"Nothing!" Sam exclaimed irritably several hours later as he angrily slapped closed his laptop. He leaned back on their motel room's sturdiest, albeit duct-taped, dining chair, clothed comfortably in jeans and T-shirt. "Nada! Zip! Zilch! It's like this is a completely isolated incident."

Dean (also more cozily dressed) flipped through their father's journal while sitting on his bed and stated, "I've got things that eat brains, things that suck out brains, things that drink spinal fluid; all of which leave people kind of, you know, dead. These dudes are alive and kicking. Other than being nuts."

"We're lucky we're alive after that doctor went ballistic on us."

"Yeah, stupid Cass. Hey wait," said Dean as he carefully closed the journal, "wasn't he asking something? About a Hellmoth?"

"HellMOUTH," Sam corrected as he reopened his computer and began a search. After a few minutes he told his brother, "Nothing specific about it from reliable sources. Mostly crackpots that think that it's a term for either a dimensional portal or a gate to Hell."

The elder Winchester wiped a hand down his face as he recalled the harrowing events associated with the first time they'd dealt with a Hellgate. Then he reconsidered. "If this were a gate to Hell I'm sure Crowley would've staked a claim already and we'd be ass deep in black-eyed demons by now."

"True," Sam agreed as he continued googling. "Hey, look at this. There's a place in town called 'The Magic Box.' Supposed to be stock full of real spell ingredients and, more importantly, rare books on the occult."

Dean raised a doubtful eyebrow at his brother. "You really think there might be something there that the Men of Letters never drooled over?"

The younger Winchester shrugged. "Never know. Might as well stock up on some holy water at least."

"Fine," grumbled Dean. "First let's grab some grub. I could really use a hamburger and a beer."

Forty five minutes later, satisfyingly full and mildly inebriated, the Winchesters parked the Impala and walked a short distance down Sunnydale's Main Street to the Magic Box. A hanging bell rang a friendly chime as Sam opened the door. The brothers paused and looked around, rather impressed.

The quaint, quiet interior boasted two levels (broken by a set of two-step stairs) with shelves both on the walls and on independent displays, all of which were stock full of mystical items. Inventory ranged from the more mundane canisters of dried herbs to several exotic statuettes. A large table near the entrance contained knickknacks and what appeared to be spell ingredients. Dean gleefully pointed at one of them. "Dude, check it out. Actual 'eye of newt.' Twelve bucks a pound."

"Can I help you?"

The brothers straightened from their morbid examination of bottled eyeballs to see a man with at least a decade of age on them standing on the other side of the table. His face, round and bespectacled, bore a congenial smile. He wore slacks and a knit sweater (sleeves rolled up for the heat) which sort of brought to mind a kindly librarian. The English accent only enhanced the effect. In his hands was an open book bearing, as much as could be told when looking at it upside down, a picture of some hideous, tentacled beast on one side and accompanying text on the other. "We're looking for books," replied Sam. "Something along the lines of, well, that." He pointed at the gruesome image.

"Ah, a fellow scholar of demonology?" the man commented genially. "Come with me." He snapped the volume closed and beckoned Sam towards the back of the store. The two immediately began a companionable discussion regarding the contents of their own libraries as they perused the available selection. Dean rolled his eyes, muttered "dork", and continued to look around the shop. He paused at one rather lascivious looking idol and leaned in for a closer look.

"That's Inanna, Sumerian goddess of female fertility and sex. Those are her breasts."

Dean turned to see a young woman with shoulder length, curled brown hair and pretty, angular features. She wore a flowery spring dress and a smile that didn't quite reach all the way to her eyes. The elder Winchester was a little taken aback at the matter-of-fact manner of her speech. "Yes, I know what boobs are," he retorted.

"Of course you do," she replied. "I, of course, have a pair and know exactly what they'd look like. Would you like to buy her?"

There was no condescending tone, no smirk on her lips that would denote whether the woman was being glib or serious. "Uh no," he answered. Then, mostly to himself, he muttered, "Bet you and Cass would have some real interesting conversations."

"Beg pardon? Were you talking about Inanna's ass? It really is as nicely formed as her breasts."

"I'll pass, thanks. You just reminded me of my friend, Castiel."

The disingenuous smile froze on her face. She turned about, searching through the shop windows before settling on one that had an untrammeled view of the Impala. "Say, is that yours?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I see. Good day!" Without further ado the young woman turned on her heel and went behind the counter to sit near the cash register. She pointedly did not look in Dean's direction again.

Sam returned with the elder man a few moments later with several books. As Dean placed a few bottles of holy water and a twenty on the counter, the younger Winchester introduced the Englishman. "Hey. This is Rupert Giles, he owns this place. Apparently he's the local expert on the occult and all things supernatural."

"A pleasure," the man greeted as he shook Dean's hand.

"He's giving these to me on a loan," continued Sam. "You know, for our 'book'? We just leave a credit card number with Anya here and then we're good to go."

"All right then." Dean withdrew his wallet and pulled out one of the less dubious of their fake Visas. Anya, the odd brunette, ran the card under a pressure based carbon copy reader and handed it back. Her lips were set in a thin line as she looked back and forth between the Winchester brothers.

The hunters and the shopkeeper shook hands and departed amicably despite the unfriendliness radiating from the young woman. They were at the door when she shouted, "Thank you for your invisible money. Please don't come too back soon!"

The brothers exchanged baffled looks before leaving the shop for the Impala. "I swear," Dean said as he unlocked his door, "they have to be putting something in the water here. Everyone's weird."

Giles turned towards Anya with the intention of dressing her down for her unprofessional demeanor. "If you're going to work in my shop-"

"Giles, those were hunters," Anya interjected, steamrolling over the impending lecture. "Not bunny hunters (although the more of those the better): monster hunters. As in indiscriminately murdering non-human things?"

"Good Lord, are you sure?" replied the Watcher as he hurried to the window. Once there, he whipped off his glasses and peered at the two men driving off in their black muscle car.

"And they're just not any hunters," Anya continued while safe behind the sales counter. "I've actually heard of them. I think they're called the Winchesters. They're two brothers who drive around in a car just like that, sometimes with a guy named Castiel. I think he's a warlock. They killed a friend of mine, Veritas? Could never tell a simple lie around her, not even 'oh, no that doesn't make you look chunky,' or 'no one will even notice the bloodstains,' or-"

"Giles!" cried Buffy as she burst through the Magic Box's entrance. "I saw a guy vanish today."

"What?" the elder man asked, flustered by both Anya's recitation and his Slayer's sudden arrival.

"Vanished! Poof! Into thin air! Well, there was no poofing, more like he was there and then he wasn't."

Giles fastidiously cleaned his glasses on a handkerchief before replacing them on his nose. "I don't know, Buffy. Did the, um, did Glory's victims say anything useful?"

The young Slayer shrugged. "I dunno. All I heard was something about eyes and wings. But Giles," she said, following her Watcher as he walked away from the window to flip the "CLOSED" sign on the door, "this guy knew I was the Slayer. Somehow when he looked at me I felt like he could see me, inside and out."

The elder man glanced towards his employee, the thousand year old former demon, for a theory and got a puzzled shrug. "Are you sure you didn't just misinterpret what you saw?"

"Not like what I saw earlier," proclaimed a smug-looking Anya. "There-"

"Anya," Giles said suddenly, "could you go into the cash register and tally the receipts?"

"You mean, fondle the money?" she responded excitedly. "I would love to!"

Bemused, Buffy watched the ex-demon cheerfully pull out a stack of dollars and begin to count. "She likes that just way too much."

"Yes. So did you see what the man looked like before he vanished?"

"Dark haired, little shorter than you, trench coat, pretty good looking. In fact, all three of those guys were part of the tall, dark and handsome club."

"Guys? What guys?"

"Ben said they were with the CDC. One was super tall, hair to here, pretty face. Other one was a little shorter with a military cut. They looked kind of alike. Maybe they were brothers." With some alarm Buffy saw the blood drain from her Watcher's face.

"I-I see," he stammered. "If you'll excuse me I have a phone call to make."

"Are you okay?"

"Certainly, yes," a retreating Giles replied as his hip nearly toppled a display table. He instinctively righted a few of the wobbling jars. "I'll be right back."

Buffy approached the counter where Anya was now gleefully going through the quarters. "What's with him?"

"Can't talk, fondling coins."

The Slayer sighed. She looked at the clock and decided to head home for dinner and a quick nap before going out on patrol. Until some way could be found to defeat Glorificus she could at least do something normal…

…Like stake some vampires.