I was still trying to digest all of this when Flynn said, "Do you mind? I'm trying to solve a murder, here."

I took a better look at him. He had bags under his eyes, as though he hadn't slept in days. The source of his manic energy was found in the dozens of paper coffee cups. There were stacks of books everywhere taller than he was, and stray books scattered on the floor. Even the stairs were covered with books.

My first instinct was to walk away. I had a job, an important one. I was on paid leave – I was supposed to be relaxing. But I was drawn in despite myself.

Maybe that's what a Guardian is, I thought. Helping even when it seems impossible. Helping even when I don't want to.

I walked over to join him. "Well, you're doing a pretty poor job of it." I squinted at a photograph on the board. "Is that the foyer upstairs?"

"Foi-ey," he murmured, looking through his notes.

"So you're saying this Dr. Jonas Sheer–"

"Shay-er," he corrected.

"–professor of archaeology, five PHDs, was killed on your doorstep and you don't have a single lead?" I crossed my arms in front of my chest and raised my eyebrows at him.

"Oh, I've got lots of leads," he said, making wide, sweeping gestures towards the board. "I've got a plethora of possibilities, a cornucopia of clues, I just don't see how they all connect!" He pointed to a picture of a painting. "He was trying to show me this when he was killed. It has something to do with this crown."

"What painting is that?" I asked.

"I don't know, and that is what is vexing me. Ooh!" He giggled suddenly. "I like that. I haven't used that word in awhile. Vex. Vex. Vexatious. Vex, vex, vex–"

I interrupted him. "He was here. How did he know about your secret Library?"

Flynn sighed. "Also vexing," he admitted. "It's one of the best kept secrets of the world." He stepped away from the board, looking through books on a table. "He was smart. Very very smart, but–"

"Is it possible you dropped one of your special glowing envelopes by mistake?"

He laughed, shaking his head – then his eyes widened and he pointed a book at me. "No, yes, no! Not dropped. Sent. He was smart. He was very very smart." He looked up at the ceiling and addressed the room. "Was he so smart that you sent him an envelope?" He ran wildly up the stairs. I hesitated, then followed.

Common sense to his head in the clouds, I thought. Okay, that fits, but how do I do that?

"What are you looking for?"

"The ledger, the ledger, the ledger!" he said, pulling books off of shelves willy-nilly. "When the Librarian dies, the Library doesn't just send out one letter. It sends out hundreds! Hundreds to qualified replacements all over the world. And it invites them in for an interview."

"Many are called, one are chosen."

"Precisely. And Professor Jonas Sheir with his five PHDs would certainly have been qualified." He found the book he was looking for and carefully took it from the shelf. "We have to sign in," he explained as he flipped through the pages. I looked over his shoulder as he tapped a page with his finger. I saw Jonas Sheir's name as Flynn mused, "He said I wouldn't remember him. He was here! He was here, and he signed in on the day that I was chosen to be Librarian instead of him."

"And now he's dead," I commented. I looked down the list. "I know this name," I exclaimed. "Dr. Abraham Thomas."

Flynn nodded. "Mm. Professor of physics. Doctor of medicine. Speaks four languages."

"I met Dr. Thomas at a NATO conference on bio-weapons." I looked out over the workroom as I realized out loud, "He died in a car accident last month."

Flynn stared at me. Then he took the book and started naming names as I pulled out my phone. "Far Shariad, Tehran University?"

"Plane crash," I said, showing him the news article.

He set the book down. "Someone's killing Librarians," he said quietly.

Partner first, bodyguard second, I thought. We actually... work well together, as partners.

"Not all of them," I corrected. "Just these, top ranked, dozen or so." I continued typing as I said, "Dead, dead..." One of the names didn't show up in the search engine. Then another, and another. "These three top-ranked candidates don't pop death notices," I informed him.

"They didn't come in for interviews," Flynn commented. "Ezekiel Jones? Oh, you've got to be kidding me." He looked up at the ceiling as he led the way towards the stairs. "You sent an envelope to Ezekiel Jones?" He scoffed. "Well, at least he never came in for an interview."

"Maybe they got dropped to the bottom of the kill list," I suggested. "They could still be alive."

"First contact's address is in New York," Flynn said. "That's where I'm going. Thank you for your help." He slid down the railing.

It would have been easy to leave. I didn't want to be here, after all. He obviously didn't want me here either. I had tried to avoid it at all costs. This Librarian had almost lost me my real job.

But Charlene was right. Judson was right. And Flynn was wrong.

He did need me. And I was a Guardian, come what may. "I'm coming, Librarian," I called, trotting down the stairs after him. "You're not leaving without me. But first, I need to see Charlene."

And there you have it, folks: one Guardian. I tried to make Flynn seem more desperate about the murder, since Eve was coming onto the scene a day later than in the show. What do you think? Did I get into Eve's head? Let me know! And thanks for reading, following, favoriting and reviewing, especially DU47259!