AND SHE WAS NOT AN ADVENTURE I FLYNN CARSEN

Welcome (Not) To The Library

Welcome (Not) To The Library

A heart is so easy to keep
When I think of the curious look in your eyes and impossible
Oh, only you could really know
I'll never let a little secret go...

Flynn led the way through a dizzying maze of bookshelves and display cases, Clara half running to keep up with him, her head spinning. Ninjas, magic doors and mysterious strangers; there was only so much madness she could take before she went mad herself. Now she seemed to be somewhere left of the TARDIS and east of Hogwarts, trapped in a library with no apparent limits.

As Clara bypassed what appeared to be a phoenix rising from the ashes, she wondered if she'd actually woken up this morning, and this was all just a dream in her head. Any minute now, her alarm would go off, blaring Habanera and she'd reach out to switch it off, blearily anticipating another day at Hurricane Anne's Breezy Bistro -

"Who is the broad?" a voice asked pettishly, making Clara glance up in surprise, only to find herself in some sort of library wing filled with Grecian columns and a sweeping oaken staircase leading to yet another upper floor. A woman stood by one of the columns, nursing a tea-cup, her bespectacled face becoming curious as Clara's gaze met hers.

Flynn just waved his hand impatiently at Clara before beginning to rummage through a stack of papers piled up on an antique rolltop desk. The woman who had spoken stepped forwards, eyes narrowing behind her tortoiseshell glasses. Clara tried for a friendly smile but it came out more as a grimace.

"I said, who's your companion?" the woman pressed, setting down her tea-cup on a book-shelf.

"She's Guinevere," Flynn said abruptly, chucking a stuffed parrot over his shoulder.

"I'm not" -

Before Clara could finish her sentence, a sword was at her throat, apparently being wielded by an invisible hand.

"No, Cal!" Flynn shouted, rushing forwards. "She's not that Guinevere!"

The sword quivered threateningly.

"My name is Clara actually," Clara said in a strangled voice. "Guinevere is just my middle name."

For a long moment the sword remained where it was, its blade almost drawing blood, then it zoomed away, disappearing through a set of double doors structured out of clouded glass and ornate ironwork. Clara stared at them, seeing that part of the pattern consisted of a sword on each side, almost like an emblem of sorts, before slowly raising her hand to her neck.

"Wow, that was rather exciting," the woman said witheringly.

"I'm having an Anne Boleyn moment," Clara whispered, slumping against the side of Flynn's desk.

"Don't touch me!" the desk protested.

Clara jerked upwards, staring at the desk in shock.

"Don't worry about him," Flynn said, trying on a bonnet, "he has abandonment issues."

"After Winston bequeathed him to the Library, he was never the same again," the woman confided in an undertone.

"Ah, old Churchie," another voice said from behind Clara, "bit of a gab, but made an excellent bacon sandwich."

Clara slowly turned around, only to see an old man with a suit and comb-over standing in the full-length mirror. Her reflection crossed oddly with his. Heart pounding, she turned around again, but there was nobody behind her. He really was in the mirror, not outside it. Head spinning at super-speed, she leaned round the mirror, trying to find the trick, only to find none.

"Hey, buy a guy a drink first," the old man said, sounding put out.

Clara took a step back. "You're a hologram," she hazarded, frowning.

"I'm a ghost, dear," he said not unkindly.

Clara just nodded, before backing away, eyes widening.

"You alright?" the woman asked, exchanging a glance with the ghost.

"No, I'm not," Clara said with great difficulty, before crossing her arms over her chest, almost trying to hold herself together.

"Some ninjas tried to kill her in Starbucks," Flynn said flippantly, ripping off his false beard.

"I guess that's a typical day in the office for you then," Clara fired back.

"Some zombie Samurai tried to slice me into salami last Saturday."

"Ease up on the alliteration, big boy," Clara scoffed, sounding more like herself.

Flynn just ignored her, throwing himself down into the depths of a battered looking leather armchair instead. To Clara's relief, it didn't speak.

"So what are you going to do with her, Guinevere, I mean?" the woman then asked Flynn, picking up her teacup again.

"It's Clar" -

- "She'll have to stay here," Flynn said abruptly, steepling his long fingers together, "for the time being."

"I'm not" -

- "Too many have died already," Flynn said darkly, making Clara pale.

"Who has die" -

- "She'll keep you company I suppose," the woman said thoughtfully, sipping her Earl Grey.

"I don't need company, Charlene," Flynn said, irritated, "but you'll have to phone up her employer, say she had a family emergency or something" -

- "I don't have any fami" -

- "We don't want anybody asking any awkward questions," the ghost said, nodding wisely.

"Exactly, Judson, she has a life to go back to," Flynn said, getting to his feet. "But until then..."

"Until what?" Clara asked suspiciously, feeling like the ground had been swept out from under her feet.

Flynn turned to face Clara. "Welcome to the Library," he said, not sounding the slightest bit welcoming.