It was silent. Unnaturally silent. Like this dingy, decrepit little reminder of another age was frozen as the world moved on around it.

Neat little houses stood beside each other, tightly stacked like children’s building blocks. The colours of their painted doors and walls faded and peeled. Everything was coated in a regretful grey hue that even the all consuming foliage fell victim to.

It was footsteps that broke the silence. Fine shoes, handcrafted and lovingly maintained. The crunch of them over the dried leaves and broken pavement was crisp. The woman the footsteps belonged to could not have embodied the word better. Crisp.

Her pinstriped brown, yellow and red suit was perfectly tailored and starched. The shoulders could have perched birds. The jacket cinched tightly at the waist. Her leather gloved hand held a briefcase and she walked with perfect posture, almost gliding along the sidewalk.

Suddenly she stopped, and turned briskly toward a rundown house. 43 Willough Road, according to the mostly intact mailbox. Her immaculate shoulder length dark hair did not budge even a millimetre as she turned. Every action this woman took was unmistakably deliberate.

The door of number 43 Willough Road swung open at the slightest touch. Light streamed in through broken or dusty windows and one particularly gaping hole in the roof. The woman removed her glasses, folded them and placed them in her suit pocket, then removed her short crowned top hat and placed it under her arm.

Her nose twitched and she moved her gaze around the dilapidated home. The chairs around the fireplace were dust free on their seats, and the fireplace itself held ash and charred wood, evidence of recent usage.

She strolled through the rest of the house, checking the three bedrooms and other assorted amenities. It was unoccupied. And so the woman set to work. She placed her briefcase on the dining table, opened it, and collected a heavy book from the living room, which she deposited in her briefcase. She then removed three long, thin objects and closed the briefcase, clicking a number of thick golden latches shut.

—————————————————————————

It was past sunset when a beat up old truck trundled down Willough Road, stopping outside number 43. The three occupants appeared to be two rowdy young adults and an older man. All of them were dressed in well-worn clothing. The youths, a man and woman, were speaking loudly to each other and appeared intoxicated, or perhaps just energetic.

“Come on baby, you got somethin’ for me tonight huh?” Said the young man, tickling his companion and reaching after her as she lurched out of his reach.

“N-giggle-not unless you promise that you’ll let me finish first this time”

The man slapped his fist to his breast “Upon my honour milady” and then bowed deeply, stumbling a little in the process.

“Get inside” growled the third member of the party, his grizzled features twisted into a scowl. The youngsters responded with sarcasm and a few jabs, but then did as he directed.

Moments after walking through the door the older man froze. His gaze set furiously on the living room coffee table, where a certain book had sat when the group had left the house earlier that day.

“Heinrich. Jezebel.” The couple turned to listen “Where’s the book?”

Heinrich answered “I don’t know, wherever you left it old man”

The grizzled man’s scowl became a face of rage. He growled and grabbed Heinrich by the back of his coat and dragged the younger man to the coffee table, where he shoved the man’s face onto the wood.

“DO YOU SEE THE FUCKING BOOK!” He shouted. Heinrich whimpered, but the older man would not relent, he leaned in closer and continued to shout “I ASKED YOU, HEINRICH, DO. YOU. SEE. THE. FUCKING. BOOK.”

Jezebel tried to pull the man off her lover “Please James, we’ll look for it, I’m sure it’s here somewhere!”

Just as James pulled his arm back in preparation to swing around at the woman, a cold, clear voice spoke into the room.

“Article 15” said the woman in her pinstriped suit. She sat in the far corner of the room, partially hidden behind a cabinet. Her voice brought the attention of all three people to her.

James cussed.

“Subsection 23” continued the woman, ignoring the vulgar word “of the constitution of the New United Nations-“

“Didn’t know they had lady librarians” James interjected as he made his way around to get a better look at her.

The woman continued still, unfazed. “-established May 28th 2081. The wilful possession and usage of Binding Tomes by persons unqualified and unregistered shall be cause for immediate incarceration. All Binding Tomes are property of the state and as such possession and usage by a private party is illegal.”

James’ eyes narrowed and he stepped into a wide stance, clearly preparing to move. Beside him Heinrich and Jezebel did the same. The air around their hands began to shimmer slightly.

James spoke “Oh love, I don’t think we’re going to be coming with you”

“Surrender yourselves immediately, or you will be forcibly subdued”

It was Jezebel who struck first. She flung her arm around in a wild haymaker and suddenly the air in front of her hand exploded into flame. A raging ball of fire sprang forward and crashed into the chair where the librarian had been sitting.

Only now she stood, in a movement so fast it was almost difficult to track. She stood calmly for a moment, a picture of elegance, and then leapt into action. Her speed was incredible. In barely a heartbeat she had crossed the distance between herself and the group. James stumbled backward and Heinrich hastily tried to launch his own fireball. But the Librarian was too fast. With hardly more than a flick of her wrist, a shining blade danced forth and sliced clean through Heinrich’s forearm, severing it completely.

Half a second later the same blade punctured the young man’s eye and slid clean through to touch the back of his skull before his body even moved in response. Heinrich fell dead to the floor and Jezebel screeched.

“HEINRICH!” Her hands were shimmering with heat as she prepared to burn the bitch who’d just skewered her man. But the moment of hesitation was a grave mistake, for the librarian’s sword was already whistling through the air to sever Jezebel’s jugular.

The librarian’s movement in combat was as crisp and efficient as it was otherwise. She did not even pause to watch Jezebel fall to the floor, instead turning to James, who now had scrambled to his feet and was rapidly retreating, trying to put objects and distance between himself and the immaculate librarian.

“Fuck fuck FUCK. PISS OFF!” He was building himself into a rage. With his hands he ignited the dining table and one of the chairs. He picked up the flaming seat and tossed it at his adversary. But it had barely left his hands before it was effortlessly batted aside and an equally effortless slash caved in the table. The librarian advanced, her complexion completely unaffected. With another flick of her wrist she sliced open James’ wrist as he tried to fling fire at her. Her next flick cut open his other arm. The older, grizzled man fell to his knees, howling in pain and fear and anger.

“You should have surrendered.” She said icily. Another flick of her wrist and James’ wiry body fell to the floor as the last of his life force left in a tortured gargle.

She took a brief glance at the dead and dying criminals to ensure that they were in fact, dead or dying, and then proceeded to wipe the sides of her blade on a dirty cushion. She then walked over to her briefcase, opened it and proceeded to dismantle her weapon and place it carefully back inside. She then snapped the golden locks shut once more.

With precision and efficiency the immaculately dressed librarian stepped out of the house, even as the fire began to spread from the furniture to the dry, dusty drapes and cracked wallpaper.

The house went up in flames shortly after, but she didn’t even look back, continuing her brisk walk down Willough Road. The librarian raised her hand to her lips.

“I’m ready for pickup”