Work Text:
Sometimes being a thief was, well, boring.
Ezekiel would never in his life admit that to anyone, of course. No, he'd brag about the beautiful jewels and priceless art, the moments of delicious victory when the safe cracked open and revealed his prize. He'd tell them about the rooftop chases—not that he'd had many of those in his life, because he'd always been happier to slip away unnoticed, bounty safely tucked away—but they did make for fun stories.
But the real work of thievery, well. Sometimes it was a bit mundane. Sometimes it was sitting on a rooftop in Chicago, in cold, drizzly, late autumn weather, trying to figure out which screwdriver he needed to use to get the box housing part of the building's security system open. It was a good system to begin with, not quite a Steranko but not far off, and he already knew it had been heavily modified. If it hadn't been, he would have just been able to run a few snippets of code off his phone and get full access to anything he wanted, thanks to an override he'd planted in the company's main update system. Work smarter, not harder, and spend less time courting pneumonia on rooftops: that was his motto.
Unfortunately, today's mark wasn't the kind of man to stick with a store-bought security system. Taras Sokolov was a Russian businessman whose shipping logistic company made an excellent front for his real business, smuggling artifacts both mundane and magical. He'd amassed quite a collection of his own over the years, some bought, some stolen, many traded to him by customers who found themselves owing more than they could afford. The man owned so many amazing things that Ezekiel was more than a little annoyed that he was being sent to go steal one boring talisman while Baird and Flynn were off at some kind of magical cooking competition and Cassandra was visiting the leprechauns. Stone was the only one of them stuck back at the Annex, although that was because he was finishing up a paper on something old and boring. At least he was probably dry, though.
Ezekiel was definitely going to have to go steal something beautiful from the Art Institute after this, just to feel better.
He jammed the screwdriver in a little harder than he needed to, and the lid popped open with a creak and a snap, revealing a complex set of wires that Ezekiel nudged aside, flicking on a tiny flashlight to look for the electronics hidden behind the wires. He frowned at the chip caught in the beam of light, not surprised that it was custom-made as well, but not looking forward to figuring out the best way to get through it. The circuitry looked strange, unnecessarily complex, but as he traced it he realized that it was likely just to throw thieves off the scent—the actual connectors were in the same place as the original.
Just as he reached out to strip one of the wires for his own connection, a voice behind him said, "I don't think you should be doing that."
If asked, Ezekiel would deny for the rest of his life that he'd jumped at all.
"Jenkins," he said, leaning back and looking over his shoulder to spot the Library's caretaker standing under the overhang by the rooftop door. "I think I know what I'm doing. I am a master thief." He decided he wasn't going to give Jenkins the satisfaction of asking him how he'd made it up here.
"Mm, yes," Jenkins said, dryly. Ezekiel flicked some damp hair out of his face and waited as Jenkins crossed over and stood next to him. "But I'm the one who recognizes the sigil marked in the wiring there. Icelandic, I believe, or at least a variation on it. Likely rather nasty, given Mr. Sokolov's reputation."
Ezekiel leaned back down to look more closely at the security system and winced, recognizing the pattern in the circuitry now.
"It's actually a rather brilliant piece of work," Jenkins continued. "The electricity running through it keeps it active, and the sigil is triggered when that power source is cut. Looks like—" he peered at it more closely, "a protection spell and possibly a summoning spell, mixed together. I wish I could sketch it out, I'm sure there's something to be learnt here."
With a shrug, Ezekiel took a photo with his phone. "It's the twenty-first century, mate. No one sketches anything."
"Well, let us hope that your phone isn't influenced by unknown technological magic, then," Jenkins said. Ezekiel looked down at his phone, then tucked it away in his jacket pocket as the drizzle picked up again. He'd worry about that when it came to it.
"Well, if I can't cut the security system, we're going to have a much harder time getting in," he said. "Also, why are you here?"
"My research provided more details on Mr. Sokolov's purchase of the anting-anting, which I felt merited further investigation." Jenkins stood up and walked back over to the rooftop door. "Come along, Mr. Jones. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can get back to the Annex and have a hot cup of tea."
"How—" Ezekiel said, then remembered his earlier decision not to ask. He shut his mouth, but not before Jenkins heard the beginning of the question.
"I have my own way to get into places I shouldn't," Jenkins said as he opened the door.
"The back door? Magic?" Ezekiel asked, stepping gladly into the cool but dry utility hallway at the top of the stairs.
"Oh no, something much more powerful than that," Jenkins said. "I'm an older white man wearing a well-tailored suit. In an office building, it's rather like having a suit of armour and a very sharp sword."
"And you would know," Ezekiel muttered, following Jenkins down the stairs.
"Although, I must say that bringing a suit to the dry cleaners is much easier than scouring armour clean," Jenkins said.
Sokolov's office was a bland place, with an expensive but generic desk, high end chairs, and corporate art on the walls. If it weren't for magic so strong that Ezekiel could actually feel it on his skin, he'd think they had the wrong place. He tried not to fidget too obviously, but from Jenkins' quelling glare, he wasn't succeeding.
Getting into the office had been surprisingly easy. Ezekiel had simply added an appointment for a Mr. Jensen into Sokolov's calendar, which was so empty that he didn't even have to re-arrange other items to get the right time, and Jenkins had presented himself to Sokolov's assistant, who had looked startled for a moment before apologizing profusely for her boss's tardiness. She'd offered them their choice of refreshments, which Jenkins had declined for both of them, and then led them right into Sokolov's office instead of having them wait in the reception area. Clearly nothing in here was top secret, as she'd left them unsupervised—Ezekiel assumed she wanted privacy to call her boss, wherever he was, and tell him that there were people there to meet with him.
"What if I wanted a snack?" Ezekiel grumbled, staring balefully at the carefully inoffensive fake painting across from him. Given Sokolov's fortune, Ezekiel would expect something much nicer—maybe not an original Chagall or something as aggressive as a Rothko, but at least something that screamed "I have more money than you, you worthless peasant, and I've spent it on this painting I don't even actually like just to remind you of that."
"Then you can go to a McDonald's when we're done here," Jenkins answered. "Don't take food from potential enemies."
Ezekiel rolled his eyes. "American Maccas are terrible," he says.
"Mm." Jenkins stood up, wandering over to investigate the same painting Ezekiel was glaring at. "I suggest staying quiet while I speak to Mr. Sokolov."
"Does he own McDonald's or something?" Ezekiel asked.
"No, but a mouthy Australian would probably raise some red flags to anyone who deals with either thieves or magical artifacts, much less someone this familiar with both," Jenkins said.
"How come every mission these days seems to involve me pretending I can't talk?" Ezekiel said.
"A true mystery," Jenkins said, so dryly that Ezekiel was pretty sure they were now legally in a desert. He glared uselessly at Jenkins' back, then looked at the sleek computer monitor on Sokolov's desk. With a quick glance at the door, he dropped down to track the cords to the equally sleek case tucked discretely behind a panel of the desk.
"Think this is booby-trapped the same way the security system was?" he asked, tapping the case gently.
"Undoubtedly," Jenkins said, coming over to look at it as well. "Either Mr. Sokolov is himself good at combining magic and technology or he's hired someone who is. I imagine that any technology used directly by him would be ensorcelled, if not everything used by the higher ups at the entire company."
"Could we find out the same way we found that spell that Morgan Le Fay built into that app?" Ezekiel asked, too intrigued by trying to hack through both magic and technology to bother mocking Jenkins for using the word "ensorcelled".
"If it's an active spell and not a passive one," Jenkins said. "Did you bring a magic detector with you?"
"Of course," Ezekiel said, turning around to grab his bag. He pulled the detector out and handed it to Jenkins, then grabbed his phone and pulled up his traffic cam trackers. "We've still got about ten minutes before Sokolov gets here." He poked a few buttons. "Maybe longer. He's about to have some bad luck with red lights."
"And his secretary?" Jenkins asked, adjusting something on the magic detector.
"On the phone with IT, trying to figure out why her computer keeps switching to French every time she hits shift," Ezekiel said.
"You certainly excel at minor annoyances," Jenkins said.
"And you're really good at making a compliment into an insult," Ezekiel replied. "Now, can I break into that computer or is it going to call down flying monkeys on me?"
"We could only be so lucky," Jenkins said. "Nothing is registering. It may only activate when the computer is turned on."
Ezekiel went to the other side of the desk and slid the wood panelling aside to get a better look at the computer. "Well, that would take some real magic," he said after a minute. "This isn't connected to a power source."
"You're sure?" Jenkins said, bending down to look under the desk himself.
"No, I have no idea what a computer with a plug looks like. They're just way too old," Ezekiel snapped. "Look. The power cord just ends in this empty desk cabinet. There's not even an outlet near here. There's no way her uses this computer." He stood up and looked around, taking everything in with a new understanding. "This isn't his real office. This is—it's like IKEA, where they have everything set up to show you what the furniture would look like but it's all fake. That's why the art is so bad. He doesn't actually work here."
"Are we in a trap?" Jenkins asked. As Ezekiel looked over at him, he realized that Jenkins had shifted stances, going from proper but non-threatening older man to the kind of man who could dismantle an entire army if given a sword and a reason.
"Could be," Ezekiel said. "But I doubt it. I think this is just a place to meet with people who might ask a few too many questions about whatever he keeps in his real office." He glanced at his phone again. "I bet that's also why his schedule is so empty. His real business is the underworld side of things, this is just a front."
"That might cause complications," Jenkins said.
"Remind me why, again? I seem to have forgotten your plan—oh wait, that's because you never told me your plan," Ezekiel said. He dropped back down and carefully put everything back in place, relying on years of training to make sure that nothing looked like it had been disturbed. He could reset a room in his sleep, but he preferred to do it as a way to hide whatever he'd stolen than just hiding the fact that he'd poked around and failed. He stepped back and closed his eyes for a minute, idly picturing Margot Robbie to clear his thoughts, then opened them to look the room over one last time. Satisfied that it would pass even a thorough inspection, he flopped back into a chair and flipped off the red light program on his phone.
"I was planning to introduce myself as an associate of someone who needed to move an artifact and trace it to his storage location," Jenkins said.
"Hm," Ezekiel said, tapping his fingers on the armrest and staring at the ceiling as he thought. "OK. Not bad. Right. How about—" He laid out his ideas, watching Jenkins closely to see if he was about to be cut down.
Instead, Jenkins nodded thoughtfully and said, "Yes. That should work."
When Sokolov finally arrived, he greeted them smoothly, apologizing for the long wait. Ezekiel was impressed at the man's ability to appear affable and calm when he was sure that they were being thoroughly analyzed as a possible threat, especially given that Sokolov wouldn't be able to remember why they were meeting with him. Jenkins stood up to shake his hand, and Ezekiel belatedly did the same, then sat back down as Sokolov drifted behind his desk and took a seat. He was likely in his late forties, with dark hair just starting to go grey at the temples and a bit of a paunch well-hidden by an expensive suit. Ezekiel flicked an assessing glance over the various jewellery visible—a couple of chains around his neck, two chunky rings, an expensive watch catching the light as he folded his hands in front of him—and wondered which of them were just for show and which of them were talismans. He decided that it was probably better to assume that anything on Sokolov was magical in nature.
"I'm afraid you'll have to remind me what I can do for you," Sokolov said. "My notes for our meeting have been lost due to a computer error. Were you looking for shipping options?"
"We're actually here about your other business," Jenkins said. Ezekiel watched the way that Sokolov's eyes widened incrementally, then narrowed again.
"You've chosen an unusual location for our meeting, then," Sokolov said, confirming Ezekiel's earlier guess about this office being a front.
"Intentionally so," Jenkins replied. "I'm here on behalf of an associate of mine who is trying to avoid any unwanted attention from certain operatives. While your other facilities may be your usual venue for this type of meeting, it was far less likely that anyone here would recognize me."
"Ah, hiding in plain sight," said Sokolov. He nodded once, expression still bland. "I admit, I am intrigued. Are you able to tell me the name of your associate?"
Ezekiel wasn't bad at talking his way into places, but the careful phrasing and neutral expressions from both Jenkins and Sokolov made him feel like he was watching a chess match, each player making a careful move and waiting for a reaction, testing out their opponent as they worked on their own strategy.
"Mr. Sterling Lam," Jenkins said.
Sokolov blinked sharply and Ezekiel had to fight to keep his own expression neutral. He didn't know chess well enough to keep up the metaphor, but he knew when a mark was hooked.
"As I'm sure you're aware, Mr. Lam had an unfortunate run-in with some of those new Librarians," Jenkins said. "While he did escape unscathed, he has decided to move his collection to a more secure location. However, moving so many artifacts undetected is proving to be difficult, given the increased attention his activities have drawn."
"A challenge indeed," Sokolov responded. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk. "I assume I'm being asked for aid in this endeavour."
"Mr. Lam would be interesting in procuring your services, yes," Jenkins said. "He also understands that you will need to be suitably compensated for your time and effort. I believe there are a number of items in his collection that may capture your attention, and I have been authorized to negotiate a fair exchange, although I will of course have to get Mr. Lam's authorization for the final agreement."
"Of course," Sokolov said. He smiled for the first time during the conversation, and Ezekiel could practically see the images of artifacts floating past his eyes. They were in.
He tuned out most of the rest of the negotiations, listening just enough to keep track of all the various artifacts that were mentioned. His main focus was on trying to figure out where one of Lam's caches of artifacts might be found—they'd inventoried the items he'd brought with him to Shangri-La, with most of them joining the Library's collection and a few going back to their proper owners. Charlene had helped them assemble a list of other artifacts that he'd mentioned, and they'd been working on tracking them down, although it had never been a high priority project compared to the quests the clippings book sent them on.
He tried to remember what they'd found, and went over everything he could remember about his time with Lam—where he'd once again been stuck as the silent sidekick, which had prompted this idea—hoping he'd be able to piece together a good lead. Just as he was worried he was going to draw a complete blank and put the plan in jeopardy, Sokolov said something that made everything click into place.
"It's a shame he lost the bunyip in that unfortunate incident with the kelpie."
Not only had Lam mentioned hearing Ezekiel before, but a few of the artifacts he'd collected had come from the same place as the bunyip: Australia. Conveniently, also the place Ezekiel had the most connections—he was sure he'd be able to track down any cache in the area if he could find a reference point. He tried not to fidget as he waited for Jenkins to finish the sham negotiations, which he was taking far too seriously. When Jenkins and Sokolov finally came to an agreement, Ezekiel nearly jumped out of his chair to shake on it, barely registering the details of the meeting that Jenkins was arranging for them. He was hoping to update Jenkins on the elevator ride down, but Sokolov accompanied them the entire way, only parting from them when they reached the main floor.
"I know where we need to go," he said as soon as they were outside and away from the building.
"To the Library?" Jenkins asked.
"No. To Australia."
Jenkins looked at him and sighed. "Oh. Goody."
"Remember, it's summer in Australia, so it's going to be hot." Ezekiel said as Jenkins fired up the door a few hours later. They'd ended up back at the Annex first, where Jenkins had flipped through various notes and Ezekiel had sent a lot of text messages. He'd gotten a solid lead from an old fence of his, and followed that up with a few other connections and some property records until he'd put together a pretty full picture of Lam's dealings in the area.
"You know, Mr. Jones, I have been to Australia before," Jenkins said, although he stepped through the door after Ezekiel and out into the not-yet-scorching Australian morning. "I was here for the Olympics in 1956, in fact."
"I thought you were going to say you were sent here as a prisoner or came to fight in the Emu War or something," Ezekiel said. He took a moment to figure out where he was in Melbourne, then started off down the street.
"No, although I did consider coming to assist the emus. They had it in hand, though. Remarkably decent birds, especially once you learn to speak their language. The magpies are more clever, of course, but emus have a certain charm."
Ezekiel paused to throw a look at Jenkins, whose expression was as blandly unreadable as ever.
"Right," he said, deciding he didn't want to know.
They walked along in silence for a few minutes, Ezekiel reacquainting himself with being home again and Jenkins looking around with mild interest. Something was nagging at the back of Ezekiel's mind, and had been for a while. He figured this was as good a time as any to ask, as Jenkins seemed to be in a reasonably good mood after their success in Chicago.
"How come everyone involved with the Library always talks as if you give up your entire life when you become a Librarian and yet you've had all these adventures and weird stories?" he asked, looking at Jenkins.
"Well, for one, I'm not a Librarian," Jenkins answered after a moment. "My arrangement with the Library is entirely voluntary. I look after the Annex and assist the Librarians if needed, and in return I get a quiet place to run experiments and access to knowledge and magic I wouldn't otherwise have." He paused. "Well, that was supposed to be the arrangement. Now I find that I'm babysitting a pile of unruly children who fill my fridge with beer and leave Vegemite finger smudges on the case for the Aegis."
"Wasn't me," Ezekiel said, automatically. "I would never leave evidence behind."
"And yet, no one else would subject themselves to Vegemite," Jenkins said.
"Actually, Flynn likes it," Ezekiel said. "He finished off my last jar without telling me."
"Mm." Jenkins sounded doubtful.
"He did!" Ezekiel said. "I decided to protect my stash and bought him his own jar, and then Baird told me it was my fault that he ruined her breakfast with it. She made me do push-ups. You try to do one nice thing and all it gives you is trouble."
"I suppose there's no accounting for taste," Jenkins said.
Ezekiel looked over at a grocery store as they walked past, wondering if he should stock up on anything while he was in the area, but it wasn't open yet. He made a mental note to stop by on his way back, if they had time and didn't end up running for their lives, like they so often did.
"Also, despite what you all may think, I enjoy seeing the world," Jenkins said.
Ezekiel frowned, trying to connect that to Vegemite, before remembering their previous topic of conversation.
"Why would we think you wouldn't?" he asked.
"It does rather seem like you all think I exist mainly as a text to voice for the Library and a door operator," Jenkins said.
"Of course we don't think that's all you're good for," Ezekiel replied. "We also think you bring us tea sometimes." He grinned at the annoyed look he got for that quip.
"Nonetheless," Jenkins said. "I've always disagreed to some extent with Judson about how the Librarians tend to cut themselves off from the world. You can't live with nothing but artifacts as your companions for that long without losing touch with your humanity. I learned that the hard way, many centuries ago." Jenkins frowned, staring into the distance as if he was looking at his own past and not the Melbourne skyline. "Without other people around you to remind you how to be human, it's too easy to fall into the trap of—believing your own hype, as they say. It's not just the dangers of the job that kills Librarians. It's the recklessness that comes with forgetting how fragile mortals are, or the need to hoard more and more magic, until their greed outweighs their sense."
He paused again and Ezekiel waited, for once not willing to make a smart remark.
"Although maybe the Library has finally seen that danger for itself," Jenkins said finally. "Four Librarians means that you can keep each other from believing yourselves gods."
"Nah," Ezekiel said. "Like anyone could stop me from knowing how great I am."
Jenkins gave him an exasperated glare. "I admit that your ego may be impermeable."
Ezekiel shrugged one shoulder slightly, looking smug, then dropped the act for a moment and said, "Four of us also means that we can take breaks sometimes, cover for each other," he said. "That we're not tied in place the way the old Librarians kind of had to be. Right?"
"Perhaps," Jenkins said. "I have spent a long time in the Library, but I can't claim to understand it."
"Ah, well," Ezekiel said. He felt his heart sink a little at Jenkins' response, but didn't let it show.
"I doubt you'll ever listen to my advice," Jenkins said, "but don't let the Library smother you. It doesn't mean to do it, I don't think. But it can. There's so much of it, and it always needs something. Find a way to keep yourself some space."
"I'm a thief, mate. Finding my way out when I'm backed into a corner is kind of my thing."
Before Jenkins could respond, Ezekiel looked up and grinned.
"Right. Here we are."
Jenkins followed his gaze to the golden arches of the restaurant in front of them and turned to Ezekiel with a look of dismayed disbelief.
"You brought me all the way here to go to a McDonald's?" he asked.
"That's not the only reason, but I figured we may as well make a quick stop since we were on the right continent. You mentioned it back in Sokolov's office and I've been craving a Big Brekkie Burger ever since."
"A—I'm not eating whatever it is you just said."
The look of sheer horror on Jenkins's face as Ezekiel described a Big Brekkie Burger was so good that Ezekiel nearly pulled out his phone to take a photo. Instead, he relented and said, "But they also have coffee. And tea. And some pretty good pastry." He opened the door and waited to see if Jenkins would step inside the Maccas or just turn around and leave Ezekiel stranded in Australia.
To his surprise, Jenkins followed him in.
Ezekiel had chosen one of the nicer Maccas that he'd been to, and he was relieved to see that it was still in good shape. There wasn't much of a crowd inside, although the drive through was busy with morning commuters getting breakfast on the go. Ezekiel breathed in the familiar scent of coffee and grease and stared up at the menu, wondering if they'd added anything new and interesting while he'd been away. Beside him, Jenkins eyed the restaurant warily, although his expression brightened when he saw the tea selection.
Armed with the breakfast burger of his dreams, and a tea for Jenkins, Ezekiel headed over to a table.
"Where to next?" Jenkins asked. "A gas station? A convenience store?"
"No," Ezekiel said. He paused to take a bit of his burger, then said, "We're going to go steal some very nice things from Sterling Lam."
"So what even is this ant-ant thing anyway?" Ezekiel asked, crouched on a rooftop, watching a nondescript warehouse below. It hadn't taken them long to find Lam's old safe house, which had some decent security but no real guards. Judging from the layer of dust on everything, no one had been by to check on it in a long time. Jenkins had brought the goods to Sokolov, and Ezekiel had tracked his team as they'd moved the artifacts into a storage facility, ready to move out in the morning. Sokolov had conveniently assured Jenkins that the facility was so secure that he, himself, stored his newest acquisitions there until they could be safely catalogued and transferred to one of his personal collections. From what Ezekiel had seen when they'd opened the warehouse to drive the truck in, Sokolov seemed to be behind on his cataloguing.
"Anting-anting," Jenkins said over the phone. While Ezekiel was once again stuck on a cold and damp roof, Jenkins had found himself a nice little cafe nearby. "They're Filipino talismans imbued with various powers. I believe this one is said to grant invulnerability, although I'll have to see it before I can confirm my research."
"Great, so we're looking for some, what, tiny necklace in a giant warehouse full of magical goods?" Ezekiel groused. He squinted down at the warehouse again. "Why don't we just take everything in there? Open the back door into it and clear the place out. It's all magical contraband, right?"
"Unfortunately, the entire warehouse is covered in protection spells," Jenkins said. "Any attempt to open a magical portal such as the back door would set off more alarms and spells than Fort Knox and the Tate combined."
"OK, so we steal everything the old-fashioned way," Ezekiel said. He looked around the area, mapping everything out. "Get in, load everything onto a truck, and drive out. Think you could rig up the door to let us drive through it?"
"You are not driving a truck into the Annex," Jenkins said, each word sharply enunciated even over the questionable cell phone connection.
"Right, but could you set it up to drive through to somewhere else?" Ezekiel asked. He waited as the silence stretched out, hoping it meant that Jenkins was considering this an interesting challenge and not that he was already back in the Annex, locking Ezekiel out in case he tried to smash a truck through the back door like he was in a low rent Fast & Furious film.
"Potentially," Jenkins said, finally. "It would take some time to re-calibrate it—"
"Great. Start now. You've got eight hours. And get Stone to come here, I'm going to need someone to handle the grunt work."
"I said 'potentially', Mr. Jones."
Ezekiel grinned. "Yeah, but you're going to make it work. This is going to be awesome."
"Hm."
It said something that Ezekiel recognized that particular noise as Jenkins' amused-and-trying-to-hide-it "hm" as opposed to his annoyed, really annoyed, or dismissive "hm". Mainly, it said that Jenkins needed to use his words more often, but it also said that Ezekiel had earned a slight bit more begrudging respect. Not that he needed it, of course. He knew how good he was. It was just nice when others recognized it without him having to remind them of it.
Eight hours later, he'd stolen two guard uniforms and a truck, distracted a pissed off Stone ("grunt work, Jones, really") by shoving him toward some poorly stored sculptures and turning his anger on the people who'd packed them ("This is not how you safely transport bronze! What kind of idiots…"), and carefully stowed everything that wasn't actually attached to the ground in the truck. He'd even packed up a jar of what looked like mud that was sitting on one of the shelves, hoping it was magical and not just someone's lunch gone really bad. He eyed the empty shelves around him and shook his head at the lax security. Sokolov had covered the entire place in spells, assuming that magical thieves would use magic, and normal thieves wouldn't know how to get around them, but had only left a few guards actually on duty. The security system had been the biggest challenge, as it had obviously been made by the same person who'd made the adjustments to the ones in the office, but Ezekiel knew what to look for this time and had successfully gotten around it. He was almost disappointed—by now, he'd expected that word of a master thief operating in the magical world would have gotten out. Maybe this particular heist would boost his reputation enough that he'd get a more interesting challenge next time.
After one last sweep of the warehouse, he called up Jenkins.
"I hope you've got that door ready, because if we have to get in a high-speed chase and I ding up any of the sculptures, Stone's going to kill me," he said, watching Stone carefully checking over the various cords and braces securing the goods.
"It is ready," Jenkins said, sounding very pleased with himself. "It won't hold for long, though. The timing will have to be perfect."
"Always is," Ezekiel said.
The rest of the plan was as straightforward as possible, to the point where Ezekiel was slightly embarrassed by the lack of finesse. Distract the guards outside, drive the truck out the door of the warehouse and straight into the door of another, non-magically sealed warehouse across the way, where the modified back door would open and let them through into the loading area of the Library, which was a thing that the Library apparently had. Ezekiel had learned not to question these things by now. He'd taken a wrong turn the other day and nearly walked into a woolly mammoth, which had been playing checkers with the chupacabra. This was just his life now.
Stone took one look at Ezekiel holding the keys and said, "Like hell."
"It's my plan. I get to drive the truck." Ezekiel clutched the keys a little more tightly.
"I've driven more trucks than you have," Stone said. "You've distracted more guards than I have. How 'bout we play to our strengths?"
Unfortunately, Stone had a point. Ezekiel definitely did not pout, even for a moment, as he handed the keys over to Stone.
"Enjoy driving a truck full of magical artifacts through an untested and recently modified portal," he said when Stone looked a little too smug.
"Hey, man," Stone said, sounding a bit concerned.
Ezekiel grinned and took off out of the warehouse, yelling something intentionally incomprehensible at the two guards outside as he rushed past. He could have come up with some careful, devious plan, but sometimes running and screaming was the best way to get people running and screaming with you, or at you, and in this case either one would work. Sure enough, both guards took off after him, one yelling for him to stop and explain and the other one just running, with an occasional worried glance back at the warehouse. Ezekiel was pretty sure the second one had been on the job longer; when someone ran out of a building full of magic, screaming, the smart thing to do was to get the hell out of there as fast as possible.
As the guards followed Ezekiel down a narrow pathway between two warehouses, he heard the distinct sound of a truck engine gunning it. He risked a glance back and saw that the guards had stopped chasing him and were running back toward Sokolov's storage facility. A flash of light briefly lit up the area, and Ezekiel held his breath as the sound of the truck abruptly stopped. There was nothing he could do now other than slip away and check in with the others.
Luckily, the guards were both back at the now-empty warehouse. Ezekiel could have strolled leisurely through the warehouse district while whistling a jaunty tune and they wouldn't have noticed. He shook his head, judging Sokolov again for his sloppy security.
Once he was satisfied that he was out of range for the guards and anyone who might be called in—which he assumed was everyone that Sokolov could call, given that they'd cleaned him out—he took out his phone and called Jenkins again.
"Ah, Mr. Jones. My hopes that you'd been captured have been dashed."
"I hope the fact that you're being cheerfully mean to me means that the artifacts made it through the portal without anything exploding?" Ezekiel asked, leaning back against the side of a building in hopes of getting out of the increasingly cold wind.
"Yes, all the artifacts arrived safely. Mr. Stone did as well," Jenkins said, somewhat pointedly.
Ezekiel shivered. "Good, great. When can you get the door working again? It's bloody freezing out here."
"Not long," Jenkins replied. "I just have to—"
In the distance, something howled, and the wind around him kicked up a notch. Ezekiel might not have had much experience with the warehouse district of Chicago, but he was pretty sure it wasn't home to any weather-controlling wolves.
"Jenkins? Now. Now would be good. Now would be very good."
"Oh dear."
Another howl sounded—this one much closer. Ezekiel scrambled up a fire escape, pulling the ladder up after him and hoping that whatever was out there couldn't fly. Once he was safely on the roof, he looked around and realized he'd forgotten something important.
"I'm on a roof and there's not a door up here," he said.
"Well done, brilliant decision," Jenkins said, sounding distracted even through the sarcasm. "Look for anything that's door-like. Access points, even a skylight—"
"I'm a thief, I know what things to get inside places look like," Ezekiel said. He scanned the rooftop quickly, searching for anything that stood out against the flat surface. "Got it. Rooftop access—it's got a hatch."
"It should do," Jenkins said.
Ezekiel was already running in that direction, looking for any sign of a nice, friendly glow, and avoiding looking behind him, where he could hear something very large on the street below. He reached the door and glanced at the lock, then pulled out a pick and opened it. "Any time now, Jenkins."
Just as whatever was below him started up another unearthly howl, the door came to life, spilling a bright blue glow across the dark roof. Ezekiel leaped into it, yelling, "close it close it close it!" as he slid awkwardly across the Annex floor, having come through the door sideways. He vaguely heard Jenkins say something that sounded alarmed, but the glow vanished, and Ezekiel decided he was just going to lie on the nice, safe floor for a while.
"That was—with the teeth—" Stone said, sounding a bit freaked out.
"No," Ezekiel said, waving one arm in the direction of Stone's voice. "No. I don't want to hear it."
"I mean, so many teeth," Stone said, and Ezekiel groaned loudly until Stone stopped trying to give him nightmares.
The silence that followed was eventually broken by Jenkins' soft, steady footsteps across the floor, first to Stone, then to Ezekiel. Ezekiel cracked open one eye to see Jenkins standing over him with a cup of tea in his hand, and decided that the warm drink was reason enough to get off the floor. He winced as he stood up, finding bruises from his not-so-soft landing.
"Thanks, mate," he said, taking the tea. He spent a minute wrapping his hands around it, then walked over and collapsed in a heap next to Stone, who had found a relatively clear section of wall to lean against.
"Good distraction," Stone said, holding out a fist toward Ezekiel.
"Good driving," Ezekiel acknowledged, bumping it with his own.
"And a very good haul, gentlemen," Jenkins said. "Including the anting-anting." He held up the artifact, examining it in the Annex lights.
Ezekiel blinked. "The jar of mud?" he asked.
"Yes, the jar of mud," Jenkins replied. "It's much more powerful than it seems. Given how easy it is to disguise it, best that we keep it here. With a very clear label."
"What does it do?" Stone asked. "Give you really glowing skin or something?" Ezekiel gave him a look, and Stone shrugged. "What, you've never had to buy a gift for a woman?"
"No, this isn't a beauty product," Jenkins said. "If one eats it, they gain invulnerability. It's temporary—but in the wrong hands, it could cause an incredible amount of damage." He turned disappeared into his lab, presumably to make a very clear label for the jar.
Ezekiel could just picture what some of their foes could pull off if they were invulnerable and decided that it was a very good thing he'd grabbed the jar of mud.
"I'm going to go check on the art, make sure everything survived the journey," Stone said, getting up and stretching. Ezekiel went to follow, figuring he'd take his own look at the stash, then bit back a groan as he put too much weight on a bruise. Above him, Stone shook his head and reached down to haul him up. "Way to stick the landing, by the way. The Russian judge gives it a three."
"Bite me," Ezekiel said, but he took the offered hand anyway.
As Stone headed off into the Library proper, Jenkins reappeared, newly labelled jar in one hand and much smaller jar in the other. He put the anting-anting on the table and handed the other jar to Ezekiel, who took it cautiously.
"Please tell me I'm not your mud-eating guinea pig or something," he said.
"Oh, heavens no. I shudder to think of the reign of terror that would follow if you were made invulnerable. No, that is just some bruise balm. A very old recipe, but a good one. Consider it a finder's fee for the new inventory."
"Oh," Ezekiel said. "Thanks. If I'd known there was a reward, I would have asked for another Big Brekkie Burger, but I guess this is almost as good. Better than mud, anyway." He grinned as Jenkins shook his head.
"If you insist on treating yourself to another of those monstrosities, leave me out of it this time," Jenkins said. He picked up the anting-anting again and headed toward the Library, then paused. "Good work today, Mr. Jones. The Library chose well."
Rendered speechless for once by Jenkins' praise, Ezekiel just blinked after him as Jenkins left, jar of magical mud in hand.