rose and extricated himself from the table.

Flynn wandered out of the museum. It had all been very interesting, a couple of misplaced or mislabelled items, but on the whole very interesting, but there had been nothing that would suggest anything even remotely magical. He looked around, then up at the signpost. Picking a direction, he headed over towards the archery. It seemed the first round of the final was underway. So many archers, from all across the globe, were taking part, and the space so limited, that they could only compete in groups of five. He spotted Eve's pale golden hair and made his way over to her.

"Where's Stone?" Flynn frowned, appearing at her elbow and making her jump.

"Stop doing that!" Eve hissed. "He's off getting a list of the competitors from Ms O'Shea's assistant."

"Ms O'Shea being the organiser?"

"And one of the judges, apparently."

"So unlikely to be using a magical artefact to help her win then?"

"We think so, she seemed genuinely outraged enough that I feel sorry for whoever we do catch."

Flynn considered this, nodding his head. "That's assuming," he said, "that the artefact in question is being used to win the competition. If it's one of the other events..."

"Got it!" Stone interrupted, pushing his way through the crowd to join them. "There are twenty archers involved in the final day of the competition. Each archer has won a regional, then national competition, then a quarter-final and semi-final."

"So the best of the best then," stated Baird. "And we have all twenty of them to get through before this is over."

"Maybe not," said Stone. "Apparently, the way this thing has been organised, this final isn't really the final, not yet."

"Meaning what?"

"The archers compete at four distances," he explained. "After each distance, the judges cull the five lowest scoring competitors and only the remainder compete at the next distance."

"So by the final final, there's only five," said Flynn.

"Exactly," nodded Stone. "So I..." He did a double take and trailed off, staring down the hill to his right.

Flynn and Eve followed his gaze, then murmured in understanding. Halfway down the hill and walking towards them were Ezekiel and Cassandra. He had his hands in his pockets and was looking all around him as they made their way, talking all the time, up the hill. She appeared to be concentrating very hard on not tripping over, or getting mud on, the long, blue, mediaeval style gown she was wearing. Flynn smiled at the pair, neither of whom had yet noticed them. Eve looked back round to Jacob and had to press her hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing aloud. Biting her lip, she released her hand and reached over to push his chin up, closing his mouth. He blinked and shook his head. For a moment he looked like he was about to say something, then he turned and disappeared back into the crowd.

By this time, Ezekiel at least had spotted Flynn and the pair were waving to each other the high-armed 'over here' wave of people everywhere. This attracted Cassandra's attention and she looked up now, looking where Ezekiel pointed before waving briefly herself, then catching her skirt again. They soon reached the couple by the crowd.

"Where's Jacob?" were the first words out of Cassandra's mouth.

"Well, he was here..." Flynn said, looking round.

"I sent him on an errand," lied Eve. "He liked your dress though."

"Did he?" Cassandra's eyes brightened.

"Huh? Oh, um, yes, definitely!" Flynn breezed, agreeing wholeheartedly with the heel pressing down on his foot.

"We were just going through the list of archers," said Eve, changing the subject and handing over the list to Ezekiel. "Once this heat is over we should have an idea of the top scorers, and five will be taken out of the running anyway, so we'll prioritise then. They're nearly done."

"Okay, but before we do," chimed in Cassandra, "can I please go and show Jenkins this dress? I know he'll probably just tell me everything that's wrong with it but..."

"Go!" Eve told her with a beneficent smile.

Watching the red curls bobbing as she moved through the fair, Ezekiel said quietly: "Did Stone actually say he liked her dress?"

"I didn't say he 'said' it," Eve replied innocently.

"Stupid grin?" Ezekiel asked, as if he was asking her what time it was.

"Open-mouthed stare," said Eve, as if she'd told him it was five to four.

"Be grateful I didn't let her wear the first one she picked out," he grinned. "He'd have passed out again for sure!"

"Why?" Flynn queried, looking round his fiancée to the younger man.

"It was white!"

Jacob Stone had found his way to the back of the marquee, and had then found that was as far as his legs would carry him. He was sitting, rolling a stem of grass between his fingers and staring at nothing when Erin joined him.

"If you're still waiting for that list, I think I need to fire my assistant," she said, standing looking down at him.

"Hmm?" Jacob looked round. "Oh, no. No, I got the list. I passed it on to my colleague. Thank you for that."

"And so you're sitting here because?" Erin queried.

"Ah, it's kind of personal, you know," said Jacob. "Nothing you need worry about."

"Too personal to talk to your friends about?"

"A bit, yeah, in a way."

Rather than leaving, she sat down on the grass beside him, legs crossed and bow resting across them.

"Sounds like you need someone to talk to then," she said. "An independent party, as it were."

"Do you carry that thing everywhere?" Jacob nodded at the bow.

"I wouldn't be much of an archer without a bow, now would I?" Erin asked. "As long as I'm on duty, it never leaves my side, and I'm always on duty in cases like these."

Jacob nodded, and then turned back to the grass stem.

"Spill it then," said Erin. "What's on your mind?"

Jacob looked from the grass to her, then to the grass again, and seemed to make up his mind.

"I'm in love," he said simply.

"That's good," nodded Erin. "What's the problem?"

"She's dying."

"Right now?"

"No," Jacob admitted. "It's kind of a long term illness."

"We all have those, it's called life!"

"Hers will end sooner than it ought," said Jacob with an air of finality. He was not seeing the use of this conversation. "One day, without warning maybe, she'll just be gone."

"And you would rather be spending your time with your girlfriend than chasing down competition cheats for me, right?"

"She's not my girlfriend," Jacob admitted.

"Does she even know how you feel?"

Jacob shook his head.

"Why?"

"I don't know," he muttered.

"Really?" Erin asked softly. "I think you do. And I think it's why you're sitting here instead of wherever you ought to be, with her."

"I've been hurt before," he said. "Let myself fall. Trusted someone with knowing me better than most. I can't go through that again."

"You've watched people you love die too, haven't you?" Erin said, more a statement than a question. "People you care about."

"I have."

"Then why are you focussing on the pain of betrayal, not the pain of loss?"

"How...?"

"I said 'too'. You didn't correct me. Ergo the person you fell for didn't die. She did hurt you badly, though, so betrayal. You said she knew you 'better than most'. Anyone know you better now?"

Jacob thought about this. "My work colleagues, I guess."

"And the woman you are in love with?"

"She's one of them. It's how we met."

"Not the blonde I met though," stated the archer. "Who knows you best?"

Jacob thought about this too. "Probably Cassie," he admitted, smiling without realising it.

"The woman you love."

"Yes."

"Tell me about her."

Jacob looked round again from the grass stem and met Erin's steady gaze. She raised an eyebrow at him. He looked back. He thought about it. Who else could he tell?

"She's amazing," he said. "She sees the best in everything, and everyone. She'll risk everything for her friends. She sees the world entirely differently from everyone around her. She's stuck by me through thick and thin, even though I keep pushing her away. Even when I'm being... Well, me, I guess, at my worst. She's the most beautiful woman in the world to me. Inside as well as out. I remember once I met this... hypnotist. We all did. She... hypnotised us to see whoever we thought was the most beautiful woman in the world. Cassie, she saw this other woman we knew. She was pretty, sure - I'd even flirted with her once or twice - but all I saw was Cassie. And I knew then she had me. I was hers, body and soul. But I didn't want to be. I was too scared. So I pulled away. Pushed her away. I hurt her. Deliberately, I think. I buried my head in the sand and refused to recognise what I felt for her. And instead I gave her cause to hate me. Time and again. I just kept finding new ways, new excuses. Every time, every argument, I would push her away from me, and she would be the one to pull us back together. Took a while, sometimes, but she was always the one to make the first move."

"So the woman you love is your closest friend, you see her every day and you know her days are limited, you know, and have known for a long time by the sound of it, how you feel about her, she refuses to let you push her away completely, yet you haven't told her," Erin summarised. "Is she seeing someone else?"

"What? No!"

"Do you know she's not interested in you?"

"No, but..."

"Do you know if she is interested in you?"

"I'm starting to think that she might be, but..."

"So why the heck aren't you making the most of whatever time you have left?"

"I can't lose her!"

"If you don't say anything, you'll never have anything to lose," she told him. "Love's a weird thing. It makes you weak and stupid, yes, but it also makes you strong. It can give you the strength to face whatever fate deals you, and sometimes even overcome it. If you don't tell her, you'll deny her that strength, and you'll still have all the pain you would have had you told her anyway, but you'll have all the regret of not doing so heaped on top of it."

Chapter Text

Cassandra rejoined Baird, Flynn and Jones as the archery bout was breaking up.

"Are you... taller?" Jones frowned.

In reply, she lifted the hem of her skirt slightly to show off some chunky high heeled boots.

"Typical man," sighed Eve with a pitying look at Jones.

"The scores are in," Flynn told Cassandra, changing the subject with a glance at his betrothed. "The top five just now are Henry Claydon, USA, Jeanne Joubert, France, Owen Evans, Wales, Luke Somersby, England, and Cynthia De Beer, South Africa. If we all take one each, then we can regroup and take a look at the next five on the list."

"Really? No Australians?" Jones sighed.

"Not in the top five, sorry," Eve shook her head, looking down the list in Flynn's hand. "In fact I think the only Australian in the running just got kicked out."

"We're that bad!" Jones' voice went up a notch.

"No, I mean he actually just got kicked out," said Eve, nodding towards the marquee. "Drunk and disorderly by the look of it."

"This! This is why we have a stereotype!"

"I think he might have lost a fight with the Scot..." Cassandra muttered, watching another drunken archer, this one kilted, being removed from the tent.

"Yeah, 'cause that's not stereotypical at all!" Jones quipped.

"You know, very few people in either of those countries actually fit those stereotypes," mused Flynn. "And I can't see archers of any nationality getting drunk during a contest."

"You think they're being magically influenced?" Baird asked. "Someone's taking out the competition?"

"You've come across something like that before," he reminded her. "That wish fulfilment spell we used to get the library back: didn't that come from a situation like this?"

"If I have to deal with Morgan le Fay again..."

"I doubt she'd show her face again so soon," said Flynn, shaking his head.

"Maybe not, but another face?" Cassandra looked from Baird to Flynn. "Morgan le Fay ran the last competition. You said you met the person running this one. It was a woman right?"

"It was," confirmed Baird. "But I'm still going with 'I hope not'."

"Okay, well how do we find out?" Cassandra, along with Baird and Ezekiel, all looked at Flynn.

"I thought Jenkins was the one who knew her personally!" Flynn protested. "He'd know if she could change her appearance better than me!"

"He's not here, you are," Baird told him. "So start thinking, Librarian. What do we look for?"

"Well," Flynn began, drawing out the word to give himself thinking space. "What exactly did you find happening last time?"

"All the kids at the STEM fair were using the spell, not knowing that it was a spell, to wish bad luck on their opponents," explained Baird. "When the rule of three kicked in, Morgan siphoned off the power and used it to disappear."

"What sort of bad luck? Random stuff or connected to them personally?"

"The latter," said Cassandra. "Everyone's bad luck had something to do with their projects for the STEM fair."

"Whereas here our victims seem to be turning into the worst kinds of national caricatures," Flynn thought out loud. "Hmm, I think I ought to interview the Italian guy when it's his turn..."

"And I'll be taking the Frenchwoman," shot back Eve. "Anyway, Jones: why don't you go talk to the Welsh guy. Look out for anything like the app we saw in Chicago. Cassandra: you take the English guy. As for you, dearest, take your pick: South African woman or American man? Bear in mind we still need to find out where Stone has disappeared to and send him after the other."

"I'll take Ms Dr Beer," said Flynn. "Stone's better than me at playing to our own kinds of stereotypes."

"I'll go look for him first, then track down Mlle. Joubert," Baird nodded.

They turned and headed into the crowd. The archers were, for the most part, easy to tell apart. Each bore an armband with their nation's flag emblazoned on it. Cassandra was the first to spot her target, bearing the St. George's cross, giving lessons to children and adults in the break between rounds.

"Luke Somersby?" Cassandra asked, side-stepping the queue of nascent archers.

"Can I help you?" Somersby nodded. "There is a queue, you know."

"Oh, I'm not here to learn archery," Cassandra smiled. "Not in this, anyway. I actually have a few questions to ask you about the competition?"

"No press allowed," the archer grumbled, keeping his attention on his current student.

"I'm not press either," said Cassandra, standing her ground. "My colleagues and I are actually helping the organisers investigate an allegation of cheating."

That got his attention. He turned and glared down his aquiline nose at her.

"I don't cheat!" Somersby said, with emphasis on every word. "The very idea! It's demeaning! Ignoble! It's the sort of thing one would expect from you bally colonists!"

"We're interviewing everyone," she replied sourly, folding her arms and meeting his glare. "Just to be fair."

"Well," sniffed the Englishman, "I dare say one can't argue with that. Fair play in all things, what what!"

"What?"

"What?"

Eve Baird finally tracked down Jacob Stone emerging from behind the marquee. It did not escape her that she had just seen a certain Ms O'Shea emerge from the same direction just moments before, during her walk over.

"Any particular reason you felt the need to disappear on us like that?" Baird asked him, fully aware of the real reason but curious to see if he would make an excuse.

"Just needed to clear my head," Stone shrugged. "Bumped into our friendly neighbourhood archery judge and got told a few home truths. Gave me something to think about."

"Yeah, about her..."

"What?"

"Remember the STEM fair?"

"Chicago, kids, magical Faraday cage, yep."

"It's happening again."

"Here?" Stone turned to look at the Colonel. "And you think she's Morgan le Fay?"

Baird nodded in reply. "The contestants are turning into the worst kinds of national stereotypes and getting themselves disqualified."

"How many so far for being drunk?" Stone grinned.

"Two, but it's only just started, we think," smiled Baird. "We've picked out the top five scorers and divided them between us. You've got one Henry Claydon, American. Just look for the stars and stripes on his arm."

"Who'd you pick?" Stone asked surveying the field for his quarry.

"French chick," said Baird, pointing out a willowy woman with a glass of red wine in her hand.

"Not letting her near Flynn, eh?" Jacob chortled.

"I sent Cassandra to interview the Italian guy," she shot back. That shut him up. Baird almost laughed at the look of panic that flitted across his face before he could hide it. She rolled her eyes and relented. "Oh no, wait: Flynn said he'd take him, my mistake. Cassandra's interviewing the English gent."

The refreshments tent had been set up in the field of the gardens below the museum. Heaven forbid any such monstrosity should defile the ancient grandeur of the ruins of St. Mary's church. That area had been given over to the jongleurs: jugglers and acrobats who were displaying and teaching their skills to a willing public. The open sided tea tent gave a clear view of the flying poi, batons, clubs, and diabolos, and occasional person. Flynn spotted Jones easily among the upright citizens. The ex-thief was slouching in a chair by the edge of the tent, watching the juggling and attempting to decide whether the clotted cream went on the scone before or after the strawberry jam.

"How are you still hungry!" Cassandra gasped as she joined them. "You've already had your lunch and half of mine!"

"That Welsh dude would not shut up about leeks!" Ezekiel protested. "He even knew a song about them! And a poem! It made me peckish!"

"I think we can assume he was affected then," said Flynn, pulling a face. "How about yours, Cassandra?"

"I don't know too many Englishmen," she said, "but I'd say so. Do they usually say 'what' at the end of every other sentence?"

"Not since the days of Bertie Wooster, I don't think..." Flynn nodded.

"What does it mean?" Cassandra asked.

"I have no clue!" Flynn admitted, pulling another face.

"Any luck?" Baird asked, pulling up a chair.

"None," Flynn shook his head. "I think we can rule all ours out. They were all affected. You?"

"Cheese, wine, bread, paté and glared at me until I got the pronunciation right then spoke condescendingly to me in perfect English."

"Definitely the worst of the French caricatures," said Flynn with raised eyebrows. "They even glare at my French sometimes, don't take it personally."

"Them I don't, that I just did!"

"I like wine," said Jones, changing the subject fast. "And the people we met in Cahors were awesome!"

"Most of them are," Flynn nodded. "These ideas of national types are only based on the few who make bad impressions, or who are satirised in books or newspapers."

"You should hear what the English guy thought of us, what what!" Cassandra mimicked.

"What?" Baird looked round confused.

"Never mind," the younger woman waved a hand. "Oh look: Scottish archer is attempting to order a deep fried mars bar."

"Do we even want to find out what the worst Russian stereotype is?" Ezekiel grimaced.

"My guy is in the clear," said Stone, joining the group and focussing on the pot of tea in the middle of the table.

"Bad?" Cassandra asked looking round at him. He was watching one of the jugglers.

"Just a bit!"

"That leaves us with eight," said Baird, wincing at the sad look that crossed Cassandra's face. "Jones, you take the guys from Germany and Canada. Flynn and I had better deal with the Russian together, then we'll split up for the Mexican and the Italian."

"Do Canadians even have a 'worst stereotype'?" Jones asked. "How am I supposed to know if they're affected? They forget their P's and Q's?"

"Maybe," shrugged Baird. "That leaves one man from Kenya, an Argentinean woman and an Indian woman. You two can handle those between you, can't you?"

"Sure," said Jacob, looking back round to the teapot.

Cassandra blinked in surprise. She'd been certain he was about to protest. They were still sitting there as the others hurried off. She folded her arms and watched his face with narrowed eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Jacob replied, getting up and turning away from the table to look back at the archery ground. "Just thinking."

"Your foot's on my skirt," said Cassandra with a sigh. "Here, help me stand up in this thing."

Moving his foot as he turned, Jacob held out a hand and helped her to her feet, then caught her as she tripped toward him. She landed with her hands on his shoulders and his arm around her waist.

"What the heck possessed you to wear that thing if you can't even stand up in it?" Jacob asked, smiling down in amusement at the face now so very, very close to his own.

"What? I thought you'd like it," she shrugged. "And I have always wanted to look like a princess, I guess."

"You are way more beautiful in that dress than any princess I've ever seen," he breathed. The light from her smile was brighter than a thousand suns. "Than anyone, Cassie."

"Even more than the selkie?" Cassandra smiled dubiously.

"You know how I knew when I was looking at that selkie," he said quietly. She looked confused. He took a breath. "It was because I knew you couldn't be in two places at once."

"Oh..."

The world seemed to drop away into silent greyness as they stood there, each unwilling to break the moment. Unfortunately fate intervened.

"Awa' an' bile yer heid ye bletherin' sassenach!" The cry rang out from within the tea tent and the two were pushed aside as a kilted Scotsman rushed past threatening all manner of unintelligible punishments on the Englishman, once walking towards them, now running away.

"We really ought to find this thing before someone starts another war!" Jacob groaned.

"We'll still be here afterwards, after all," Cassie agreed.

"The job's more important..."

"...than what we want."

"Did he kiss her yet," Ezekiel asked, trying to see over the part of the crowd in front of him.

"Nope," said Eve, to the groans of both men behind her. "But maybe only because our Highland friend interrupted them. They certainly looked close until then."

"Better luck next time," shrugged Ezekiel.

"How often do you think you can get away with pushing them together like that before they work it out?" Flynn asked.

"Oh, I'm fairly sure Cassandra's worked it out," said Ezekiel.

"Oh?" Eve looked round. "Did she tell you that?"

"No," the young man admitted, "but I'm fairly sure that the girl who learned how to go up and down stairs and hills in that dress, having never worn anything of the kind in her life, within barely half an hour, isn't going to just 'trip' right into a guy's arms when standing up."

Chapter Text

"So they're all becoming caricatures?" Baird sighed as the group met up again, Cassandra and Jacob being the last to arrive. Every one of the contestants still in the competition had been interviewed. Every one of them was displaying ridiculous levels of stereotypically bad behaviour.

"Where to next?" Cassandra asked. She had changed back into her ordinary clothes as her gown was proving to be too much of a distraction, and not just for her.

"Our event organiser has kindly given us the name of the residence the competitors are staying in. Apparently it is always here and always fairly small, so they just stay in her own home. She's given us the keys and permission to search the rooms, so long as we do so carefully. She'll join us there later. Once they've cancelled the remainder of the competition."

"What size of house does she live in?" Jones wondered aloud. "There's twenty competitors and two other judges to put up!"

"It's an estate just outside the city," shrugged Baird. "Apparently her driver will take us there whenever we ask. And apparently we'll all fit in the car!"

There wasn't a limo waiting for them, as Jones had expected, and Cassandra had hoped, but a people carrier, with two additional seats in the back. Ezekiel got sent into one of the back seats, while Baird took the front passenger seat and Flynn took the last middle seat, sandwiching Cassandra between him and Jacob. Once they were out of the city and on to the narrower country roads, the ride became bumpier. Ezekiel grinned as Jacob's arm went protectively around Cassandra's shoulders and she edged even further over to his side of the vehicle. Finally, they turned up a long, winding gravel drive lined on either side by trees. When the house did eventually come into view, there was an audible gasp from everyone except the driver, and Ezekiel.

"Now that easily has enough rooms for everyone in the competition," said Flynn as they pulled up outside the door. "Without anyone having to share either!"

"It has wings!" Cassandra murmured as Jacob lifted her down from the car.

"Ahem!" Baird coughed. The pair had still been standing with his hands on her waist and hers on his arms. They jumped and turned to catch up with the others, her hands behind her back, his in his pockets.

"Now this," said Eve quietly to her co-conspirators. "This is the problem we're going to have if we do get those two together. They are difficult enough to keep focussed now. You really think that's going to improve any the closer they get?"

"I think the sooner they get there, the sooner it'll improve," shrugged Ezekiel. "They're only like this now because they're still trying to figure out what the other one is thinking. Get them to own up to it and it's a weight off both their minds!"

"Much as I hate to admit it, my love, Mr Jones does have a point," said Flynn. "It's the uncertainty that's distracting them. Well... not just the uncertainty..."

"We were never like that," said Eve. "Were we?"

"No, we weren't," agreed Flynn. "But we don't have either of their levels of emotional baggage. We had some, sure, but we dealt with that head on, together. Plus we never spent months dancing around each other not knowing what the other was thinking! The first time I left to look for the Library, you made it pretty clear what your feelings were. The second time I... reciprocated. We've never hidden anything from each other. They have."

They reached the door and waited on Jacob and Cassandra catching up. There was a butler holding the door open. They ascended the stone steps and went inside.

"Ms O'Shea gave me this note for you," said Baird, handing over the note in question. "She also gave me her set of keys, and said that you could supply us with a second."

The butler nodded and handed over a ring of keys from his own chatelaine. "The guest quarters are on the floor above, madam," he said, gracefully floating an arm round in the direction of the stairs. "If you would care to follow me.."

"Thank you, that's quite alright," said the Colonel with a smile. "We prefer to work alone. If we need you we'll call."

"As you wish, madam," nodded the butler. "There are working bell pulls in every room. One shall await your convenience in the pantry, where they are easily heard."

With a short bow, the butler disappeared into the recesses of the vast mansion house.

"Okay," Baird said, holding out a ring of keys to Stone as they reached the top of the stairs. "You take those two and head West. Flynn and I will go East."

"But!" Jones began.

"I trust you more to keep him from stealing too much without damaging him than I do myself," she continued, ignoring Jones.

It was decided, by general agreement, to start with the rooms closest and work away from the stairs. Flynn and Eve disappeared into the first western side room before Jones could attempt to mount any more complaints. Stone unlocked the first two rooms.

"We'll get this done faster if you two take one side and I take the other," he mumbled, disappearing into the other room. Without comment, Cassandra dragged a confused Jones into the room opposite and sent him over to start checking the far side.

"Did you two fall out again between the car and the house?" Ezekiel asked.

"No, what makes you think that?" Cassandra asked, leafing through the books on the shelf.

"You've been joined at the hip since your little 'trip' earlier," he replied, rummaging in the chest of drawers.

"You saw that?" Cassandra looked round. "Were you watching us?"

"I just happened to be looking in that direction," he shrugged. "I see you're not denying it though."

"Denying what? I tripped. You saw me, apparently."

"Tripped or 'tripped'? There's a difference," he grinned.

"I tripped."

"Yeah, right!"

Cassandra shook her head, but she let it go: he was even less likely to believe her if she protested and besides, he was right. She began looking through the bedside table as he started nosing through the small stack of CDs on the dresser by a old stereo system.

"Seriously: who uses these anymore!" Ezekiel exclaimed. "And they are all ancient! Bob Dylan, Cyndi Lauper, Annie Lennox, Billy Joel..."

"Hey! Those are classics!" Cassandra objected. "And they are not ancient!"

"Really? Let's see," he picked up the Cyndi Lauper CD case and turned it over. It was called 'True Colours: The Best of Cyndi Lauper'. "When was 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' last in the charts? Or 'Sisters of Avalon'? Oh, no, wait: I know which one will be your favourite! Track eleven! Or is it track four?"

Cassandra grabbed the CD case out of the thief's hands and scanned the list. Ezekiel ducked, laughing, as a pillow flew in his direction, scattering the remaining CDs on the dresser.

"Do you know where your ulnar nerve is?" Cassandra asked, with acid in her voice.

"Nope. Should I?" Ezekiel giggled, watching the other pillow for movement.

"Do you want to find out?" Cassandra continued in the same tone. "Because I know exactly where it is, and exactly how to disable the feeling and movement in the outer half of your hand!"

"Shutting up!"

"What are you thinking," Eve asked, watching Flynn's face grow more and more vexed as they methodically searched their second room.

"There's something I'm missing," he mused. "Something important..."

"Something about the case?"

Flynn shook his head slowly. "I don't think so. Something we've come across though..."

"Here?"

Flynn nodded, then stopped. "Well, York in general really."

"Give that big brain of yours a rest for a bit," she said, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. "It'll come to you."

"Not if you keep doing that it won't," he smiled.

"Well then you'd better focus on your job and stop distracting me, Librarian!"

"How did we get from you kissing me to me distracting you?" Flynn grinned, wrapping his arms around Eve's waist before she could escape.

"Oh really?" Eve smiled back. "And you don't think your making me want to kiss you had anything to do with that?"

"How did I make you want to kiss me?" Flynn frowned with a lopsided grin. "All I said was..."

"By being you," Eve interrupted with a smirk.

"Oh," he smiled. "Oh well, in that case we are never going to get through a case without distractions. I can't help it: I'm no good at being somebody el...!"

She kissed him again, silencing him. When they broke apart this time, he loosened his hold on her waist.

"We should probably get some work done," he said, clearing his throat.

"Before we get too distracted," she agreed, going back to the side of the room she had been searching.

Cassandra and Jones had got through the next two rooms in relative silence. They'd got through them faster because of it. They were now a full room ahead of Stone. He opened the door and frowned at the quiet industry going on in there.

"Hey!" Jacob called over to Cassandra. "Keys?"

She handed the ring of keys over, pausing as their hands, and eyes, met more than was necessary.

"That is the stupidest grin I have seen on his face since you geeked out about the STEM fair," said Ezekiel once Jacob had disappeared again. Cassandra turned round and leant back against the door, completely unaware of his presence for the moment. Ezekiel laughed. "And on yours, apparently!"

Turning away from his fellow Librarian, Ezekiel continued his search. When, after a moment or so, he still heard no movement from the door, he started humming the tune to track four. This time the pillow hit him square on the back of the head.

"Okay! Okay! I'll stop with the song!" Ezekiel protested.

"I wish you would!" Cassandra snapped back, picking up a nearby flashlight and raising her arm threateningly.

"Your wish is my command," said an echoey voice behind her. Ezekiel's eyes widened.

"Please tell me it's not..." Cassandra began.

"Oh, I think it is," Ezekiel nodded. "Look at your hand."

Cassandra looked up. She was no longer holding the flashlight. Instead she was holding an ancient bronze oil lamp straight out of the Thousand and One Nights.

"Oh no," she groaned. She turned slowly to face the floating visage of a man wreathed in smoke.

"I am the genie of the lamp," boomed the smoky figure. "Whoever awakens me shall have three wishes. No more, no less."

"Can he answer questions without them counting as wishes?" Ezekiel called over, still staring at the face in the smoke. "What are the rules?"

"The rules are simple," intoned the genie. "Only three wishes may be granted. They must begin with the words 'I wish'. One wish has already been granted. Two more remain. You may wish for anything that it is in my power to grant."

"So your power is limited then?" Cassandra asked, slowly lowering the arm holding the lamp.

"I have no power over life or death," said the genie solemnly. "I may not kill, or resurrect the dead, or give life to the dying. For the same reason I cannot create a new life. I have no power over human hearts. I can neither create love nor destroy it."

"Sounds straightforward enough," said Ezekiel. "Well, I wish..."

"Yours are not the wishes that I will grant," boomed the voice. "You do not hold the lamp!"

"What do you want, Ezekiel?" Cassandra asked wearily.

"I want to know where Dulaque's secret stash of magical artefacts is," he shrugged.

"Fine, I'll wish for that, now go and get the others."

Ezekiel hurried out of the room, slowing to edge past the billowing smoke and the disembodied face that floated round to follow his departure.

"Okay," said Cassandra, as the face completed its circuit and returned to her. "I wish that Ezekiel knew how to find Dulaque's secret stash of magical artefacts."

"Your wish is my command," intoned the genie, with even more echoing than before.

"You're just doing that for show now, aren't you," said Cassandra dryly.

"Maybe," the genie admitted. "Makes life interesting. You could have just transferred your wish to the boy, you know. That is allowed. Didn't I mention it?"

"Not really no."

Jacob was the first of the group to join her, with the news that Ezekiel had gone looking for Flynn and Eve.

"Genie's lamp, huh?"

"And I have to make another wish," she nodded. "Just one."

"What'd you wish for already?" Jacob asked, walking over to stand beside her.

"Well, the first one was an accident, but at least Ezekiel will have one less way to annoy me," she admitted. "Then Ezekiel wanted to know where Dulaque's hoard of artefacts were."

"That's what you wished for?" Jacob's eyebrows went up. "Really?"

"Tell him the rules," Cassandra sighed at the genie. "Then give my last wish to him."

"I have no power over life or death," repeated the genie, with added echo.

"Sensibly!" Cassandra snapped.

"I may not kill," the genie continued in a resonant, but more normal voice, "or resurrect the dead, or give life to the dying. For the same reason I cannot create a new life. I have no power over human hearts. I can neither create love nor destroy it."

"Huh," Jacob looked thoughtful.

"What?" Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "You have that face again."

"What face? I don't have 'that face'! I don't even know what 'that face' is!"

"The 'I think I see the flaw in this' face. You get it whenever you find something out of place or that you disagree with. Which is quite a lot when you're reading certain books."

"Really?"

"Not the only one who pays attention."

"Huh," Jacob grinned at her. She couldn't help but grin back.

"Okay, Romeo, make with the wish already before I puke," grimaced the genie.

"Oh, right," said Jacob looking back to the genie, then back to Cassandra. "I wish I knew how to heal Cassie."

The temperature in the room dropped instantly as Cassandra's jaw tightened and she shook her head, stepping away.

"Only true love's first kiss can heal such an ailment," said the genie sadly. "And only then in people imbued with magic. The first step on such a path... First you must find her true love."

The genie vanished in the hollow silence that followed.

"How could you..." Cassandra gasped through threatening tears. "How could you ask that? What if he'd said there was no way to heal me? He might as well have!"

"Then at least we'd know, for certain!" Jacob shot back. "How could I not? I can't just stand here and watch you die! How can you just give up hope like this? We've seen so much! Done so much that we thought was impossible! How can you not have some hope! I have hope! And there is hope! He said it! And I will do whatever I have to to save you, even if that means letting you go! You heard the genie: there is a better man out there for you than me! If he's your true love: he can save you! We just have to find him."

"I thought I already had!" Cassandra yelled back at him. "Don't you get it? I don't want anybody else! I had accepted my fate! I was happy! I would rather have a day with you than a lifetime with somebody else!"

She stormed to the door.

"Cassie!"

"Don't!" Cassandra spat turning back as reached the door with a look that could have cut diamonds. "No more!"

Jacob slumped down to sit on the bed, his head in his hands. Sure, it had hurt, hearing that answer. They had kissed twice now and the brain grape was still very much around. But he would rather she was alive with someone else than dead. He would rather face any hurt, any torment, than that.

Cassandra stormed towards Flynn, Eve and Ezekiel, walking down the corridor to meet her.

"What happened?" Baird asked as she passed them.

"Ask Stone!" Cassandra yelled back without turning round. "I have to get this to Jenkins."

"What the heck did he do this time?" Baird asked, mystified.

"What I would have done in his shoes, I'm guessing," said Flynn, chewing his lip. "And I'm guessing he got an answer they didn't like."

"Oh no, he wouldn't," Eve looked round in the direction of the room Cassandra had come from. "What am I saying, of course he would. I would if it were you."

"That wouldn't explain why she's mad," said Ezekiel. "If the genie told you there was no way to save the person you loved, you might be mad at the genie, but would your other half be mad at you?"

"Only one way to know for sure," sighed Flynn. "Let's go find out."

Cassandra reached the hall of the mansion just as Erin was walking through the door.

"I need you to take me back to the museum," said Cassandra without ceremony as she marched past her.

"So you can get that lamp back to Jenkins?"

Cassandra froze.

"I think I'll drive," smiled Erin as she walked back to the door, past the still frozen Cassandra. "We need to talk."

"Morgan le Fay?" Cassandra asked, with a sideways look.

Erin laughed. "No, I'm not Morgan. Trust me there are many more than five immortals in this world."

"Jenkins is an immortal?" Cassandra frowned, mentally ticking off Morgan, Santa and Mrs Claus, and Dulaque.

"He's over a thousand years old, child. What did you think he was? The paragon of good health and clean living?"

Cassandra pulled a face. "Fair enough," she said. "So who are you then?"

"I am Erin O'Shea," said Erin simply. "Or Erin Roisin to my mother if she's upset with me."

"You have a mother?"

"Everyone has a mother," she smiled. "Even those who no longer speak to them."

Erin walked down the steps then turned back to see Cassandra still frozen in place, watching her suspiciously.

"Come," she commanded. "You have questions that need answers. I can answer them. Mostly. Some you must find out for yourself."

Cassandra got back to the office late. So late, in fact, that even Jenkins had disappeared. She had told him not to wait up when she grabbed a jacket and headed back through the door after delivering the lamp with a curt explanation. She unhooked the door, walked over to her usual chair and slumped down, her head in her hands. She had long since run out of tears. She had walked the streets of York until sunrise, stopping occasionally at an all night cafe or a quiet bar. The latter were much rarer than the former, even in the early hours. By the time she made her way back to the gardens, the sun was well up and sneaking in was easy as the gates were already open. She had walked around until the museum opened, then made her way back to the door in the storeroom, forgetting, in her melancholy, that it would still be night back home. The darkness had come as a shock at first, but now it was a relief.

She considered putting her head down on the desk and sleeping there, at least for a few hours, but as she moved her hands she found a small punnet of raspberries in her way. Beneath them was a short note and two book references, all in Jacob's handwriting. The note simply said 'Couldn't find their flowers anywhere'.

She sighed at the note. She was too tired for cryptic messages. She'd had enough of those in the car with Erin! She looked up.

"Could you...?"

Two books floated over to the desk, one brushing up against her arm like a cat. She looked down at them, then up again.

"Thank you."

A rustling of pages swept around the room like a sigh and she wondered how many times anyone had actually said that to the library. Looking down again, she drew the first of the two books towards her. It was entitled 'The Language of Flowers'. With a glance at the punnet of fruit, and the note, she looked up raspberry. There was only one word next to it: remorse. He was sorry. That didn't help much. It didn't change things.

She switched the first book for the second. It was a book of poetry by Tennyson. The scent of oranges that hit her was enough bring out tears she never knew she had in her. There was a bookmark attached to a page, the kind you can use to mark the line you stopped reading at. She opened it to that page and looked down. The poem it marked was a short one, only three stanzas. She read it.

It was early the next morning before the group had a chance to fill Jenkins in on their adventures in the land of the White Rose. Cassandra had gone home long before, taking the book of poetry, the note and the raspberries, and replacing the other book on the shelf. When she returned, Eve was busily reporting on the archery contest and its mystery organiser. Cassandra's eyes sought out Jacob involuntarily and met his. His eyes dropped to the book in her hand. She nodded her head slightly. She couldn't smile. Couldn't do anything more than acknowledge him. Not yet.

"And this woman was?" Jenkins asked, without looking up, noticing the sudden and growing silence since Cassandra's arrival.

"Erin O'Shea," said Eve, turning her attention back to her story. "She organised all of the archery side of the fayre."

"Erin Roisin?" Jenkins asked, looking up this time. Eve shrugged.

"She mentioned her middle name to me," said Cassandra. "It was Roisin. She knew you too. How do you know her?"

In reply, Jenkins lowered his head into his hands, running his fingers over his forehead. Ezekiel could have sworn he was trying not to laugh.

"Oh my word," sighed the old man, in an oddly amused voice. "I am beset by fools and idiots!"

"Hey!" Flynn cried out, rising to his feet indignantly.

"Hey, yourself!" Eve responded with a glare that made him sit back down on the desk and hang his head sheepishly.

"You're right I'm an idiot," he sighed. He looked up and threw her his most charmingly soppy smile. "Or at least a fool in love..."

"Don't try that," Eve warned, but her stern tone was not accompanied by its usual matching look. Flynn was ignoring her now though. That didn't help.

"Oh! I am an idiot!" Flynn shouted, jumping up with a grin on his face this time.

Chapter Text

"Jenkins?" Cassandra's voice echoed in the hallway as she hurried to catch up with the still chortling old man. "Can I talk to you?"

Jenkins turned, his face suddenly solemn. "How are you, Miss Cillian? Really."

"I'll survive," Cassandra shrugged. "Or more accurately, I won't, but hey: at least we have hope now!"

"He did it for the best of intentions," he said softly as she caught up with him.

"Well, we all know where they lead," she sighed, pulling a face.

Jenkins held the door of his lab open for her and ushered her into a chair. Whatever he had been busy with while they were in York - Cassandra had only caught passing glimpses of it as she delivered the lamp - had been tidied away. The lamp itself was currently inhabiting a birdcage hanging from the ceiling. It had decided to camouflage itself as a mirror for the moment. Cassandra looked up at it. What would she have wished for had she not given Jacob that third wish? She didn't know. Nothing came to mind. The memory of Jacob's wish had cut all those nerve endings, refusing to let any other ideas enter her brain. She became aware of Jenkins, seated opposite her, watching her thoughtfully, one hand on his chin.

"You know Erin," Cassandra said with a steady voice. It was not a question in any shape or form. "You know who she is. You know what she told me: I told you that yesterday. She did answer my questions honestly, didn't she?"

Jenkins nodded. "Erin doesn't lie," he said. "She can be ambiguous sometimes. Vague. Even misleading. But she will never tell a direct lie."

"And the Selkie told us the truth too? When she said everyone only gets one true love?"

"And when she said some think they've found it but have not," he nodded again.

"And genies can't lie," she continued, looking down. "Not in answer to a wish, anyway."

"Indeed not."

"She said there was a way to find him," Cassandra looked up again, meeting the watchful gaze. "And that when I was ready, I should ask you. I'm ready now."

"Are you sure?" Jenkins frowned. "It hasn't even been a day..."

"If it isn't him I need to know who," she shrugged, looking up and trying not to cry again. She had cried enough in the past twenty four hours to last a lifetime.

"You have time," he reassured her. "You can wait."

"No I don't," she replied, eyes still on the ceiling. "And no, I can't. Not as much as you all think."

Silence filled the small room as Jenkins watched her steel herself to continue.

"When I was in hospital, I got some bad news about the tumour," she began, resolutely keeping her gaze fixed where it was. "It's started growing again. Because I hadn't been there in a while, they weren't sure how fast at first. By the time I left they had a clearer idea. It's why they kept me in there so long. Judging by the rate of growth over the week, they think I have between three to four months. Five if I'm lucky and don't aggravate it too much."

"Cassandra that was two months ago!" Jenkins exclaimed. "Why didn't you say something? Does Mr Stone know about this?"

Cassandra shook her head, looking down at her hands now. "I only spoke to the doctors when I knew he was asleep, or better yet: sedated. He snores."

"That can't have made sleep easy for you," he murmured.

"I wasn't sleeping much anyway, and we weren't talking then - I think if we had been I'd have ended up crying way too much - so I just pretended to sleep while he was awake. Sometimes I managed to convince myself too. I'd wake up and he'd be there, head on the side of his good arm, holding my hand, sound asleep," she paused, her eyes dreamily wandering over the floor. "I'd give everything I have just to watch him sleep again."

"You haven't seemed to be getting worse, though," said Jenkins. "That's what I don't understand. You've hardly fainted at all recently."

"I haven't used my memory much recently though, have I," she reminded him, still looking down. "When I've used my abilities, it's just been to read a map, or interact with something I used to enjoy. No memory games. No overload. I haven't really been eating or sleeping much either. And makeup hides so much."

"Are you really sure about this?" Jenkins asked.

"We had our chance. We were almost there. And he put a land mine under us just for the 'hope' of saving me. I owe him this much."

Jenkins sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. Sometimes he thought he'd lived too long. At times like this he was sure of it. He picked up a pad and scribbled a pair of lines on the top piece of paper. He tore it off and handed it to Cassandra.

"You know that the mirror in the main office is a magic one, Miss Cillian?"

"Yes?" Cassandra frowned.

"Magic mirrors like rhymes," he said, waving the paper until she took it from him. "At least for beginners, they do. You should have retained enough magical energies by now to perform that simple spell. Just stand in front of the mirror, say the rhyme and your true love should appear therein."

"That's all?"

"You still have to work out where he is and how to get to him," he sighed. "Then you'll have to persuade him to fall for you, or at least kiss you. Usually, in these cases, that is easy enough, but not always. You can't just walk up to him, tell him who you are and kiss him. He has to actually want to kiss you first at least. Then there's the whole magic thing. You might just have enough power by now to perform the spell you hold there. Unless he has magical ability himself, I doubt that it would be enough to carry you both through this. We would need to expose him to magic deliberately. Preferably a lot of magic!"

"But hey, at least there's hope!" Cassandra quipped, but neither good humour nor bad was present in her voice now. Now, she was just numb. She rose to go and Jenkins, deceptively spry for his age, rose and caught her arm.

"Perhaps I should go first," he suggested. "Clear out the audience? Come through in a few minutes."

He disappeared. Cassandra watched the second hand tick round on the old wall clock in the lab, then followed him. Jenkins stood outside the door, as though on sentry duty.

"The Colonel and Mr Carson have gone for a walk," he informed her. "The other gentlemen are up on the mezzanine, reading. They're out of the way. I'll stay here."

With a nod, Cassandra moved past him into the room. She walked past the end of the stairs then stopped and turned. Jacob was sitting there, his eyes on the small blue book he was turning around and around in his hands. Cassandra recognised it as the cover flashed towards her, with the name Tennyson and a portrait of the poet emblazoned there in white. She opened her mouth to tell him to go, but the book had the same effect on her resolve as a spinning pair of scissors had on Ezekiel's interest in Christmas presents. She turned and moved to the mirror. He had a right to know, after all, she supposed.

"Mirror with your eyes on fates," Cassandra read, watching the scene reflected before her. "Show me where my true love waits."

Nothing happened.

She tried the rhyme again.

Nothing changed.

"No," she muttered, backing away.

"What?" Jacob was on his feet in an instant. "Cassie?"

"No," she sobbed, ignoring him.

"Cassie!" Jacob got between her and the mirror, blocking her line of sight. "Talk to me. What happened?"

"Nothing," she sobbed, looking up at him. "Nothing happened. I was fine! I was okay with it! Why did you have to make me hope?"

Turning from him, she disappeared out of the room. Jenkins caught the swinging door and looked in with a puzzled and concerned frown.

"She didn't see anyone," said Jacob, catching the older man's glance, then turning back to the stairs.

Jenkins looked up and caught sight of Ezekiel, leaning on the bannister between two bookcases. The young man nodded sadly in confirmation. Jenkins closed the door and went after Cassandra.

Jacob was halfway up the stairs when the clippings book on the desk behind him glowed. At a startled exclamation from the direction of Jones, he turned to see the last remnants of the glow fading.

"Really?" Jacob sighed wearily. "Now?"

Ezekiel passed him on the stairs and skidded to a halt by the book, flipping it open to the newest page.

"I was hoping for something to help with the heist," he huffed as Jacob joined him at the desk.

"Go find Baird and Flynn," grumbled Jacob, peering over his shoulder.

"Hey I was here first!" Ezekiel complained. "You go!"

"Make me," growled Stone.

As Ezekiel disappeared, Jacob looked down the page. He recognised the name on the flyer, and in the newspaper article beside it. It was a name known world wide. Like Jules Verne, or Agatha Christie. He was aware of the place too, although, like so many other places, he had never been there. Ezekiel returned, preceding Flynn and Eve. They all hurried to join him at the desk. As he moved to read the advertisement out aloud, he heard the door open and looked up to see Jenkins and Cassandra. She wouldn't meet his eye, but it was obvious that she had been crying.

"There's an exhibition at the Dylan Thomas Centre collection in Swansea," he said, summarising. "Two people have been reported missing."

"Only two?" Cassandra sniffed. "How do the police know they haven't just ran off together?"

"They're completely unrelated," said Baird. "The article says the police could find no links between the victims other than their visiting the exhibition."

"I'll go check it out," she shrugged, grabbing her jacket and purse.

"I'll come with..." Jacob began.

"I'm fine on my own," she snapped.

Baird raised a hand to point out something, but her words died away when she saw the look on Cassandra's face.

Wordlessly, Jenkins tinkered with the globe and spun it, then opened the door. He stood back to let Cassandra pass, then followed her through.

"I wanted to be alone," she said as she caught sight of the old man beside her.

"Too bad," he replied, with a smile. "I wanted to visit the exhibition."

Back in the office, Flynn turned to his fiancée. He pointed at the door. "Should we..."

"Whatever that was, I'm sure Jenkins can handle it," Eve replied.

"She didn't see anyone in the mirror," Ezekiel said, by way of explanation.

"But that's impossible!" Eve cried. "The Selkie told us that everyone has one!"

"Yeah, one in all space and time," Ezekiel corrected. "Maybe Cassandra's isn't in this space or time. The Selkie's wouldn't be. Not now."

Eve watched sadly as the ex-thief marched back up the stairs. Stone was already gone, somewhere.

"I'm worried about Cassandra," she murmured to Flynn, turning to face him. "She's hiding something."

"Like what?" Flynn frowned. "We know she and Jacob..."

"No, nothing like that," Eve shook her head. "I just... Something's not right. I haven't seen her use her gift in weeks, not like she used to. She eats like a bird too! Ezekiel told me she ate hardly anything when we were in York. I'm worried she's getting worse and not telling us. Did the doctor say anything when you brought them home from the hospital that time?"

"Nothing," Flynn shook his head. "I didn't see any doctor, or nurse, actually. Jacob and Cassandra were waiting for me by the door. Opposite sides of the door at the time, but still..."

Chapter Text

Ezekiel looked down at the hand-drawn map on the floor. They had heard nothing of the Serpent Brotherhood since the recovery of the library. Whether that meant they were gone, or just licking their wounds and biding their time, he had no idea. Eve seemed to believe Dulaque was gone for good, although she wouldn't say why. Flynn and Jenkins were keeping quiet on the subject. None of that helped him work out how well guarded the warehouse would be without actually risking a quick visit by himself. If they had increased security since the loss of Lamia and, possibly, Dulaque, and he was spotted, however, that meant they might move the contents and all his hard work, and luck, would have been for nothing. He would be back to square one.

There was nothing else for it, he decided. He would have to go and check it out himself. He got to his feet, rolling up the map, and picked his way out of the maze of bookshelves. Turning a corner, he nearly walked into Stone.

"Watch it!" Stone snapped. "Where the heck are you going? You back to bailing again, Jones?"

"I have work to do, actually," Jones replied acidly. "My own mission."

"To find that darn warehouse, I know. Fat lot of use that'll be."

"You wouldn't be saying that if you thought there was something there that could save her," Ezekiel shot back, regretting the words as soon as he said them.

"Yeah, well we know there ain't!" Stone bellowed in the younger man's face.

"Hey! Don't start yelling at me, mate!" Jones shouted back. "I'm not the one who broke her heart and destroyed all her hopes in one go! You want to be angry with someone, go be angry with yourself."

"Been there, done that, not feeling any better for it!"

"Then go be angry at Baird's punch bag then. Leave me out of it!"

The thief disappeared around another corner before Stone could respond. With a yell of rage, he turned and punched the end of the nearest bookshelf instead. A book fell on his head. He picked it up. It was a biography of Dylan Thomas, together with a collection of his more famous and popular poems. He threw it away with a sigh of disgust. It fell on his head again.

"What was he like?" Cassandra asked Jenkins as they strolled through the quiet exhibition of Dylan Thomas' life and works in Swansea.

"Who? Mr Thomas?" Jenkins asked, looking round. Receiving a nod from Cassandra, he continued. "I never met the man. Heard him read some poetry once, on the wireless. He seemed like a troubled soul."

"I've read some of his poetry," Cassandra mused. "Back when I was first diagnosed, I went through a phase of denial, then of meticulously planning my own funeral. I went looking for poems to be read there. Two of his came up. One stuck."

They had stopped in front of a glass case, enshrining a notebook open at a page. Cassandra read the page with barely a glance.

"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

"It's a beautiful poem," said Jenkins as Cassandra's voice faded away.

"He wrote it for his father," she explained, needlessly thanks to the last verse. "I always felt it applied to anyone, though. To me. To the other kids on the ward. To everyone. It was a call to arms, to not give in to fate. I've been fighting my fate since then. Up until now, I thought I was winning. Turns out I was just digging trenches."

The first tear landed on the glass case with a plink. Jenkins sighed as the floodgates opened, and gathered the young woman into a fatherly embrace.

"There, there," he said, patting her head. "We all fight it, my dear. All of us."

"You don't," she mumbled quietly.

"Like Judson, and du Lac, my life is unnaturally long," he replied, setting her back on her feet a step so he could look at her. "But also like Judson, and, indeed, du Lac, I will one day reach the end of it. I know it doesn't help, but there's no magical elixir or spell that I'm keeping from you for my own use. I wouldn't do that. My dear child, I would never do that."

"You seem to know an awful lot about him," said Cassandra, drying her eyes.

"Who? Judson?" Jenkins frowned.

"No, Dulaque," she replied, watching the old man wince at the name. "You even say his name differently too."

"I have known him many years," Jenkins shrugged. "Hundreds of years, in fact. Indeed, he has walked this earth even longer than I have. I am merely too used to the older pronunciation."

"No, but the way you said it there..." Cassandra trailed off in thought. "It was like it rang a bell in my memory. Who is he? Really?"

Jenkins sighed and scrutinised her face. Distracted by another puzzle, the tears had dried and the sniffles died away.

"What I am about to tell you cannot be repeated to any of the gentlemen awaiting us back in the office," he said, holding her gaze steadily.

"What about Eve?" Cassandra asked quickly.

"The Colonel already knows. She has also sworn not to tell anyone, although I guess I'm doing her a favour, since I know it's been eating her up not having someone to talk to about it."

"Okay," smiled Cassandra.

"The man you call Dulaque," he began, "is, or at least was once, Sir Lancelot du Lac. At one time the greatest knight of King Arthur's round table. He only relinquished that title, which he always maintained had merely been given him by others, to his son. He had knighted the boy, a lad of just fifteen, the day before Whitsunday. Then, on Whitsunday itself, as the King and his court gathered to feast, they were taken to see a marvel, for it was the king's custom to always see a marvel or hear a tale of great adventure before sitting down to the feast. The marvel was a block of marble, floating in a river. In the marble was a sword, and on the marble was an inscription warning that only the best knight in the land could remove the sword, and that any who tried and failed would later receive a hurt from it. Imagine how shocked the company must have been to see that young lad, not even a man yet, reach out and take the sword, where others twice his size and many times his strength had failed. It was only after this that he recognised the boy that bore his own baptismal name. The boy he had abandoned fifteen years before."

"That boy was you, wasn't it?" Cassandra breathed in understanding. "So you're... You're Galahad, the adventurous knight?"

"At your service, my lady," he replied with a smile and a small bow.

"But..." Cassandra frowned. "The quest for the holy grail! You died!"

"My own personal version of 'swamp gas', I'm afraid," said the knight with an apologetic grimace. "I died to the outside world, certainly, but in reality I only moved on to my calling as a Librarian. It was many centuries after that that I travelled to the new world with the Library, and became Caretaker of the annex."

"After a falling out with Judson," Cassandra reminded him.

"A mere trifling disagreement," Jenkins waved a hand dismissively.

A surge of noise from behind heralded the arrival of a pack of Brownie Guides. A giggling gaggle of girls, resplendent in yellow and brown, filled the room with noise and laughter. Cassandra smiled at the exuberant children, spreading out about the room like sunlight and babbling excitedly in their melodic Welsh cadences. Jenkins merely looked up and pulled a face. He looked down at a sudden pressure on his arm. A messy haired, bespectacled child of about eight was tugging on his sleeve.

"Are you Merlin?"

"No, I most certainly am not!" Jenkins replied sternly. "Do I look like Merlin?"

"My grandfather saw Merlin when he was a boy, he says," continued the child. "He says Merlin always appears as a old man. He says he watches over us, like."

"He certainly says a lot," said Jenkins. "And I am not an old man!"

"Yes you are," the child insisted. "And my grandfather says Merlin never reveals himself and never tells anyone how old he is, so he must be you."

"What?" Jenkins winced, straining to wrap some semblance of logic around this juvenile reasoning.

"He says you won't reveal who you are except to those as use your right name."

"And does he say what that is?"

The child woefully shook her tousled head, and shoulders.

"Then there is hardly much point in continuing this conversation, is there young lady?"

The child glared up at the old man. Jenkins returned the glare with interest. The child pouted. Jenkins glared. The pout trembled. Jenkins glared. The child ran off in tears.

"Jenkins!" Cassandra admonished him, watching the girl's flight with a worried, if a little amused, smile. The child ducked under a rope and hid behind a tall embroidered screen.

"She started it!" Jenkins replied, with his nose in the air.

"I'm going to go see if she's alright," she smiled, leaving him to head over to the screen.

Jenkins waited until she was part of the way across the room before turning to watch, with folded arms and a sheepishly concerned frown. The child had been irritating, and he had never been good with children, but he had only meant to beat her at her own game, not scare her away in floods of tears. He watched as Cassandra, reaching the colourful screen, looked around it. He frowned as she paused, stepped back with an odd look on her face, then walked to the other end of the screen and looked round that. By the time she turned to call for him he was already half way there.

"Where is she?" Jenkins asked, reaching her side.

"I don't know!" Cassandra shrugged, utterly bamboozled.

"Could she have gone back to her group?"

"I don't see how," she replied. "I could see both ends of the screen all the time, there was nobody in front of it."

"Is there a door or trapdoor behind it she could have gone through?" Jenkins asked, worry becoming obvious in his voice now.

"There's no door," said Cassandra, shaking her head. "Hold on, let me check for anything else."

Using Jenkins' hand to help her over the rope, Cassandra ducked behind the screen. Her foot caught the rope nonetheless and the old man leant down to steady it. As he rose, he caught sight of a flash of yellow and brown. He stopped and let his eyes move to the sudden influx of colour. There on the fabric, embroidered in wool, felt and bright silken thread, was the figure of a small child with messy hair and glasses. And she was wearing a Brownie Guide uniform.

Jenkins looked at the sign by the screen. It was a depiction of the characters and village described in Thomas' play for voices 'Under Milk Wood'. He knew the play well enough. There were children in it. There were no Brownies.

"Cassandra!" Jenkins called out in panic. There was no reply. He looked around the screen. There was no Cassandra. He looked back to the screen. A new figure was now holding the brown and yellow clad child on it's hip. It was a slim, female figure, with flowing red curls and a short, bright, flowery frock.

Chapter Text

Flynn was sitting reading in the training room while Eve thoroughly beat up the punch bag. He had one book in the hand resting on his bent knee, another in his other hand, a third on the floor and a notepad resting on the thigh of the leg that lay flat long the floor. Occasionally he would put one book down, scribble something in the notepad, then pick up the book again. Occasionally he would stare off into space, muttering under his breath. Occasionally his eyes would flit up to his wife-to-be and gain a different kind of dreamy glaze. His mind was occupied in imagining the sight of her with their son in her arms when the door beside him opened, snapping him back to reality and turning his now focussed gaze upward. Stone looked down at him and inclined his head in the direction of the corridor. Untidily piling his books and notepad, Flynn got to his feet with all the grace and ease of a young giraffe discovering it had legs.

"Are they back already?" Flynn asked Stone as the door closed behind him.

"No, nothing like that," Stone shook his head, leading the two of them on a meandering walk through the long, winding corridor. "I just wanted a word. Not about work."

"About Cassandra," said Flynn, with an understanding nod.

"Actually it's kind of more personal than that," Stone replied, taking care to keep his tone even. Too much care to sound comfortable, though. "More personal about you, I mean."

"I'm not sure I follow you..."

"When you... When you asked Baird... Eve... When you proposed: were you sure?"

"Yes, of course I was," said Flynn with a surprised laugh. "I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

"Do you think you're her true love?"

Flynn stopped walking. So that's where this was going, he thought. "I do," he said, watching Stone's face carefully.

"Why?"

"I love her," Flynn began. "That's a good enough reason on it's own. When the Janus Coin sent her to the future, she met our son. That's a pretty good backup reason. Then there was the dream. We shared ours. That needs a fairly strong connection anyway, but in the dream, we were married and living in the Library with our son."

"Where were the rest of us?" Stone frowned, momentarily distracted.

"Jones was on the run," Flynn grinned at the recollection. "Not sure about Jenkins."

"And the rest of us?" Stone's voice held hints of dire foreboding.

"You'd disappeared somewhere years before," said Flynn, his grin fading as less amusing memories resurfaced. "With your daughter."

"Daughter?" Jacob watched Flynn's face. "I had a daughter? With whom? Where was her mother in all this?"

One look at the pained expression on the Librarian's face told Jacob all he needed to know, but he needed to hear it confirmed anyway.

"It was Cassie," he said, "wasn't it? We had a daughter, and then she died. I'm right, aren't I?"

Flynn nodded.

"How long did we have?" Jacob's voice rose slightly.

"The dreams weren't exact prophecies, Jacob," Flynn warned him. "There's no reason to suppose..."

"How long," he persisted.

"Eight years," Flynn sighed. "More or less anyway, we think. But there is still no reason to suppose..."

"That it'll turn out that way, I get it," said Stone. "We could have decades. We could have days. Either way, I'm gonna be the death of her."

Jenkins stood by the embroidered screen, apparently engrossed in studying its fine details and grumbling incoherently at anyone who came near, until the centre guide and receptionist came by to tell him she would be closing soon and he was the only other person here. He nodded his thanks, with a smile, and made his way back to the door, slipping through unnoticed as the guide tidied some of the chairs left out at the children's colouring area and picked up some forgotten crayon coloured pictures of Thomas' more memorable characters.

"You took your time," came the voice from the mezzanine. Jenkins looked up to see Jones looking down at him. "Where's Cassandra?"

"I need you to steal something for me," said Jenkins panic rising in his voice. "It's an embroidered screen. The kind people used to step behind to change their clothes. Three panels, all joined together by hinges. Each panel approximately six feet by two feet. You must not, I repeat, MUST NOT, step behind it!"

"Why?" Jones asked, hurrying down the stairs. "Where's Cassandra, Jenkins?"

"She's in the screen," Jenkins admitted, dabbing a handkerchief over his forehead. "I should have let her go alone. I was foolish to think I could help. This is my all fault!"

"I don't see how..."

"I scared a child, the child ran behind the screen, Cassandra went to get her," the old man explained hurriedly. "Now both child and Cassandra are trapped."

"Trapped where," said Stone's voice from behind them.

Jenkins repeated the story for the benefit of Flynn, Eve and Stone.

"She's been stuck in there this whole time and you've done nothing!" Stone raged, descending on Jenkins while pointing a shaking finger at the door that still led through to the exhibition.

"I had to make sure the screen didn't take anyone else," he explained calmly, turning to face Stone. "The centre should be empty now."

"Jones! Get the screen!" Stone ordered, now nose to nose with Jenkins. The thief disappeared through the door, followed by Flynn. "If she's hurt..."

"If I came back here to find a way to save her, and let somebody else get taken, she would never forgive me!"

"She ain't the one you have to worry about right now, old man!"

Jenkins bristled. "I realise your anger and frustration right now is all down to how much you care for Miss Cillian, Mr Stone," he said, his voice quiet and careful. "We all care about her. Not in the same way as you, I grant you, but in our own way nevertheless. If you think picking a fight with me will help save her right now do feel free to try. Remember this though: should you succeed, you will lose, rapidly!"

"Okay, let's not throw that gauntlet down, shall we gentlemen?" Colonel Baird interrupted in full military tones. "Stone go take out some of that attitude on the punch bag if you must. We don't take it out on each other. And you, Sir..."

Jenkins flashed her a look and she stopped.

"I think I need a cup of tea," the old man growled, walking icily around Stone and Baird before disappearing into the corridor in the direction of his lab.

"Where do you want this?" Jones called as he and Flynn returned, the closed screen carried between them.

"Over there," Baird pointed at an under-used corner of the office. "There's only a wall there. I'd rather not set it up then find out the book we needed was right behind it."

Stone watched them carry the screen over and set it up, both men careful not to step behind it. In the corner, standing on a bridge with a small child in her arms, its face buried in her shoulder, was the unmistakable figure of Cassandra. A thousand thoughts clamoured for his attention. How could they get her out? If they destroyed the screen, would it break the spell? Or would it destroy her and the child, and anyone else in there, too? How many others were there in there? How long had they been there? Was it still possible to get them all out? Was it even possible to get Cassandra out? Should they get her out? If she was trapped there, was she frozen in time? Like some sort of stasis container? Could she remain there until they found a way to save her, not only from the screen, but from the time bomb in her head too?

He turned away with a hand over his eyes. There was a child trapped in there. A child whose parents were no doubt frantic with worry and terrified of what had become of their daughter. How would he have felt if it were his daughter trapped there? The daughter Flynn and Eve had seen in their dream. How could he even consider leaving a child in there just for the hope of saving the woman he loved?

Because he did love her, he thought. And he would do anything to save her. But she would be the first to call him on it if he tried. If she were able to. He turned back to the group and walked over.

"You ever come across anything like this before?" Stone asked Flynn, looking away from the embroidered picture.

"No, sorry," the Librarian replied, looking up at him with an apologetic grimace. "But I'm sure we'll come up with something."

Baird and Jones were watching him too, he knew, but in their case it was more like a mouse watches a cat. He looked back to the screen. The picture was different now. The figure of Cassandra was closer, one hand outstretched towards them. Towards him. He knelt down and raised his hand to the screen. Behind him he heard Baird move to stop him, and Flynn move to stop her. He pressed his hand to the screen, completely covering the smaller, even smaller than usual, stitched hand. There was warmth there. A warmth he couldn't feel in the fabric around her.

"I guess she knows we're here then," murmured Flynn. "She knows we're trying to get her out."

"Can she hear us?" Stone asked, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"I don't know," shrugged Flynn. "Maybe."

"Close your eyes for a minute," said Jones, his voice thoughtful. "Everyone."

"What?" Stone looked round, frowning.

"Just try it," the younger man persisted. "Nobody look at the screen for a moment."

Stone watched the other three turn away or close their eyes, and felt the warmth beneath his hand fade. He looked back round. The fabric figure of Cassandra had both arms round the child now, and was smiling.

"Okay, that ain't creepy at all!" Stone quipped, one eyebrow raised. "How'd you come up with that idea?"

"She only moved twice, that I've noticed," the thief explained. "Once when we closed the screen up and carried it through, then again when we were all looking at you and you were looking at Flynn."

"So she can move, but only when nobody's watching," murmured Flynn. "As long as we're looking at her, she's frozen, like a statue."

"Exactly like the statues I was thinking of," Jones nodded, to the utter incomprehension of everyone else. He saw their confusion. "Really? Do none of you watch television?"

"No time," chorused Flynn and Eve with shaking heads.

"I watch the news, occasional documentaries when I'm on my own," said Stone.

"I'll listen to the news," Eve admitted, "but only on the radio, really."

"Next time we're in Wales, we're going to Cardiff," said Jones, hands raised and head shaking in disbelief.

"None of which helps us get Cassandra out of there, though, does it Jones?" Baird asked, a wry look twisting her mouth.

"Might help us communicate though, if we're not all staring back waiting for an answer all the time!" Jones snapped.

"Communicate how, Jones?" Stone growled. "Blink once for yes and twice for no won't exactly work here!"

"Then maybe you should try something else, genius!" Jones snapped back. "I don't know, here's an idea just off the top of my head: how about thumbs up for yes and down for no?"

"Can we please not fight!" Baird sighed through gritted teeth.

"Are they always like this?" Flynn whispered in her ear.

"More or less," she whispered back. "They're not usually this bad though."

"Okay, fine! You sit here and analyse your newest piece of art," Jones was saying angrily as they turned back. "I'll go hit the books and see if I can find anything that's actually useful!"

Flynn and Eve stepped back and watched the younger man storm off up the stairs, then looked back to Stone. He was looking down, his face unreadable.

"You should go help him," he said, when neither Flynn nor Eve made any move to speak or leave. "I want to try talking to Cassie. It'll be easier with just me."

Muttering acquiescence, the couple headed off to follow Jones up the stairs.

"Can you hear me?" Jacob murmured watching the picture before him, then closing his eyes. When he opened them, he saw the figure now had her hand outstretched again, this time with the thumb upward. Yes.

"Are you okay?"

Yes.

"Is the kid okay?"

Yes.

"Do you know how we can get you out?"

Thumb down. No. Jacob's face fell further.

"Is there anyone else in there?"

Yes.

"Alive?"

No.

"Are you in danger?"

This time the thumb was held level. Don't know? Maybe?

"Is that don't know or maybe?"

This time the hand was on her hip and her head was tilted. That was clear enough. Idiot.

"Okay," he smiled. "Is it don't know?"

Yes.

"We'll get you out of there," he said. "You know that right? I won't stop, we won't stop, until you're back, okay?"

Yes.

"Heck, even Jones is doing some work!"

"I heard that!"

"I gotta go do some research," Jacob grinned. "Before the kid finds something useful and never lets me forget it!"

Chapter Text

"Jenkins!" Baird's army voice rattled the door of the lab. "Jenkins! Open this damn door! Now!"

There was silence. Just as Baird drew in another breath she heard footsteps and paused. The latch clicked. The footsteps receded. She opened the door.

The lab was a mess. Books and papers were sprawled everywhere. On the far side of the room, Jenkins was tipping scrolls out of a box. Baird picked her way through the scattered manuscripts. The old man was unfurling each scroll in turn, scanning it and throwing it over his shoulder as soon as he knew it was of no use. She took his hands.

"Jenkins, if you start losing it now, we're all going to have a serious problem!" Eve said softly. "This isn't like you! You're the one who always knows how to deal with these things. No panic, no mess, just some pithy one liners, a few hints and the occasional major intervention."

"This is my fault, Colonel, mine!" Jenkins replied quietly, removing his hands from her grasp and pressing them down on the desk, but not before she could see how much they were shaking. "There are only two times, in my long life, that I can recall causing serious harm to someone I cared about, with the exception of my father. On both those occasions, that fate had been decided for them by their own actions before they even met me, yet I blamed myself for that hurt well enough. Now two innocents, one of them a child and the other a young woman dearer to me than my own blood, are trapped and in serious danger directly because of my actions. Mine, not theirs."

"You didn't know..."

"That does not help!"

"Would punching Stone?" Eve raised an eyebrow. "Jenkins, I've never seen you get really angry. I've seen you roaring at Jones' latest prank or shouting the odds about the mess in your annex. I've never seen you go quiet. You looked like you could have killed him."

"If I wanted to, I could have," he admitted. "But I do believe I would merely have knocked him out."

"Okay, I can deal with Stone trying to pick a fight in an empty room right now," she said. "And I can deal with Ezekiel pissing him off at every turn. What I really don't want to have to deal with is mopping up the blood if you and Stone actually end up going head to head over this!"

"I shall endeavour not to break his nose then," Jenkins growled.

"Hey!" Baird said sharply. "He's hurting. We all are, I know, but him more than most! He blames himself too, you know. He thinks he's the reason she wanted to go there alone in the first place!"

"HE IS!"

"Do NOT say that to HIM!" Baird ordered. "If you working here and him working there is what it takes to get us all through this unbruised, fine! Just remember that we're all still working toward the same goal here!"

Flynn looked down at the floor below him. He had retreated to the upper floor with Eve at Jacob's request, but since the end of his conversation with Cassandra, Eve had dared the stairs and headed off in search of Jenkins, leaving Flynn to help Ezekiel with the research. That had been... Interesting. While Flynn tended to think outside the box when faced with a problem, his younger counterpart managed to completely unfold the box, and refold it into something more useful. Usually, anyway. So far, they had found several references to enchanted screens, and numerous references to people disappearing into paintings. None mixed the two. In fact, in one, very important, way, they were completely opposed. Where destroying an enchanted screen was said to destroy the enchantment also, any form of destruction of a painting with souls trapped inside not only destroyed the painting, but the lives as well. There had been plenty of treatises discussing the language, village, characters and premise of the play Under Milk Wood, where a narrator informs the listener of the dreams of the town's inhabitants before allowing the listener to follow those characters through their daily lives the next day. Nothing in any of them suggested any link to their current problem. It was Ezekiel who had come up with the idea of looking for the thread, and the seamstress. The young Librarian had taken the former, Flynn the latter, sneaking down the stairs past a reading Jacob Stone and out through the back door. It hadn't taken long: all the information he needed had been in the computer systems of the Dylan Thomas Centre. Once he had the name of the seamstress from the sign for the screen, he only had to look her up. An app on the phone he had 'borrowed' from Ezekiel allowed him to bypass the security systems of the centre and head out in search of the local address. A short interview told him the seamstress herself was not to blame. The thread on the other hand...

She had received him with a puzzled look and a warm, Welsh welcome when he explained that he, a Librarian, was researching the history of literature depicted in various art forms. She had been only too happy to offer him tea, scones, bara brith, and a guided tour of her craft room. She had been delighted to explain how she had reclaimed the thread for her embroidery from the unpicked remains of parts of a fire damaged tapestry she had been restoring for Margam Castle at nearby Port Talbot. She took great pleasure in telling him how the tapestry was supposed to be haunted by the ghost of the cavalier it depicted, who had been seen by her neighbour's cousin's friend and who was reputed to move chairs around. After that, Flynn had discovered that the time had just flown in and he really must be getting back to his hotel before they lock the gates and alarm the doors and thank you so much for the tea and cakes.

He leant on the bannister looking down. Hauntings were relatively easy, once you knew what the spirit was attached to. Hauntings that stole people, on the other hand...

A movement brought his attention back to Jacob. In a room now almost filled with chairs and workspaces, he was sitting on the floor, his back to the edge of the screen. Flynn couldn't see Cassandra from where he was standing, but he was sure she wasn't far away. He sighed. He had already told Ezekiel that the hunch about the thread, and seamstress, had proven spot on. To his credit, the young Librarian hadn't gloated or made any comments about his awesome genius. He had listened to Flynn's tale and put aside several of the books he had piled up, then got up and searched the card catalogue for ghosts. Now it was the turn of either Jacob or Jenkins to hear the news, and Flynn wasn't sure which he'd rather handle first.

He made his way down the stairs, deciding on tackling the closer of the two, and turned in the direction of Jacob and the screen. He froze. He ran.

"Stone!" Flynn shouted, skidding to a halt before the cowboy's outstretched legs. "Look behind you!"

Shocked into action by Flynn's sudden appearance, Jacob turned to look at the screen. The little girl was on her knees, hands on the shoulders of the slumped figure of Cassandra.

"Oh God, no," he muttered. "Not like this. Please, not like this!"

"It's the thread," said Flynn, breathless and panicking. "It came from a haunted tapestry."

"How do we get her out?" Jacob asked, uninterested in anything else.

Flynn shook his head. "The only way to deal with a haunted object that I know of would destroy both the object and anyone trapped inside."

"That you know of?" Jacob got to his feet and ran for the door. "Jenkins!"

Baird met him in the hallway. "If you're here for another fight..."

"Not this time. Where is he?" Jacob yelled, pushing past her and rushing into the lab. "The screen was embroidered with haunted thread. The ghost got her and the kid in there. How do we get them out?"

Jenkins looked suddenly thoughtful. "I don't know," he said, eventually. "I can't... I've never come across..."

"She's unconscious! We need to get her out of there NOW!"

"I know!" Jenkins yelled back, blinking and shielding his eyes from a sliver of reflected light. Jacob looked up, following the reflection back to its source.

"When the hell did you get a bird cage?"

Jenkins froze. He looked up. "Of course!"

Grabbing a pole with a hook on the end - the kind you see fairground people use in their hook-a-duck games - Jenkins lifted the bird cage down and extracted the mirror. Once in his hand, it turned into the Genie's Lamp. With Flynn, Eve and Jacob in tow, the old knight rushed back to the office.

"I wish that every living person trapped in that screen is released from it into this room," he cried, almost colliding with Ezekiel by the side of the screen.

"Your wish is my command," echoed the Genie's voice. Cassandra's unconscious body vanished from the screen and appeared on the floor, joined moments later by the impetuous child, now crying the quiet, bitter cry of a child in true despair.

The child, noticing the change in her surroundings, looked round to see Jenkins, holding the lamp, with the genie behind him. "Merlin!" She ran over and hugged his knees. "I knew you'd save us!"

"I told you child, I am NOT Merlin!" Jenkins replied, more harshly than he had intended. The child jumped and released his knees. He sighed, regretting his sharp tone, and knelt down. "But I did meet him a few times. Long, long ago."

The child wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her messy, tearstained, bespectacled face in his shoulder. He lifted her up and handed her to Eve.

"Take her home," he said, nodding Flynn and Eve towards the door. "You'll fair better with your NATO identification that I will without even a bus pass! We'll take care of Cassandra."

As the couple disappeared through the door, Jenkins turned to the Genie. "I wish we were all in the nearest emergency room."

"Cassie?" Stone's voice sounded far away, like a lighthouse beacon guiding her to a safe harbour. "Come back to me, Cassie. Come back now, darlin'."

"Jacob?" Cassandra's voice was hoarse, her throat dry and uncomfortable. She tried to smile. "If you're calling me darling, it must be bad."

Silence. She felt her heart sink.

"How bad, Jacob?"

"The tumour's grown," he replied, his voice shaking. Now that she thought about it, she could feel the hand wrapped around her own holding on tight. Way too tight. Like he could keep her here just by refusing to let go.

"How long," she said, her voice expressionless. "Weeks?"

Silence again.

"Days, then."

With the third silence, she turned her head to look at him, and immediately wished she hadn't. He was turned to face her bed, his right hand locked around her left. His eyes were hidden behind his other hand, turning his face away from her. His jaw was set. She felt her breath catch, and at the sound his head turned, eyes flicking up to hers. It was like the light had gone out of them already. She tightened her own grip around his hand. She had never been afraid of dying before, not since she had accepted her fate and chosen to save Flynn with Excaliber's final dregs of magic. She hadn't had anything to lose then. No friends. No family. No job that she was expecting at the time. Not after having betrayed them all so unthinkingly. Now she had a new family - a family of friends that she loved - and a home with them, and hope. For the first time in so many years she'd had hope! And then, suddenly, all that hope had just vanished. And all that was left now was this great, black, yawning chasm of despair and fear. Not just fear, terror. Absolute, ice cold terror.

"How long?" Cassandra cried, tears falling freely now. "How long, Jacob?"

"Hours," Jacob's voice was ragged, but kept his eyes on hers now. "Twenty four at the most."

"It's too fast! No!" Cassandra heard her own voice scream out. She was sobbing now. In seconds he was by her side, his free arm holding her close, letting her cry into his chest until she felt she had no more tears left in her.

They sat in silence for a while. Eventually, she felt him raise her hand, still intertwined with his, to his lips. She looked up. She hadn't been the only one crying. She opened her mouth to speak, but a look from him made her change her mind.

"I love you," said Jacob, his voice shaking but his gaze steady. "And I am so, so sorry that I did not say it before now. I was stubborn, and proud, and I have been the greatest fool on God's green Earth to waste the time he gave us fighting, and avoiding you and acting like a child. You are the most amazing, wonderful thing that has ever happened to me, and I don't function without you."

Cassandra let out a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding. She searched his eyes for the right words to say and came up empty. She had been waiting so long to hear him say it. To admit what she had only just begun to hope could be true, before that hope too had been seemingly dashed against the rocks of fate. There was only one thing she could say, should say, in the face of such a revelation.

"I love you, too," she whispered, terrified that she would wake up any moment and find it all a dream.

Then a thought struck her and she laughed. "What a pair we make," she said, her mouth curling in a smile her reddened eyes wanted no part of. "Leaving everything to the last minute!"

Her eyes caught his again, and this time there was no need for words. There were no more words to say. She traced the fingers of her free hand over the side of his face, feeling her heartbeat jump when he turned to kiss her palm and wrist. She said his name softly, turning his face back to hers and letting her eyes close as he kissed her. The last thing she remembered was the feeling of his lips on hers.

Chapter Text

Jacob jumped back as Cassandra's body fell back into a seizure. The nails of the hand he was still holding were digging deep enough into his to draw blood. He pulled the emergency cord, yelling at the top of his lungs for the nurse, the doctor, anyone to help. People in hospital uniforms surrounded him, some talking to him, some to Cassandra, some to each other. Eventually, a nurse had to shake him to get his attention and persuade him to let go of Cassandra's hand and vacate the room to let them do their job. As he backed away, eyes still on the pale, limp hand dangling from the side of the bed, ears ringing with the continuous tone of a heart monitor singing its mournful lament, other hands caught him and dragged him out of the room.

"What the hell did you do?" Ezekiel screamed, cannoning into Jacob and pushing him almost off his feet.

Jacob stared at him with an uncomprehending gaze. As the younger man launched himself Jacob again, he watched Eve and Flynn grab him and hold him back. It took both of them. A hand on his shoulder brought Jacob's attention round to Jenkins, who silently, solemnly, shepherded him away to a relatives room.

The silence was broken as soon as Flynn, hustling a still struggling Ezekiel into the room with Eve's help, closed the door.

"What did you do?" Ezekiel shouted tearfully. "She was fine! What did you do?"

"I..." Jacob's mouth opened and closed like a fish, but no words came out. Had he caused this? Had he been the straw that finally broke her?

"I had NOBODY, before this place!" Ezekiel was still shouting, every sentence punctuated with another shove. "I cared about NOBODY but myself! I never had a family. Never had friends. Never had anyone anything like a sister, then she came along and finally I had someone! Someone who cared about me and accepted me just the way I was. She didn't ask for anything. She didn't question my loyalties just because of some stupid stuff I'd done in my past, with far fewer excuses than her. She just took me as I am. She took everyone as they were. She spent every day of the rest of her life trying to make up for one stupid mistake that any one of us, including you, would probably have made in her situation and the only one, the ONLY one, who never let her forget it was you! You made her life so much more difficult just by refusing to see past something she couldn't change! You brought her to this! And now she's dead and once again you're the guy holding the smoking gun!"

"Ezekiel, that's enough!" Flynn's voice cut through the tirade, sharper than they had ever heard it. The young man stormed over to the other side of the small room and dug his nails into the windowsill, hiding his expression from the rest of the diminished group. Jacob looked over to Flynn. The Librarian had his arms around Eve, his face grim. The Guardian's shoulders were shaking with tears.

"Mr Stone? Jacob?" Jenkins made Jacob sit down, then turned him to look at him. "I know that what I am going to say, won't mean much to you right now, but it may do later. The

pain won't go, but time will make it bearable. You will get through this. Please believe me when I say I do know exactly how you feel. We all knew how much you cared for Cassandra, and how much she cared for you, even if she didn't."

"I told her," said Jacob monotonously. "She knew."

"And I'm sure she heard you..."

"She was awake," Jacob cut in, his eyes staring blankly across the floor. "She woke up and she asked how long she had. I could hardly tell her. Then she was just crying so hard I didn't know what else to do: I just held her. And I knew, right there, that was my last chance. My last chance to tell her I loved her. So I did. And she said it too. She loved me too," he looked up at the old man's paternal gaze, his eyes filling with tears again. "She loved me too," he repeated. "Why the hell didn't I say something sooner?"

"You couldn't have known..."

"But I did! From the first day I met her, I knew she was dying and I knew I was falling for her and I did nothing! Nothing but push her away, time after time! Then when I finally do tell her, she doesn't spend her last breath telling me what an ass I've been, she spends it kissing me instead!"

"She what?" Jenkins voice had gone very quiet.

"I... She... We kissed," Jacob frowned, distracted by Jenkins' odd expression.

"Jenkins?" Flynn's voice broke the silence. He too had noticed the older man's new found thoughtfulness.

"Flynn, I think you should take everyone home," said Jenkins, rising from his place by the still shell-shocked Jacob. "I can see to everything here."

"You're hiding something," said Flynn quietly, leaving Eve's side to talk to the older man alone. "You know something I don't. What?"

"You know it too, if you'd just think about it for a moment," Jenkins whispered so that only Flynn could hear. "Get these three out of here, Librarian, and let me deal with this."

"It wouldn't work: it's not their first..."

"Without already being under the influence of magic, it is. The timing is too much of a coincidence."

"Did you know all along?" Flynn's voice grew sharper and he watched the knight's expression.

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "I didn't put the pieces together until right now. When we tried the mirror, she said there was nobody. We all... We both... Ezekiel and I thought we must have been wrong about their connection."

"How long?"

"Depends. They'll take her to the morgue. I'll head down there first."

With some difficulty, and the reluctant help of Eve, Flynn managed to get Jacob and Ezekiel back to the Library without another fight. The bright evening sunlight had helped, showing up the weary lines of grief on each of their faces as clearly as hazard lights on a car crash. The arguing and tears had been replaced with silence, though, and not even the warmth of that long, hot day could melt the ice between them. As soon as the doors opened into the office, Ezekiel shook off Flynn's hand and headed off in a different direction. Jacob stood looking up at the corner of the mezzanine balcony for a while, then silently headed up the stairs.

"How are you doing?" Flynn turned Eve towards him, wiping the tears from her face and kissing her forehead.

"Not good," Eve murmured, trying to stop the sobs returning to her voice. "I know there was nothing I could have done but..."

"You protect us from magic and the bad guys, not nature, Eve," said Flynn softly. "We should start tidying up here. Jenkins will be back soon I hope."

"What's he doing?" Eve frowned.

"Just tying up some loose ends," he replied in that same gentle tone. "It'll be okay."

"What?" Eve looked deep into his face, studying every feature. "What do you know, Librarian?"

"Nothing, nothing," he soothed. "Jenkins has a hunch he needs to follow up. That's all. When he knows more, I dare say he'll tell us."

She scrutinised him some more, then nodded warily and began picking up the scattered mess of the day's earlier panic. Flynn watched her for a moment, looked up to where Jacob had disappeared into the bookshelves, then began helping. Whatever way this went, it would be hard for all of them to take in. For Jacob it would be worst of all.

Flynn wasn't sure how much time had passed. The office was tidy again, the scattered papers neatly piled, the upturned chairs back in their own places. It hadn't taken long once he and Eve were focussed on their task. Ezekiel still had not resurfaced, nor had Jacob, but Eve had made coffee for all of them, and a pot of tea, which would by now be stewed, for Jenkins. There had been a shaky moment when she had realised there were six cups on the tray, not five, but she had held it together and Flynn had told her just to leave it. And she had looked at him again with that deep, calculating look. They were sitting, nursing the dregs of their cold coffee, when he heard the door opening. He looked up at the door and held his breath.

The sound of footsteps, echoing in the hallway, grew closer. There was a muffled exclamation from the other end of the hallway, and running feet preceded the slight figure of Ezekiel racing past the door. Flynn stood up, drawing Eve to her feet and wrapping an arm around her waist. If he was right, she might be needing the support in a moment.

The doors opened to admit Jenkins in characteristically pretentious style. With a smile, he stepped aside to reveal a beaming Cassandra, her arm through Ezekiel's, tears running down both their faces.

"Oh my word!" Eve breathed, breaking out of Flynn's hold to wrap her lost sheep in a warm embrace.

There were more tears and hugs, exclamations and explanations, until the office rang out with Cassandra's familiar laughter.

"Cassie?" Jacob's trembling voice brought the room to a standstill. He was standing by the balcony, right opposite the door.

"Jacob," Cassandra smiled, and ran for the stairs.

They met at the top, where he lifted her off her feet and into his arms.

"What... How?" Jacob stammered, putting her down at last.

"The tumour is gone," said Cassandra. "I'm not dying now. Is that okay?"

"Of course it's okay!" Jacob's voice rose. "It's more than okay! Why the hell would it not be okay?"

"It's just..." Cassandra hesitated. "The last thing I remember, you were telling me I was dying, then it all gets kind of fuzzy, then I woke up in the morgue!"

"The last..." Jacob took a step back. A cloud seemed to pass over his expression.

"What?" Cassandra frowned.

"Nothing, nothing," he shook his head, smiling a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That must have been scary for you."

"In this job?" Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Nothing surprises me any more! I've beaten the labyrinth, I've been Prince Charming, I've talked to dragons, fought ghosts, tracked down a woman nobody can give a clear description of because she always looks different, I've stolen a witch's broomstick, been swallowed up into a Shakespeare play, trapped in an embroidered picture and got myself stuck in a day long dream at the most beautiful university I've ever seen!"

"You never did talk much about that dream," said Jacob, taking her arm and walking her back down the stairs to where the rest of the group waited.

"Ohhh, it was just me, alone, at university, by myself," said Cassandra, finding the walls suddenly very interesting. "I'd had an operation. The tumour was removed. I could start really, properly, living my life, so I picked a course and signed up. I remember beautiful buildings, a fabulous ancient library and the most amazing tree carved into a door all the way from top to bottom."

Jacob froze, his eyes narrowing as they flicked over to Cassandra in thought. By luck they'd reached the rest of the group, so nobody seemed to notice, or so he believed.

As Ezekiel and Eve led Cassandra over to her usual chair, and Flynn took the coffee things away to make a fresh pot, Jacob grabbed Jenkins' arm.

"What happened?" Jacob asked quietly.

"Sir?"

"Don't you 'sir' me, Jenkins: what happened?"

"It's complicated," said Jenkins after a moment's thought. "She doesn't remember the kiss does she?"

"No," said Jacob. "How did you...?"

"Magic needs three things," began Jenkins.

"I know: power, focus and effect, I got that," Jacob cut in. "But that doesn't explain..."

"The effect is the removal of Miss Cillian's tumour. The power is the latent magic you have all absorbed while working here. You know yourself how many times one or both of you have become partly or even completely controlled by magic. That leaves a trace, like radiation. So does handling magical artefacts. It's why Flynn can work that darn globe in there, but you cannot: he's been absorbing stray magic longer."

"And the focus?" Jacob watched Jenkins. The older man shrugged and Jacob's eyebrows went up. "You're trying to tell me the focus was the kiss? I could have saved all of us this if I'd just kissed her sooner?"

"Eh, maybe," Jenkins pulled a face. "If I'm honest I wouldn't have thought you'd have enough power as it is, although..."

"The kiss might have been the focus, but stray magic didn't provide the power, at least not just that: love did," said Ezekiel, who had crept over to find out what they were whispering about. "I remember saying something about it back when Santa's hat did a number on me. It's the supreme power. Trumps everything. Something like that."

"And our friendly neighbourhood archer did say something similar," agreed Jenkins, waggling a finger at Jones. "Any power an individual possesses can be increased exponentially when poured into something, or someone, they truly love."

"But the genie said only true love's first kiss could save her. I'm not her true love, I can't be! We'd already kissed twice and she was still ill," said Jacob, waving a hand in the direction of the office and the magic mirror. "She said the spell, she saw nobody!"

"Nobody she didn't expect to be there," Ezekiel corrected him. "I couldn't see what Cassandra saw, I was almost directly above her on the mezzanine. I could see you, though, sneaking down and sitting on the stairs. You can see the stairs easily from where she stood when she said that spell! She didn't say she saw nobody, remember: she said nothing happened. The mirror didn't alter to show her her true love, it didn't have to: you were already sitting there in the reflection before she even said the rhyme!"

"What?" Jacob frowned. "But..."

"And any time you kissed her before, magic was already involved," Jenkins added. "You weren't really yourselves. Not fully."

"Eve's gonna take her home, let her get a change of clothes and so on," said Ezekiel in a voice that said quite clearly that he had a plan. "When she's gone, why don't you try the spell yourself? Flynn's probably going to go with the girls and drive them, and Jenkins and I can make ourselves scarce. If she pops up in the mirror, you'll know I'm right."

"Yeah, and then what?" Jacob scoffed.

"Then, my friend," Ezekiel explained patiently, "you get her to try the spell again, and this time makes sure she doesn't see you reflected without it!"

Just as Ezekiel had predicted, Flynn left with Eve and Cassandra. After pulling several faces at Jacob, both Ezekiel and Jenkins had left the office and closed the doors behind them. Now Jacob was alone. He looked over at the mirror and laughed, still not convinced.

"This is stupid," he murmured to the room in general.

A bookshelf rattled and a soft thunk drew Jacob's attention to a book that now lay open on the floor. He picked it up. On one of the open pages there was an ink illustration depicting, in exquisite detail, a large, art nouveau tree in a frame the shape of an arching door. It's roots curled down through the shaded soil at the bottom of the frame, winding though bones and pots and other archaeological finds. It's trunk led up to branches winding up through birds and beetles and books. The legend below the picture read "the tree of knowledge".

"Just like the door in my..." Jacob stopped. "The door! She saw the same door!"

Jacob let the book fall back onto the table and ran his hand through his hair, his eyes were wide, his mind replaying everything in that dream. He got to a certain point and started laughing uncontrollably. That brought Jenkins and Ezekiel running.

"Did you try it?" Ezekiel called from across the room.

"Not yet," Jacob replied. "Jenkins tell me something."

"What can I help you with?" Jenkins asked calmly.

"When that dream catcher got us," he said, not turning to look at the other two men, "is it possible that Cassandra and I shared the same dream?"

Jenkins and Ezekiel looked at each other.

"Way ahead of you mate!" Ezekiel grinned. "What gave it away?"

"We saw the same door," Jacob nodded. "And you'll never guess where I first met her there."

"Do tell," Jenkins said smoothly.

"It was in the library!"

Cassandra looked down at the book in her hands. She had searched it out as soon as she got back to the Library. It was a book of fairy tales and fables, and they all followed a pattern. Boy meets girl, magic intervenes, life gets in the way, boy loses girl. Girl dies. Boy brings her back with a kiss. If he gets there in time. Sleeping Beauty. Snow White. They were saved. The original little mermaid had been less lucky. She just wished they told the story of what happened next: happily ever after didn't get as many mentions as she hoped! She was well aware there was only one possible explanation for her sudden reanimation in the morgue. She just wished she knew the who as well as the how!

"I know," he said softly, standing close beside her in the stacks and leaning down to whisper in her ear. She looked round in surprise. She had been so wrapped up in her book that she hadn't heard him approach. There was a sly grin on his face.

"Jacob Stone, you look far to smug for your own good," she sighed, turning back to the book and trying to stop herself grinning back like an idiot. If they had found her true love, whoever that might be, and persuaded him to kiss her, it would be a cruel and unusual punishment for Jacob to let her feelings for him start showing again. "What is it that you think you know?"

"Its odd," he murmured, his voice taking on that low, quiet tone that always sent shivers down her spine. "I really ought to have spotted it before. But it wasn't until you mentioned that door that I put two and two together." He saw her stop reading and freeze. His grin broadened. He leant down to her ear again. "Universities don't teach undergraduate courses in the summer, Cassie."

"I don't know what..." Cassie began, but he grabbed her hand and led her out of the shelves of books and into the open part of the room, turning her to face the mirror.

"You need to try this again," he said bluntly. "But wait a moment, and close your eyes."

"What? Jacob!" Cassandra frowned when his hand went over her eyes, but she obediently kept them closed.

"Okay, look around you," his voice called. "Can you see me anywhere?"

She opened her eyes and looked around.

"No," she called back. "And this is ridiculous! I've tried this already! You were there!"

"Just try it, damn it!"

Cassie rolled her eyes and stepped closer to the mirror.

"Mirror with your eyes on fates," she said, wearily intoning the rhyme. "Show me where my true love waits."

The mirror faded from view, showing Jacob leaning on the bookcase behind it.

"Oh!" Cassandra's eyes widened. "Oh!"

Jacob ducked around the mirror and came towards her. "Really: that's all you're gonna say?"

"But how did you..."

"Ezekiel said I should try it myself. He spotted something before. I didn't try it though. Not until I realised... Until I worked out that the dream..." Jacob stopped and laughed. "Dammit, Cassie, what is it with you and tearing people's clothing off? First your dress in Rome with that apple and then..."

Her face reddened at the memory and she started to turn away, blushing furiously. He caught her hand and drew her near, turning her embarrassed face to look him in the eye.

"It was only a dream! Just a dream!" Cassandra reminded him, her voice rising in panic. "People aren't the same in their dreams! You can't trust dreams!"

"I've had just about enough of what I can and cannot trust, Cassandra Cillian, don't you start all that up again!" He wrapped one arm around her waist and brushed her hair back from her shoulder with his free hand. "Besides," he said, letting his fingers trace down the side of her neck and watching her breath catch. "How else would I know what this does."

"Jacob," she began, cutting off the rest of the sentence with a gasp as she felt his lips on her neck.

"I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap and be buried in thy eyes," he murmured in her ear. "And I love you, Cassandra Cillian. More than even the greatest poets can say."

"I love you, my stubborn, stupid, romantic idiot," she gave in with a sigh. "And I wouldn't change that for the world!"

"At least here, I have spare shirts!" Jacob teased, resting his forehead on hers as her hands slid up his chest and wound around his neck.

"Hello," she said quietly, when all the world had gone still around them.

"Hi," he murmured back.

"Let's start over," she whispered. "Clean sheet."

"Let's not," he replied. "Let's just start a new chapter. Together."

"I'd like that," she smiled.

Their lips met half way in a kiss that, for once and in a way much subtler than magic ever could be, really did change the world. Neither of them noticed, however. They were both too busy for that.

Chapter Text

Timeline: Episodes 1 to 4 occur before Loom of Fate. Episodes 5 to 8 occur after it. Although Episodes 1-3 were written before City of Light aired here, they only really fit if they take place after it.

Easter Eggs:

Episode 1: The Selkie's Skin

When Jenkins is describing selkies, he says: "Some have even been reported on this side of the ocean, up in Canada and as far south as Maine. There may be some confusion over the latter of those two though." This is a reference to one of the 'troubles' experienced in Haven, set in Maine, and to Primeval New World, set in Canada.

When the group arrive at the caravan site in Poolewe, they are assigned static caravan number 42. This is a reference to 'the answer' from The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

Episode 2: The Janus Coin

The title is a reference to an episode of Warehouse 13

When discussing the magical paradoxes caused by the Janus Coin, Jenkins says "people do tend to assume that time is a strict progression from cause to effect. A very old acquaintance of mine assures me that this is not the case." This is a reference to Doctor Who, and Jenkins getting to claim acquaintance with the Doctor.

When Cassandra talks about a girl, called Alana, from the thirty first century, it is a reference to the character Alana and the old TV show "The Girl from Tomorrow" in which she was the main character.

When Flynn returns to the annex, he returns "pursued by a bear". This is a reference to one of Shakespeare's oddest stage directions "Exit, pursued by a bear." in A Winter's Tale.

When Jones, Baird and Stone wake up in the tunnels under the bridge in Cahors, Stone comments on the darkness and Baird says "Oh, thank heavens, I thought it was just me!" This is a reference to an incident where Granny Weatherwax says much the same thing, for much the same reason, in one of Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels.

When Cassandra switches off the back door to retrieve the pincer sticks, essentially opening it the 'other way', it is a reference to Hoggle opening the door out of the oubliette in the film Labyrinth, and opening it the wrong way first, into a cleaning closet.

Episode 3: The Book of Thoth

When Flynn asks Jones what he was reading, Jones says "Houdini wrote books too, you know". This is a reference to Flynn saying the same thing in one of the original three Librarian films.

When Jacob visits Cassandra in hospital and asks for directions, the nurse says "Second corridor on the right and don't stop 'til the last door". This is a reference to the Peter Pan, and Star Trek, line "Second star to the right and don't stop 'til morning".

When Flynn and Eve are discussing what she chose to wear to visit Egypt, she says "What would you prefer? [...] some awful, great, white, diaphanous dress espoused by alleged heroines that always need rescuing." This is a reference to Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (at least I think it was that one, it was definitely an Indy one.)

The unfathomable internal proportions of Flynn's satchel are a reference to the ever-changing interior of The Luggage in Terry Pratchett's Discworld series.

The fact that Jones is the character to retrieve the Book of Thoth, and spot the numerous traps in the Egyptian temple on the way is a reference to another Jones with similar tendencies...

The oubliette, and the making of their own door to get out of it, are both references to the oubliette in the film Labyrinth, and the fact that the door is there, but has to be built, to escape.

When they are building the 'door' to get out of the oubliette, Flynn uses a large bath towel as the door itself. This is a reference to The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, where "a towel is about the most massively useful thing a hitch hiker can have".

When Eve and Flynn bring the third crate through from Dulaque's secret warehouse, and the wormhole switches back on itself because it is linked to his phone, in his pocket, Flynn says "I confused the door". This is a reference to the line "We're confusing the polarity!" in the Doctor Who 50th anniversary special.

Episode 4: In Somnis Veritas (In Dreams There is Truth)

After returning from the hospital, Jacob is researching an item called "a one-eyed yellow idol from the North of Khatmandu". This is a reference to a poem (yes, another one; yes, that's why Jacob got it) called "The Green Eye of the Yellow God" by J. Milton Hayes. It is one of my favourites. It is a poem that tells a story. And it is a poem that I highly recommend everyone reads.

In Jacob's side of his, and therefore Cassandra's, dream he has a secretary named Claudia, in homage to Lindy Booth's character of the same name, who was secretary to another university professor in the show Relic Hunter. Although I can imagine that dream would get a heck of a lot more confusing if she looked the same too...

In Eve's, and thus Flynn's, dream, Eve mentally compares their son Judson to his father at that age, describing the 17-year-old Flynn as having "arms and legs longer than he knew what to do with, brain the size of a planet, attention span of a gnat". This one is a reference to Marvin, the robot in The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, who repeatedly informs those around him that he has a "brain the size of a planet". Just don't get him started on the pain in all the diodes down his left leg!

Judson, in Eve and Flynn's dream, publishes a paper on the Cult of Aten and the family go to visit Amarna, site of Akhenaten's capital city. This is a link to the Amelia Peabody series of books by Elizabeth Peters. Amelia meets her husband at Amarna, and they later have a very precocious son, not unlike Judson in intelligence if not features.

When Ezekiel is stuck in his nightmare, and the glass case he is in fills up with rats he says "Rats. Why did it have to be rats!". This is an Easter egg of an Easter egg, as it is a reference to Veritas: The Quest, when Cal, presumably referencing Indiana Jones's similar line about snakes in Raiders of the Lost Ark, says exactly the same line when faced with rats on a solo mission.

When Jenkins, Baird and Flynn are discussing who to use Freud's notebook on next, Jenkins tells Flynn that "Love and trust are not the same thing," and that "Family is the perfect example of where we are compelled to love, but not to trust." He is talking about his father, Lancelot du Lac, or Dulaque as he was then calling himself.

At the end of the episode, Flynn says "Another fine mess cleaned up", in homage to Laurel and Hardy's famous catchphrase.

Episode 5: Trouble Over Nothing

The whole thing is a reference to the first known romantic comedy: Much Ado About Nothing, by William Shakespeare

When Baird tells her brother in law, Johnny Prince, where to go, she paraphrases Rhett Butler in Gone With The Wind.

The poem used is Black Monday Lovesong, by A.S.J. Tessimond. (See reference list.)

Episode 6: Palimpsest

When Jenkins is explaining the dreams to Ezekiel he mentions things come in threes. He also mentions two of three themes: faith for Ezekiel, and hope for Eve and Flynn. These are two of the three Biblical themes of faith, hope and love mentioned in one of the letters of St Paul commonly used as a reading in weddings.

There is also another set of three themes that the dreams contain: past for Ezekiel, present for Jacob and Cassandra and future for Eve and Flynn. This didn't make it into the edit though.

The Agatha Christie books listed are all ones from my own collection, and all are stories which focus on puzzles, riddles, something obvious being hidden or obscured by something expected, and someone major not being who you expect them to be.

During his argument with Baird about Cassandra and Jacob, Ezekiel says he has "no frelling clue what happened in Slovakia". This is a reference to Farscape and their choice of alien expletives.

When Jenkins mentions Culzean castle, it is because it is home to another series of Robert Adam masterpieces. In fact, the entire castle was redesigned by Adam to give the current edifice.

Episode 7: Ask Me No More

The title actually appears twice: in the poem that bears its name, near the end, but also split between the two couples. Flynn uses the phrase "ask me" in part 1, before Eve asks him what he found out about her deceased husband, and Flynn proposes, bringing them permanently together. Cassandra uses the phrase "no more" to end her argument with Jacob when the genie's answer has apparently torn them permanently apart, as far as they both see it, anyway.

The episode is set in York as a reference to the Owen Archer series by Candace Robb.

There is a backwards reference in the archery contestants names to Luke Evans, who played Bard the Bowman in The Hobbit films.

The character of Luke Somersby is based on Bertie Wooster from Jeeves and Wooster.

The repeated phrase "our friendly neighbourhood [archer]" is a reference to our friendly neighbourhood Spiderman.

Erin Roisin O'Shea, for anyone that didn't spot it, is Eros, also known as Cupid. The fact that her house has wings is also a reference to the character of the winged Cupid.

On the Cyndi Lauper album Ezekiel finds in the first room, track 11 is entitled "The World is Stone", which was just too easy a joke to pass up. Track 4 is called "I Drove All Night" and its lyrics, if you don't know it, make Ezekiel humming it equivalent to him humming that playground rhyme mentioned below in the section on random clues and stuff, but a tad more grown up!

Episode 8: Rage, Rage Against The Dying Of The Light

When Ezekiel suggests not looking at the screen to let Cassandra move, then decides they all need to go to Cardiff, he is talking about the Weeping Angels of Doctor Who, and the Doctor Who Experience in Cardiff.

When Cassandra says "What a pair we make," just before she and Jacob finally truly kiss, she is paraphrasing part of the first line of the song "Send in the Clowns".

References to Summer:

Episode 1: The Selkie's Skin

Cassandra smells summer when Jacob breaks her out of her hallucinations.

Episode 2: The Janus Coin

Cassandra smells summer when she picks up the book on French mediaeval architecture that Jacob was reading before leaving for Cahors.

Cassandra smells summer when coming out of the hallucinations that tell them where to tie the tourniquet to stop the blood loss from Stone's arm.

Episode 4: In Somnis Veritas

The entirety of Cassandra's dream, and therefore Jacob's takes place in summer.

However, she also manages to smell summer in the middle of the Bodleian Library when she first bumps into Jacob.

Episode 6: Palimpsest

The reason for all the summer references is finally explained, as is their absence throughout the preceding chapters, and the entirety of episode 5 (since they spend almost the entire episode under the spell of Shakespeare's Quill).

Episode 7: Ask Me No More and Episode 8: Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light

The whole of episode 7, and therefore the last episode also, begins and ends in summer. In fact, if you keep an eye on the timings in and between episodes, the Selkie's Skin begins in mid-May, and the whole thing ends around two months later, mid-July.

Shakespeare Quotes:

Episode 2: The Janus Coin

"pursued by a bear." - Stage direction for an ill-fated character (the bear won) in A Winter's Tale.

Episode 5: Trouble Over Nothing

"naked truth"

"neither here nor there"

"fight fire with fire"

"sent him packing"

"And thereby hangs a tale"

"More fool you"

"heart's content"

"a brave new world"

"high time"

"In my heart of hearts"

"foregone conclusion"

"Thus conscience does make cowards of us all"

"The play's the thing"

"vanish into thin air"

"The time is out of joint! Oh, cursed spite"

"A word in your ear"

"wear my heart upon my sleeve"

"Love me? Why?"

"Is this a dagger I see before me?"

"green eyed monster"

"I do love nothing in the world so well as you.
Is not that strange?"

"I'll stop thy mouth"

"'Tis now the very witching hour of night"

Episode 8: Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light

"I will live in thy heart, die in they lap and be buried in thy eyes" - Benedick, Much Ado About Nothing

Rewriting Much Ado About Nothing:

Rather than regurgitate quote after quote that would have seemed too out of place with everything else happening in the story, or painstakingly modernising every line, and having to contrive additional characters to say them, I reshuffled the roles and plot to fit the characters I had and the route I needed it to take. Some quotes were too good to lose entirely though, and just had to be reworded where they wouldn't fit. These are they, along with who played whom.

"The bet was won and not a man lost!" referring to the battle the duke and his men had returned from, losing "few of any sort, and none of name".

"Where is Mr Grumpy?" mimicking Beatrice asking about Senor Mountanto.

"On our last mission he tried to call me out on six different things. He wasn't happy when all but one of his opinions got blown out of the water by logic!" reflecting Beatrice's quip about Benedick's six 'wits' being parried by her own in all but one case.

"I'm guessing someone's not in your good books then!" paraphrasing "I see the gentleman is not in your books."

"If he was, I'd burn the whole pile!" paraphrasing "No! And if he were I would burn my study!"

"Here's my own hand against my heart!" paraphrasing "here's our own hands against our hearts"

Don Jon, the, shall we say "person of questionable parentage", and brother of Don Pedro, Duke of Aragon, is replaced by Johnny Prince.

Dogberry, the foolish watchman who keeps getting his words mixed up, is replaced by Houndslow.

Jacob and Cassandra are, obviously, Benedick and Beatrice.

Flynn and Eve are Claudio and Hero

Jenkins is Hero's father, Senor Leonato

Jones is Don Pedro

Character Deaths:

Apparently I have a reputation among my friends for being a bit of a Steven Moffat when it comes to killing off characters. While I can't say I can share the claim of Don Pedro on his return from the wars in Much Ado, I don't think I did too badly this time...

Episode 1: The Selkie's Skin

Ross McNee
MacLeod, McNee's best friend and murderer.

Episode 2: The Janus Coin

The French guy at the start

Episode 4: In Somnis Veritas

Cassandra dies in Eve and Flynn's dream. In chapter 13...

Episode 8: Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light

Cassandra dies. Yes, she did actually die!

Okay, I will admit it's the first time I've killed someone off twice in one story and they've still been alive at the end!

Links to canon: (I am aware these will be much more obvious than the Easter eggs)

Episode 2: The Janus Coin

Cassandra threatens Flynn with 'force ratios' for calling her 'Janitor'.

Episode 3: The Book of Thoth

Title is one of the artefacts mentioned on Jenkins' chalkboard in 'And the Fables of Doom'

Jones sliding down the bannister is an echo of Flynn doing the same thing in 'And the Crown of King Arthur'

Eve's glare at Flynn's cover story has an obvious reference to her tangle with the minotaur.

Flynn repeats Jenkins' line from 'And the Fables of Doom': "it's never the Genie's Lamp." Of course, we all know how that turned out now...

Flynn moves the satchel out of Jones' reach without looking, like Jacob does with the present in 'And Santa's Midnight Run'.

Eve repeats the line "Still not calling him Santa".

Episode 4: In Somnis Veritas

In the Dean's office at Oxford, Cassandra thinks about architecture as art you live in, and wonders where she heard that.

When Cassandra confronts Jacob in chapter 15, he repeats that line from the series. I'm sorry, but we all know which line I mean. We just do.

Yes, pun intended.

Episode 6: Palimpsest

When Eve confronts Jacob about the way he's treating Cassandra, she repeats Alternate Timeline Jacob's own assessment of his canon timeline self. Her responses a few lines later are also a reference to their kiss in that episode.

Jones' pizza is a reference to the one he ordered in 'And the Apple of Discord'.

Episode 7: Ask Me No More

Jacob and Cassandra echo Flynn and Eve's lines from the series "The job's more important..." "...than what we want."

I'm sure there are others I've forgotten about.

Random Clues to Stuff

In Jacob and Cassandra's dream, there are a couple of clues to the fact they are dreaming. Firstly, they both end up amid the "dreaming spires" of Oxford, hence the choice of setting. Secondly, when his secretary is reading out the second crossword clue, the answer is "dreaming".

Flynn also dreams he is lost in the Library, only to be woken up by his son in the Library whilst dreaming about the Library that is lost.

Eve is told by the old woman in the cave at Amarna that she thinks, and she dreams, but "is this the dream or the nightmare?" She is also told that they would "all have many roles to play, not all their own", referring to the effect of Shakespeare's quill; that there were some things they - meaning Cassandra and Jacob - could only do for themselves and that her guidance was more needed than her protection; that there would be sorrow and that she would have to be strong enough to bear it for those who could not. The last is a reference to the role she plays in the last episode, when even Jenkins is having trouble dealing with things.

The tree of knowledge on Jacob's door in the dream has lots of meanings. First and foremost it is something memorable and unique that they will both recognise later, but it is also a hint to what's going on behind it, from the playground rhyme with the line "sitting in a tree". Well, what's the point in being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes?

For some reason, when Jacob and Cassandra wake up, they don't notice that the people waking up next to them are the wrong way round. Flynn went into Cassandra's dream and Eve went into Jacob's, yet Eve woke at the same time as Cassandra, and Flynn moments later with Jacob. This is partly because time moves differently in dreams, and they all appeared to wake up more or less together, and partly because Eve and Flynn were wise enough not to mention how they got into their dreams, but it's mostly because they're both a little distracted.

Character development arcs:

Jenkins goes from putting up with their hindrances and waiting anxiously for one of them to ask him directly about his past, to becoming not only a mentor but a father figure to all of them, especially Ezekiel and Cassandra, and telling the former part, and the latter all, of his personal story.

Cassandra goes from being afraid to even let herself reach out and touch Jacob's face in episode 1 to losing all those fears in her dream in episode 4, to actively fighting for his affection in episode 7. She also goes from being the person to organise food for everyone in episode 1, to being persuaded to eat something then turning most of the food away in episode 7.

Jacob goes from being oblivious of his feelings for Cassandra, and more especially her feelings for him, to the realisation that he would do anything for her, and that he loves her enough to let her go.

Eve goes from being the person most sensible and settled in the present, least worried about domesticity, still getting used to working at the annex and just starting to consider her relationship with Flynn, to embracing a future as a wife and mother living in the library with Flynn and their son. She also goes from a determination not to mess with other people's love lives to conspiring with Ezekiel, and dragging Flynn into the conspiracy, to get Jacob and Cassandra together.

Ezekiel goes from being the slightly whiny and self centred loner to taking on the role of little brother to Cassandra and caring deeply about how his actions affect others around him, especially those he cares about.

Flynn goes from rushing around the place and barely spending any time with Eve, or the others, to asking Eve to spend her life with him. They also go from squabbling over leadership to trusting each other with everything, but the series did rather get there before me with that one.

Reference List:

(Only includes paperback or hardback books I own, not e-books, audio books or any of the websites I used. If you want that in series 2, you'll have to tell me from the start!)

Adams, D, 1979; The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Pan.

Barber, R., 2007; Legends of the Grail. London Folio Society.

Bulfinch, T., 1993; The Golden Age of Myth & Legend. Wordsworth Editions Limited.

Christie, A. 1920; The Mysterious Affair at Styles. Harper Collins.

Christie, A. 1926; The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. Fontana.

Christie, A. 1929; Partners in Crime. Harper Collins.

Christie, A., 1930; The Mysterious Mr Quin. Pan.

Christie, A., 1976; Curtain: Poirot's Last Case. Book Club Associates.

Christie, A., 2000; Spider's Web. Harper Collins.

Collins, W., 1868; The Moonstone. Penguin Popular Classics.

Dent, J. M., and BBC, 1985; Poetry Please (Illustrated edition, 1999). Phoenix.

Geoghegan, S., 2003; The Language of Flowers. Past Times.

Manning-Sanders, R., 1976; Scottish Folk Tales. Mammoth.

Millgate, M., 1963; Tennyson: Selected Poems. Oxford University Press.

Murray, A. S., 2004; Who's Who in Myth & Legend. CRW Publishing Limited.

Picard, B. L., 1953; Tales of the Norse Gods and Heroes. Oxford University Press.

Picard, B. L., 1955; Stories of King Arthur and his Knights. Oxford University Press.

Shakespeare, W., 1623; The Tragedy of Hamlet Prince of Denmark. The Warwick Shakespeare Edition. Blackie & Son Limited.

Steinbeck, J., 1979; The Acts of King Arthur and his Noble Knights: From the Winchester Manuscripts of Thomas Malory and Other Sources. Book Club Associates.

Trevelyan, M., 1895; Arthurian Legends: The Land of Arthur: Its Heroes and Heroines. Siena.

And finally...

Whether or not you agree with the sentiment that I can be a bit of a Steven Moffat, I do have a bit of a habit of pulling a Stan Lee. In every full-sized story I write there is usually one small cameo character who is a reflection of myself. See if you can guess which of the bit parts I got in this!