"The book or death, Librarian—choose!"
The tall, elegantly-dressed man with a thick thatch of silver-white hair whirled around at the sound of the French-speaking voice behind him. The Parisian alley was dark and isolated, but his sharp brown eyes could still make out the half a dozen figures completely swathed in black from head to toe. Each shadowy man had a katana drawn and ready.
Really? Katanas? he thought as he rolled his eyes. Do they not even MAKE any other kinds of swords anymore? The magic portal back to the Annex was further down the alley, too far away for him to make a run for it, so the tall man placed his hand on his chest, gave his opponents a tiny bow, and lied through his teeth.
"I'm afraid you are mistaken, gentlemen," he said amiably in flawless French. "I am not a librarian, nor am I in possession of any books."
Which was technically true. The Summoning of Phenex wasn't a book, per se; it was really no more than a handful of asymmetrical scraps of dirty parchment, each page covered with scrawling Latin and quickly sketched diagrams and sigils, the whole hastily stitched together to form what could only be described as a messy pamphlet. But that messy pamphlet contained the only known fully-recorded ritual for the summoning of Phenex, a demon of great power who commanded an army of twenty legions of lesser demons and who a master of all sciences and poetry. Once summoned, however, Phenex had a nasty habit of turning the tables on the ones who summoned him, enchanting his conjuror with a sweet, irresistible song just before literally turning the poor sod inside-out, then seizing the opportunity to wreak all sorts of havoc. The last time Phenex had been successfully summoned, in 1871, most of Chicago had burned to the ground.
"You lie!" snapped a seventh figure, hidden until now in the back of the group. He was also dressed all in black, and he was of slighter build than his companions. Clearly this was the "brains" directing all of this "brawn".
"You were at the auction! You bid on the Summoning and you won!" the smaller shadow snarled impatiently. "You have it in your possession; give it to me this instant, and I will let you live. Refuse, and you will die!" The tall man sighed audibly, his broad shoulders slumping.
"Listen to me very carefully," he ordered, his tone not nearly as amiable now as he dropped all pretenses. "I have been away from home for five days now—five very long, dreary, miserable days, waiting for this infernal ritual to come up for bidding. That's five precious days that I have had to spend away from my beautiful wife, a woman who I love more than my own life. Five days that I've had to spend apart from the one who gives my life its only purpose and meaning. She is ALL I've thought of and yearned for this past week—and you are now the only things standing between her tender, loving embrace and myself." Even in the darkness his eyes somehow found and burned into each of the would-be thieves as he spoke.
"And that, gentleman, is a very bad place for you to be."
The henchmen stared at the old man in disbelief for a few seconds, then the leader burst into mocking laughter, followed hesitantly by the others.
"Vive la femme, ah?" the group's leader said. "As a true Frenchman, I can sympathize, believe me! It is a sad thing to be separated from the woman you love, especially if she is beautiful! But I have the solution to your problem, Monsieur Carsen: Give me the Summoning right now, and you will be free to return to your beautiful wife. Otherwise..." The man shrugged and then drew a finger across his throat.
"It would be a pity to make her a widow over something so petty, no? Especially on the eve of St. Valentine's Day. Tsk, tsk, tsk!" As the leader stepped forward and reached out his hand, the white-haired man raised his chin and glared imperiously down his nose.
"I told you, I am not a Librarian," he said coldly. "I am not Flynn Carsen. My name is Jenkins, and I am not in the mood to put up with this nonsense any further!"
Jenkins grabbed the smaller man's outstretched hand and jerked him roughly forward, nearly lifting him off his feet. As the man lost his balance and tripped forward, the immortal quickly adjusted his iron grip on his opponent's wrist and spun him around, pulling the surprised man's arm backward and twisting it upward sharply. The man screamed in pain as his arm audibly snapped like a twig.
Jenkins shoved the whimpering leader into the group of momentarily stunned henchman. It bought him just enough time to reach behind his back and draw a long, medieval-looking blade of his own from its sheath attached to his belt and hidden by his overcoat. The Caretaker drew himself up to his full height and swept the group with a glance, assessing his attackers individually and as a whole with a well-trained warrior's eye. They were just hesitant enough to tell him that they were unsure, i.e. unseasoned. He figured it would take him less than ten minutes to either scare them off or dispatch them. Either way, it meant ten more minutes away from Cassandra. Ten minutes with her that he would never get back, thanks to these bumbling morons, and that thought made Jenkins angry.
Without even thinking, he let loose the war-cry he used to give in ancient times when he rode into battle, chilling the blood of the over-cautious henchman, and then plunged into their midst, the heavy blade of his ancient dagger biting greedily into the flesh of his enemies, causing them to scatter like chaff in the wind, screaming as they ran away.
Cassandra Cillian Jenkins awoke early, her sleep disturbed by a soft snoring sound coming from behind her. As the fog of sleep cleared, the young Librarian became aware of a large, warm mass against her back, and a heavy weight draped over her waist. Cassandra's heart skipped several beats as she froze, her body stiffening, a cold feeling of fear in her chest. Taking a deep breath, she carefully rolled herself over just enough to allow her to turn her head and take a wide-eyed look behind her. When she was finally able to make out what it was in the dim dawn light, she immediately began screaming.
"JENKINS!" she shrieked, the fear in her pounding heart replaced now by joy. "You're back!"
She threw herself onto the large body of her husband, hugging him tightly and showering his face with kisses, startling the sleeping man awake.
"What...?!" he blurted, rolling over onto his back, eyes bleary with sleep. "Cassandra! What's is it?!" His wife bounced up and down happily on the bed next to him.
"You're back!" she squealed excitedly again. "You came back early—and just in time for Valentine's Day!" She threw herself onto him again, straddling him this time as she hugged him tightly.
"When did you get back? Why didn't you wake me up? Did you get the book you were looking for? Is…?" She peppered him with questions until he could finally get a word in edgewise.
"I arrived back here just after three o'clock in the morning; I didn't want to disturb your sleep, so I just slipped into bed. I almost decided to sleep in the lab—"
"Don't you ever do that!" she warned him sharply, a comically exaggerated look of consternation on her lovely face. Jenkins held his arms open, and the Librarian instantly snuggled into them against his chest with a sigh of happiness.
"I missed you!" she murmured sincerely, and her husband hugged her comfortingly.
"And I, you, my love," he replied, kissing her head through her soft, mussed hair. "The entire time I was away I was counting the hours until I could return!"
Cassandra wriggled happily against her husband's long body, relishing the warmth and the feeling of security she always had when they were together. She closed her eyes and began drifting off to sleep again as she listened to his heart beating.
"Okay, so…Is that all, then?" Jenkins rumbled after a few minutes of silence, pulling the Librarian back from the edge of sleep.
"Huh?" she mumbled drowsily, turning her head slightly towards him.
"Is that all?" he repeated, his tone one of disappointment. "'I missed you'? Is that all the welcome home I get after being gone for nearly a week, risking life and limb to ensure the safety of the entire world?"
His wife sat up and looked askance at him in the faint morning light.
"You went to an auction! In Paris! You literally stayed at the fanciest hotel in the city!" she said derisively. "How is that risking life and limb?" Jenkins raised his silvery head on the pillow.
"Humpf!" he sniffed in exaggerated offense. "You, my dear, have clearly never been to an auction of rare Seventeenth Century grimoires. The bidding was positively savage! And as if that wasn't bad enough, the crepes that I had for dessert one evening were tough and rubbery— appallingly overcooked for a Michelin-rated restaurant!"
"How shocking!" the young redhead gasped dramatically. "So how many helpings did you end up having?" Jenkins crinkled his large nose in disgust.
"Only two. That's all I could manage to choke down of the vile stuff!" Cassandra's giggles exploded into laughter. She burrowed happily again into his strong arms, her small hand sliding up and around to run its fingers through the silvery hair at his temple.
"Poor baby!" she cooed. "And here I am, shortchanging you on a proper welcome home!" The immortal smiled as he pulled her close, one large, callused hand sliding slowly over the delicate curves of her waist, hip and down her thigh.
"Indeed," he rumbled, his voice suddenly low and seductive, his bright eyes taking on a feral glint. "After so much time apart, I was actually hoping for something a bit more…demonstrative?"
Cassandra tilted her small face up and wound her arms around his neck, smiling as she gave him a bold, adoring gaze.
"Oh, absolutely, my dear!" she purred, playfully mimicking her husband, then silenced any further complaints that he may have had with a slow, deep, passion-filled kiss.