Chapter Text
January 2, 2015 | St. John’s Bridge | 2:23 PM
To be frank, she had been skeptical when she received the invitation for an interview and read that it would be held within a utility building at the base of St. John’s bridge. Despite her better judgement, she didn’t run it through her more experienced compatriot before deciding to go to said interview. All he knew was that she had one. She couldn’t say why she’d decided to keep it a secret, to wait until all was said and done, but she did.
She stood in front of a well-kempt door and felt slightly better if still a bit confused as to why the interview was being held here. Still, not one to take chances, she skimmed her fingers under her shirt to her waistband and felt the familiar shape of her pepper spray. If she were about to be jumped, she’d at least like some kind of advantage.
All that was left to do was knock since it wouldn’t do to walk in unprompted. It could possibly be dangerous to do so even if it weren’t a human trafficking set up. After all, this was a utility building, and she could only assume that the city kept tools there to maintain the structure of the bridge. As tempting as it would be to sue the city, she couldn’t afford the ambulance ride.
Rather than give herself any more time to think, she went to knock and paused when she noticed a doorbell… Which was odd. She didn’t know much about bridges and their facilities, but she was pretty sure doorbells weren’t normal.
She hit the button and fidgeted with her white envelope as she waited.
And waited.
She eyed the structure and supposed it was possible that there was a second story and that everyone inside was working up there. It would explain the need for a doorbell.
After a bit of time, the door opened to reveal a tall woman whose blond hair was pulled back in a military regulation bun. Powder blue eyes found her immediately and were wary enough that she felt distinctly uncomfortable.
“Huh… Can I help you?” The woman asked politely, not quite smiling but almost.
“Er, hi… I’m here for the interview?”
“Interview?” The woman repeated as if she’d not been informed—which wasn’t comforting since she looked like a person who was meant to be informed. “Do you have a white envelope?”
She held it up and waved it awkwardly.
A quiet sigh that almost seemed relieved. “Oh… That interview. Come in and I’ll grab Flynn for your interview.”
When the woman stepped aside to let her in, her stomach dropped at the long stretch of dark hallway.
This was a human trafficking trap if she’d ever seen one and she was not going to get shipped off to some pervert or factory. Her hand twitched toward her waistband, but she kept herself steady. She wanted the element of surprise if things went sideways.
The woman looked confused until she looked back at the hallway. When she turned back, she looked sheepish. “I get it. Long, dark hallway in a secluded place. What would make you more comfortable?”
Without thinking she answered, “A gun.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Do you know how to use one?”
“Not really.”
This led to the woman pulling out a pistol from the holster around her waist and holding it out to her. The woman figured out she was left eye dominant which meant instead of holding the pistol in Alexis’ right hand where it was comfortable, she had to use her left hand. She taught Alexis how to handle the gun safely, check for bullets, tell the difference between blanks and actual bullets and how to hold it when firing. The three things she drilled (there was no other word for it) continuously throughout the lesson were: “Keep your finger off the trigger until you intend to fire it,” “never point it at someone unless you mean to shoot them,” and “always check the safety.” It was short, but thorough.
The entire exchange was surreal.
“Are you ready for your interview now?” The woman asked brightly.
She gave her a bewildered look. “You’re… letting me carry your gun… into your workplace?”
She shrugged. “Whatever makes you more comfortable. I have experience teaching young recruits how to handle a gun and you’re better than half of the soldiers I’ve trained so far. Haven’t touched the trigger since the first time I warned you off and you’ve been careful about where you point it.”
“… what’s your job?”
Her smile held secrets, but she seemed willing to share. “I’m security here, but before this I was a NATO officer. Colonel Eve Baird at your service.”
The military bun made more sense and her age matched what she thought a Colonel should have been. Her name felt vaguely familiar—but if she was part of NATO, it was possible she’d read an article on a mission she’d been the lead on.
“Alexis,” she replied warily while shaking the woman’s outstretched hand. “Do you do this for every person that comes in for an interview?”
“You’re the first, actually. Are you ready?”
Alexis must have hit her head the night before and it had disconnected some survival instinct she had because this was the only reason she could think of as to why she followed the woman inside.
It wasn’t so much a hallway as a corridor and the shadows were pitch black and menacing. If one of them jumped out at her, she would have bolted rather than shot at it, she thought. She had to tighten her grip on the gun as her palms started sweating from the oppressive and dangerous feeling within the corridor. It felt like that abandoned building down the street from the house she’d lived in during middle school. Despite being a middle schooler who’d left childish things in elementary school, she’d sprinted past that house every time because it’d felt wrong.
Alexis would have turned and bolted if she were sure of the direction they’d come in since—oddly enough—there were branching corridors from the main one. She was stuck with the Colonel cursing herself for her brief lapse in judgement and almost sure she would end up missing or dead by the end of the day.
Colonel Baird opened a set of double doors that had warm light peeking through the frosted glass and the fear gave way to awe.
The room was large and cast in a warm, almost golden glow. Desks and tables were scattered about the room with books, papers and scrolls on their surfaces. Behind those tables seemed to be rows of bookshelves. To the side, there was a staircase that wound up to a mezzanine with even more books and desks from what she could see. Along the staircase against the wall, there were shelves with small wooden compartments that she couldn’t quite figure out the use of aside from storage. The alarm bells that had been ringing in her head had silenced and she was left with a warmth that she couldn’t quite put into words. The closest feeling she could equivalate it to was being welcomed home after a long stint away.
This was a library, she realized, but how it came to be in a utility building for a bridge was beyond her understanding. At the very least, it made the contents of the white envelope make more sense.
But the entirety of the situation made no sense.
“I’ll be taking these,” Colonel Baird said as she plucked the white envelope and pistol from Alexis’ hands.
“I thought you wanted me to feel safe for my interview,” Alexis argued—more out of habit than out of genuine anxiety.
“You look perfectly content now that we’re here. Besides, I’m putting this in my desk and locking it. No one else carries guns in here but me,” she assured while doing just that. “Wait here while I go find your interviewer.”
She watched the woman disappear into the bookshelves calling for a “Flynn” and awkwardly shifted when she was alone.
There was a large part of her that wanted to explore, to figure out what the hell was going on, but she knew she would get lost in a place as big as this.
A place that shouldn’t have been this big considering they were in a utility building under a bridge. It was something that she couldn’t wrap her mind around, but she knew she’d be more likely to get answers from the interview than she would by snooping around.
She walked to the side of the room to get out from the main entrance and waited, scanning the surrounding area. Everything about the room was stunning in its own unique way if she were being honest. The desks, tables and chairs seemed to be finely made with wood, the tiles were pristine and intricately designed. Even the high ceiling seemed to be made by a craftsman. It was the most beautiful and perfect library she’d set foot in. She could easily see herself sitting at one of the desks reading to her heart’s content.
What she couldn’t figure out was why she hadn’t heard of a library—especially one as magnificent as this—in this area of Portland after living in the area for years.
Doors slammed open behind her and suddenly her face was connected with the unforgiving floor. Her head was spinning as she pushed herself to her hands and knees and between her hands she noticed a bright splash of crimson against the pristine dark brown floor. Her fingers tentatively brushed against her sensitive nose, and she hissed, flinching from her own touch as she came to the solid conclusion that her nose was broken.
Which was a shame because she had no medical insurance at the moment, and she sincerely didn’t want to reset it herself.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” a feminine voice gasped above her and to her left.
Strong hands grabbed her by the arms and hauled her to her feet before brushing her shoulders as if to get dust off.
“Sorry about that,” the man in front of her panted. He was a few inches taller than her with short brown hair and ruddy blue eyes. He was wearing what she thought was stereotypically southern with blue jeans, boots, a flannel button up and a jean jacket. He certainly sounded southern. “You alright?”
Before she could decide whether she was going to make a snide comment or answer genuinely, a third voice piped up.
“What’re you doing here?” The man was younger than the other—closer to her age—with dark hair sweeping into his dark eyes. He was of Asian descent but spoke with an unapologetic Australian accent.
She decided that answering their questions was less important than fixing her nose.
She took several short breaths and mentally hyped herself up for the task at hand. With one last fortifying breath, she jerked.
She exclaimed in pain and the world grew blurrier than before. It took several breaths from between her gritted teeth to get through the immediate pain and settle into a steady discomfort instead.
“You didn’t answer my question,” the Aussie said petulantly. “What’re you doing here?”
She cut him a watery glare. “Interview. Do you have a tissue or something?”
“Interview?” The feminine voice from before said.
The woman had red hair that went to her shoulders and clear blue eyes. She wore an interesting combination of clothes that shouldn’t have worked, but somehow did and she patted her pockets absentmindedly.
The Aussie shook his head and scoffed, “We’ve got enough Librarians, thank you.”
“She’s not here to be a Librarian, Mr. Jones!”
Up on the mezzanine was a man walking up to the railing with the white envelope and letter at hand and the Colonel trailing behind him. Wild brown hair coupled with his outfit she’d have said he was trying for an adventurous scholar look. Even from where she stood with watering eyes, she could tell he had too much energy for someone his age.
“Then what’s she here for?” The man that helped her up asked.
The man—Flynn she suddenly recalled—leaned against the railing and smiled down at Alexis as if her being there was his favorite puzzle. “This young lady is here for the position of Curator.”
“But we already have Jenkins,” the redhead said while reaching for not-Jones-or-Flynn’s belt to pull him closer and dig her hands into the pockets of his jacket.
The name, while interesting, was not her most pressing issue. Curious as she was, she wanted to straighten up from her awkward lean to keep the blood off of her clothes.
“Yes, but the Library seems to think we need someone else which is fascinating.”
“Guys, if we could focus here,” Colonel Baird sighed as she walked down the steps. “Our guest is—”
“Bleeding,” Alexis managed through a wheeze, sending the Aussie a dirty look. “All over the nice floors, too.”
“Use this,” the redheaded woman said, holding out a handkerchief she must have grabbed off of not-Jones-or-Flynn.
A bit old fashioned, but who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth?
She took the offered cloth with a mutter of thanks before crouching and wiping her blood from the floor. When there wasn’t anything left, she folded the handkerchief and held it to her nose to catch what blood was still dripping out.
“She’s gonna be a mini-Jenkins,” Colonel Baird muttered as she drew closer, but Alexis got the impression she wasn’t supposed to hear it.
“So… what now?” She asked. “Are we going to the hospital or…”
“No need for a hospital!” Flynn assured just before he slid down the railing of the stairs. When he stood in front of her, all Alexis could do was stare at him. “If you’ll follow me, we can get that taken care of in a jiffy.”
She blinked. “What kind of library is this?”
“It’s the Library,” Flynn informed as he started walking.
That… did very little to help her understand what the hell was happening around here, but she was willing to go along with it for the time being. She hadn’t gotten any foreboding feelings since the corridor—even if the Aussie seemed like the shiftiest of this questionable group—so she didn’t see the harm in going forward in this surreal, almost dreamlike situation. This building was already quite a bit larger than it had any right to be what with it being under a bridge. The only word that seemed to make all of this make even the tiniest scrap of sense was “magic.”
Wordlessly, Alexis ghosted after Flynn who seemed a bit eccentric to be in charge of anything let alone a library. She had to glance to the side to make sure the Colonel was there because she hadn’t actually heard her start moving to follow. Behind her she heard two sets of footsteps, but she was absolutely certain the silent third was Mr. Jones.
The difference between the greater library and the impressive infirmary was jarring yet similar. The lighting was less warm and more white, but it didn’t have the clinically sterile look that most hospitals had (though she could say it was certainly sterile given how the white floors and sheets on the eight beds were).
There were five beds lined up in front of a fireplace near the door with white privacy curtains drawn back and three across from the farthest three much the same. In the space two more beds could have been placed there was a gleaming silver table cluttered with books and what looked to be lab equipment. Along the walls were light-brown wooden cabinets and white countertops. The shelves on the left wall had glass in the doors to reveal labeled glass bottles of various shapes and sizes filled with all sorts of colors and the very back wall also had glass cabinets with the inside set up like stadium stands with labeled bottles and vials of more uniform sizes. Underneath these cabinets was a counter with wooden stands holding even more labeled vials in no discernable order since there were reds and greens and blues and yellows all clustered together seemingly at random.
Flynn searched the countertop first, muttering what sounded like nonsense as he picked up and put back several bottles and vials.
Alexis wandered closer and noticed a clearly marked inventory binder on the table top. She glanced towards Flynn, wondering why he hadn’t done the sensible thing and looked at the inventory for what he needed. Seeing as no one had made a move to look at it, she opened it and skimmed the table of contents while actively suspending her disbelief at the word “potion” coming up as much as it did. There was a beautiful handwritten penmanship throughout the entire book. Under each potion name and it’s description of said potion there was documentation of use.
After searching for a few minutes, she found exactly what she needed and searched the cabinets just above the rows when she saw the item numbers on the counter Flynn was searching started lower than what she needed. When she found the clear glass bottle with a twist off dropper, she saw the barely shining brown liquid and felt her lips twitch upward as satisfaction thrilled through her at reading the matching item number.
“Found it,” she called while plucking the bottle from the cabinet and returning to the inventory to double check the instructions.
Flynn turned to her, and she could hear the smile on his face as he said, “Oh, you found it! You just—”
“Apply a drop into each nostril and pinch the nose closed for exactly thirty seconds then blow the nose clear of liquid. Failure to do so in the prescribed amount of time will result in fire being shot from the nose with every breath for an hour,” she drawled impatiently with a cutting glare in his direction. “We’re in the twenty-first century. I can read, you know?”
He gaped at her for a second before snapping his mouth shut and stepping back with a deferring nod in her direction.
She carefully followed the instructions and failed to notice the shock of the others in the room in doing so. She kept an eye on the clock on the far wall as she pinched her nose closed and counted the seconds diligently.
At four seconds her nose began to tingle as if numb. At ten seconds, her nose started to shift under her fingers to the correct placement all on its own. At twenty-two seconds the numbness slowly receded with no pain in its wake. At twenty-nine she lowered her head and stuffed the borrowed and bloodied handkerchief under her nose and at thirty she blew her nose clear. She took a short breath in and out to test the results and felt satisfied with them.
Alexis replaced the bottle and went to the inventory where she plucked a pen from beside it and tried not to grimace at her chicken scratch underneath the calligraphy that had previously made up the entirety of the book that she’d seen.
Use: Two drops— Date: (She hesitated a second to decipher the date above) 20150105 (For “Administered To/By” she filled out her name with the speed of familiarity on her side.)
Looking at previous entries, there were two names that came up rather frequently in comparison to the others: Jacob Stone and Eve Baird. She noticed the names Ezekiel Jones and Flynn Carsen and felt immensely satisfied with her snooping as she closed the binder.
“She’s a mini-Jenkins!”
Alexis turned and saw the redhead was staring at her with an almost pleased smile while the two beside her stared on almost warily. Whoever this Jenkins person was, Alexis was sure they would be interesting.
“Erm… thanks?” She shook her head dismissively and turned back to her interviewer. “Mr. Carsen—” She fought a grin at his surprise in her knowing his surname already. “—are we going to get on with our interview now?”
Because I can barely keep my shit together after ten minutes in this place.
“Oh no,” he chuckled with a Cheshire grin and an almost manic gleam in his dark eyes. “Your interview isn’t with me. It’s with—”
“What are you all doing here? And who is this?”
Alexis’ eyes cut to the door where the voice had come from.
The man was about a foot taller than her with silver hair slicked back and sharp dark eyes darting around with a mixture of assessment and suspicion. To her surprise, his suspicion seemed directed at his co-workers rather than her.
While he seemed to command respect (possibly due to his age), he seemed to defer to Mr. Carsen almost immediately which solidified that this eclectic man was, indeed, the boss. Something about this man—who she presumed to be Jenkins—made the back of her mind itch. His eyes looked out at the world as if he’d done this whole song and dance a million times.
Before she could think more about that, Mr. Carsen straightened with too much energy for someone not a toddler to possess.
“This, Jenkins, is who the Library sent an invitation to,” he introduced while gesturing to her grandly, envelope and paper fluttering between his fingers.
Mr. Jenkins blanched and turned to her with a puzzled expression. “Another Librarian?”
“No, not another Librarian,” Mr. Carsen answered with glee bordering on mischief. He held out the envelope and letter. “You’ll be conducting the interview.”
Mr. Jenkins plucked the papers from the other man’s hands and read the contents. He seemed taken aback because he clearly reread the invitation several times before he lowered it sharply and glared at the ceiling.
“Assistant Curator?! I’ve no need for an assistant!”
“The Library seems to think you do,” Colonel Baird piped up, earning a glare from Mr. Jenkins.
There were many questions buzzing around her head, but she’d learned long ago she’d be more likely to learn what she wanted if she simply observed.
“Your input is not necessary, Colonel.”
“Alright, fine,” she sighed, lifting her hands in surrender. Her bright blue eyes lifted to the ceiling. “The Library’s input’s what matters.”
Mr. Jenkins’ scowl deepened, and he turned back to Alexis where he softened his expression slightly. “Your name seems to be conspicuously absent from this invitation. What might your name be?”
She tried not to grin, but judging by his wary expression she was willing to bet she was smirking with every ounce of ironic glee within her. “Alexis Jenkins. Either we’re distant kin or your people owned mine.”
His scowl deepened. “Either one is impossible.”
Impossible, he says?
Never one to let an opportunity to be a menace slide, she let her fingers trail along the metal table as she walked closer, eyes lowered to the books resting on it. “Well, about that… ‘Jenkins’ is a Welsh name that loosely translates to ‘son’ or ‘kin of John’ and sometimes used as ‘little John’ to denote a younger John of the same family.” She lifted her eyes to meet his, barely able to keep a full blown grin from forming. “Considering the immigration of the Welsh in the early 1700s and the booming business of the Atlantic slave trade, it’s not an unreasonable assumption to make.”
The room was silent, and everyone stared at her with emotions of disbelief and (and this was only Mr. Jones, she noted) pleasant surprise.
Deciding to throw them a bone, she carelessly shrugged and elaborated, “I did background on my surname in high school as a class project.”
Mr. Jenkins took a slow breath in and refocused. “Might I ask when high school was?”
She thought on it for a second before answering, “About six months ago.”
“Months?!” There was a second of despair before it turned into fury directed at the ceiling. “No, no, no. She’s too young! Find me someone else if you think I need an assistant!”
“Well, y’see… problem with that is she’s got a white envelope,” the man who was not-Carsen-or-Jones-or-Jenkins (possibly Stone?) said as he leaned against the counter and pushed the inventory closer. “I’d say she’s qualified just for being able to shut Flynn up. No offense.”
“None taken,” Mr. Carsen conceded easily.
The redhead perked up and gestured to the binder her compatriot pushed forward. “She also found the potion for her nosebleed before Flynn and made note in your inventory.”
Mr. Jenkins plucked the binder from the counter and opened it to the page he needed (which begged the question how often he used it). When he finished reading, his calculating eyes lifted to her.
His eyes were piercing in a way that made her think he could see everything about her, everything she’d ever hidden. Intense was the word that came to mind. Despite this, she managed not to fidget and merely raised her eyebrows in a silent question: would he conduct the interview?
With a great put upon sigh, he replaced the inventory on the counter and straightened up. “Alright. Follow me if you please. If you would like another woman present, I would suggest the Colonel for her discretion.”
She glanced at Colonel Baird and thought privately that having two intimidating presences would not do at all.
“I’ll opt out, but I appreciate the offer.” She looked back at him and bowed at the waist in mocking deference with such care that one would have expected the word ‘massa’ to be said in a teasing tone. “Please, Mr. Jenkins, lead the way.”
“Oh, ho-ho…” Mr. Jones chuckled with what sounded like a shit-eating grin. “I think I like her already.”
Mr. Jenkins’ eyes flashed, not with irritation, but with amusement. “Very well then.”
She straightened up and followed after him as he breezed through the doorway.
It was as she exited that she heard the Colonel say, “She’s definitely staying.”
Whatever was said after was lost to her as the door closed.