"Miss Cillian has done what?" asked Jenkins, freezing in place as a cold, sick feeling suddenly welled up within his stomach. Jacob Stone, not catching the stunned horror in the old Caretaker's voice, continued to clear away all of the books they had used on this last case and piled them onto the book cart.
"She's says she's chosen a day and time to commit suicide," Jake repeated bluntly, ruthlessly ignoring his own feelings on the matter. "She told me and Jones about it while we were all trapped in Hoklonote's cave." He stretched across the long worktable to grab one last volume on shapeshifters and dropped it onto the cart.
"Did she say what that date is?" pressed Jenkins, carefully modulating his voice to sound only mildly curious. Bewilderment was beginning to turn into dismayed panic. Jake shook his head.
"Nope, and I doubt she ever will, either," he said. "She might give us a heads' up right before, but I wouldn't count on it. I get the feeling that she wants to do things her own way. No interference, you know what I mean?" He paused for a moment, his face thoughtful.
"So you believe her, then? That she's actually chosen a day and a method for…?" Jenkins couldn't make himself say the words.
"Yeah, I do. Can't say as I blame her, either," the historian replied. "If I was in her shoes, I don't think I'd want to wait for a disease to decide for me when and how I die. A brain tumor's a bad way to go—your motor skills fail, you get seizures, hallucinations, you lose all control of your body's functions—"
"Enough!" cried Jenkins. The idea of the young Librarian suffering like that was more than he could bear. He quickly recovered his composure and gazed at Jacob placidly. "It does, indeed, sound like a most unpleasant way to…shuffle off of this mortal, as Mr. Shakespeare says." Jenkins fussily smoothed the front of his shirt and coat as he spoke, then took possession of the loaded book cart.
"Well, these books won't shelve themselves, so if you'll excuse me, Mr. Stone?" The Caretaker quickly pushed the cart from the workroom without waiting for a response from the Librarian.
He tried to focus his concentration solely on his work as he replaced each of the books, but Jenkins couldn't force the awful bit of gossip that Jake had shared with him from his mind. Had Cassandra truly chosen a date on which to die? He shook his head and scowled at his own foolishness. Of course she had; if she had been lying, the door to Hoklonote's prison would not have been affected.
Jenkins shelved the last book in his hands, then paused before returning to the cart for more. The day she had chosen must be far in the future; outside of the occasional nosebleed, she wasn't showing any signs of being adversely affected by the tumor in her head, not yet. She was still full of energy, still vibrant and engaged with life—surely the date she had chosen wasn't coming anytime soon. And perhaps she would even have to revise her plans since becoming a Librarian! Perhaps she would push the date back farther than originally planned. Perhaps she would even consider canceling her drastic plan entirely? Perhaps…
Jenkins caught himself. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out again, shook his white head again.
"You're in danger of becoming a sentimental old fool, Jenkins!" he muttered to himself chidingly as he turned to walk back to the book cart. What did it matter to him when Cassandra died? She could live to be five thousand years old, and he would still outlive her. How the Librarian chose to live—or end—her life was her business, it had nothing to do with him. So many Librarians had come and gone over the centuries, dying off in every way imaginable—why should one more untimely death matter to him? It wasn't as if he had asked for Cassandra or the others to come here and infest his Annex, after all. Indeed, he should be glad that one of the annoying invaders would be leaving sooner rather than later!
And yet, he didn't feel glad, not at all. He felt… Jenkins straightened up from the book cart, his arms full, frowning as he struggled to identify exactly what he was feeling. His brow furrowed as he finally identified a feeling of sadness; that was to be expected, he supposed. He felt concern; also normal. But he was startled to realize that he also felt afraid.
That gave him pause. Why should he be afraid of one more Librarian's death? His dark eyes narrowed as he started to try and puzzle it out. What was there for him to fear if Cassandra was suddenly gone?
The Caretaker physically flinched as an answer immediately sounded in his head, as loudly as if another person was standing next to him and shouting into his ear: Because you will be alone again!
As the words echoed through his mind, a numbing tightness filled his chest. He shook his head in denial and began walking quickly back down the aisle to shelve his books.
"You're being ridiculous!" he scolded himself sharply. He was not afraid of being alone again! Hadn't he been alone already for centuries; if the young Librarians all disappeared tomorrow, he would be just fine! Indeed, he would rejoice at their absence and welcome back with open arms the peace and quiet that had been stolen from him upon their unsolicited arrival!
Ah, but you would miss Cassandra and her company…
"No, I would not!" he growled, and jammed a book between its shelf-mates so hard that he ended up pushing several volumes on the opposite side of the range from their shelf and onto the floor. Jenkins sighed with exasperation and stalked around the end of the range to tidy up the mess.
"Naturally, there would have to be a period of readjustment back to a solitary life, I'll grant," he continued to debate with himself while he worked. "There would be a bit of loneliness in the beginning, I suppose, but…" Jenkins forced the disquieting thought away with an impatient wave of his free hand.
"But that's all nonsense! Miss Cillian is a friend! No, not even that—she's a…an acquaintance! Nothing more!"
She's far more than just an acquaintance…
"A colleague, perhaps, then," he answered himself defensively. "Yes, 'colleague' is a much more accurate word. We have been working rather closely together over the last year or so, and we do share an interest in things magic-related. It's only to be expected that a…a…a professional relationship of some sort would develop and grow between the two of us. Yes, yes, that's all it is—a purely professional relationship! Based solely upon mutual respect and a simple sense of camaraderie. You've thoughtlessly confused respect with affection, Jenkins, nothing more!"
The tall man snorted softly and raised his head proudly, satisfied with this explanation, and continued shelving his books. He repeated his assessment over and over, telling himself again and again that he and Cassandra Cillian were nothing more than professional colleagues.
Yet, whenever his mind wandered to the idea of Cassandra dying—of the tumor or otherwise—the stomach-churning fear eagerly tightened its grip, stubbornly refusing to leave him.
Jenkins decided that, for the first time since that shocking encounter with Morgan le Fey last year, he needed something stronger than tea to drink this evening.