Homecoming

Despite the fact Dulaque had blindfolded Cassandra during her journey to his headquarters, by flicking through her thoughts, and Ezekiel working his wizardry by hijacking London's CCTV system, they'd managed to locate the building that served as the Serpent Brotherhood's base. It was called Chamberlain House, having been built in the heart of London's most illustrious district. It was classic Victorian and designed by Bevans. Jacob had waxed lyrical about its window-frames, his eyes taking on a consequently glassy look as he described the exact shade of pale blue they had been painted.

"I thought you were the expert on art, not architecture," Eve pointed out, casting a concerned glance at the now rather pale looking Clara.

"Architecture is art we live in," Jacob pointed out irritably.

"Never mind squabbling," Jenkins said, glaring at them, "save Santa!"

"We are," Ezekiel said, shutting his laptop down, "after we take a coffee break."

"But we never take coffee breaks," Cassandra said, brow furrowing.

"We do now," Ezekiel said, leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head.

"No, we don't," Eve said, grabbing his ear and hauling him to his feet.

"Ow!" Ezekiel yelped.

"Looks like you're back on tour guide duties," Jacob said to Clara, making her start violently.

"I'm not taking on any duties," she snapped, startling him, "tour guide, translating or whatever."

"Chamberlain House seems like your kind of gaff though," Jacob said, gesturing to her pearl grey cardigan buttoned up to the chin, and the black dirndl skirt that swept the floor, tripping Clara up at every turn.

"That's because it was my gaff," Clara hissed, startling everyone this time.

~*~

Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother

She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh

And life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no...

"I was born and raised in Chamberlain House," Clara said quietly, "when my father died, it was sold, and I never set foot in it again."

"Where did you live afterwards?" Jacob asked curiously.

"Here and there," Clara said evasively, "then I moved to America, and here I am."

"Here you are," Jacob echoed, eying her oddly.

"Here we are," Clara corrected him, coming to a stop outside Chamberlain House, her childhood home, the last place they'd been a family. She stood there, studying the familiar front door, solid oak, shutting out the world. Glancing around her, she knelt down, checking for the loose brick her father had shown her when she was five. Feeling her way with her fingertips, she found it, pulling it out, revealing a rather rusty looking key.

"They've probably changed the locks, Clara," Jacob pointed out as she picked it up.

"They haven't," Clara said, brow furrowing, "I wonder why?"

"Maybe they were waiting for you to come home," Jacob suggested strangely, making Clara glance sharply at him.

Checking over her shoulder, Clara then put the key in the lock, turning it, the flick of the wrist as familiar as an old song, and then they were inside, the smell of beeswax hitting her like a blow.

"You okay?" Jacob asked, taking her arm.

But Clara just shook him off, disappearing through a nearby doorway instead, Jacob following her, only to find himself in heaven, surrounded by ancient artefacts and rare paintings. The sunlight streamed through several casement windows, forming pools of light on the polished floorboards. The walls were oak-panelled, a large marble fireplace dominating the room. Clara came to a stop in front of it, her gaze dwelling upon the opulent portrait of a woman hanging above the mantelpiece.

"Who's she?" Jacob asked in a hushed whisper, appraising the portrait with an expert eye.

"My mother," Clara said quietly.

Jacob studied the woman's serene face, the way her dark hair framed it, a harmony of line Clara had inherited. But her eyes were blue, when Clara's was brown, her nose straight when Clara's was snub. She wasn't beautiful, but she possessed a presence, one that radiated from the frame. "Why is it here?" he said, turning to Clara. "Isn't it yours?"

"It was sold with the house," Clara said tiredly. "It's very valuable apparently" -

- "A sound investment on my part," a voice said, making them whirl around, only to see a man with a strange skull-like face emerge from behind a painting depicting the Lady of Shallot. Clara stared at him, something about his impossibly dark eyes setting off a tripwire in her memory, making her falter before she found it.

"Buckingham Palace," she breathed, taking a step back. "You - you were there, that night we got the Crown back."

"We danced together," he said, taking a step forwards.

"And you are?" Jacob asked, making the man glance at him.

"Ah, Stone," the man said, folding his hands behind his back, "I've read your work, you're quite gifted. Pity you don't have the courage to publish under your own name."

"Leave him alone," Clara said, recovering herself. "Who are you?"

"You already know," the man said, studying her strangely, "more than anyone."

Clara just stared at him, scared, the sound of his voice starting to unlock something within her.

"Hello darling," a woman drawled from behind them, making Jacob whirl around, only to see Lamia in all her black satin skirted glory.

"Darling!?" he exclaimed, trying not to look at her legs. "You tried to murder me with a sword!"

"I don't just use the katana on anybody, cowboy," Lamia purred, bestowing the ghost of a wink on him.

"Ninjas in Oklahoma," Clara whispered, making Lamia's head jerk up.

"Oh, you're alive," Lamia said scornfully. "Don't worry, I'll remedy that for you." But as she stepped forwards, the man did too, halting her with his hand.

"Did you do something naughty, Lamia?" he said silkily, making Clara and Jacob glance at each other. "Something you might have forgotten to tell me about, hmmm?"

Lamia's lips thinned. "Clara got in my way," she said stiffly, "so I got her out of it."

The man studied Lamia for a moment before suddenly backhanding her across the face, making Jacob start forwards, shouting "Hey!" But the man just ignored him, Lamia raising her hand to her bleeding lip, the silence drilling into Clara's skull. "Get out of my sight," the man thrn said quietly, enunciating every word. For a moment, Lamia hesitated, before turning on her heel and leaving, slamming the door behind her, making the windows shake in their frames. "I apologize," the man said, inclining his head in Clara's direction, "whatever she did, won't be repeated, I assure you."

"Excalibur's gone, buddy," Jacob snapped, "so I don't think Lamia will be slaying Clara with it anytime soon."

The man froze, taken aback, before recovering himself, retreating behind the grand piano instead. He signalled for somebody to come forwards, making Jacob and Clara glance up, only to see several burly looking men step out of the shadows, armed with swords. "Good, no guns," he said, trailing a finger across the piano keys, filling the room with discordant notes, "I don't want a mess in here. Blood is so hard to get out. But leave the girl, she is not to be touched." His gaze settled on Clara briefly, reclaiming what was already his, making her take another step back.

"Ming," Jacob said suddenly, snatching up a blue vase. "Look at the design and underglaze," he continued, brandishing the vase at a bewildered Clara, "quite brilliant, and examine the signature - what do you think this is, late 1426, maybe early 1427?" He flung the vase up in the air, making the man start forwards, Jacob catching it with ease. "I reckon there must be only one of these in the whole world," he said, now twirling it like a baton, "what do you reckon Clara?" He prodded her in the side with it, making Clara slap his hand away

"You wouldn't," the man said from between gritted teeth, watching as Jacob began to pass the vase back and forth between his hands.

"I would," Jacob said smartly, suddenly throwing the vase up in the air, making the group of men rush to catch it. As they hurtled towards them, Jacob darted to the side, Clara hard on his heels, Jacob picking up precious object after precious object, hurling them through the air, even as it hurt him. It was a sin to endanger such beauty, but he had to. At least his opponents were good at catching. Seeing Jacob was carving a path towards the door, Clara snatched up a bust of Nefertiti, chucking it over her shoulder, before grabbing a portrait of Lucrezia Borgia and throwing it like a frisbee. Then they were gone, making a home run, leaving what had once been home behind.

~*~

"Did the distraction work?" Jacob asked, bent double, Clara collapsing against the wall.

"I don't know," Clara gasped, glancing round, "I don't see anybody."

"Give them a minute," Jacob said, straightening up, "if the worst comes to the worst, we're going back in there."

Clara nodded, closing her eyes, leaning her head back against the brick. Whilst she and Jacob had all but announced their entrance, the others had entered rather more discreetly, down the chimney to be precise. All Clara could hope was that the rumpus she and Jacob served up had bought them enough time to bust Santa out. It had unsettled her more than she'd shown, having to step back inside her old home, memories assailing her like enemies. But seeing the painting of her mother again had almost broken her, resurrecting all that Clara had sought to crush.

"Who was that guy?" Jacob asked, startling her.

"He was waiting for me," Clara said before she could stop herself, "I mean, he was waiting for us," she said hastily, shaking her head, "or it looked like that anyways. He - he must have known we were coming."

"He seemed to know you," Jacob pointed out, brow furrowing.

"He was at Buckingham Palace," Clara reminded him tersely, "that night we got the Crown back."

"Do... do you think he was Dulaque?" Jacob suggested carefully, watching her reaction. He hadn't missed the strange co-incidence of the Serpent Brotherhood having set up base in Clara's old house, or the way the man had reacted to Clara, looking at her as if he couldn't look upon her face enough. Something was afoot, and something was amiss, Jacob thought, his brow furrowing even further. The man knew Clara in some capacity she didn't seem aware of. Akatha appeared to have known Clara as well, even if Clara clearly didn't recognize her. Then there was the whole hoo-ha with Jenkins, Clara and the Crown, Jacob still finding it hard to forget the sight of Clara being possessed.

"Maybe, I don't know," Clara snapped, half turning away from him, inadvertently remembering Jenkins dropping the crystal ball; the way he'd looked at her when Cassandra had said Dulaque's name.

Jacob studied Clara, eyes narrowing, only to find his thoughts being bent in the direction of Lamia and her long legs. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but the mental image of Lamia's well-turned ankles only grew stronger, pushing all other concerns aside. With a longing sigh, Jacob finally surrendered to the Library's magic that clung to Clara, surrounding her like a silent benediction.

Eve, Cassandra and Ezekiel were easily conquered, being too susceptible, remaining oblivious to the truth of Clara's true self. But Jacob had proven more resistant to its effects. He'd been living a lie nearly all his life, rendering him super-sensitive to deception, making it harder to deceive him. But the Library had found his weakness; that hidden pull towards Lamia, Jacob coveting the enemy. And so the Library had swiftly struck this sore spot, crippling Jacob. It was as Flynn had theorized on the riverbank, that the Library was still shielding Clara, even now.