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Giles had been eager to start researching the newcomers' problem. He rose early that morning, but Anya, as usual, had beaten him there.
He pondered briefly his relief that Anya had worked out so very well as his replacement. He'd had his worries in the beginning, but Anya's fundamental knack for commerce made her a natural. She'd been taking over bit by bit, and Giles had gradually been sleeping the night through.
Once Buffy and the other, rather later risers had arrived, the easy comfort of last night seeped in despite the urgency of their situation. Especially so for the Black heir, as he kept nodding off in his chair, clearly unaccustomed to rising earlier than tea time.
Finally, Buffy, irritated with having to yell over Sirius' snores and "harumphs!" approached his oversized chair, toeing the mass.
"Hey, if you feel like joining us any time before lunch, we're taking time out of our crisis to fix yours," she barked, entirely unamused.
"What?" he gruffly demanded. "Did your lipstick smudge, then, girlie?" He rolled onto his stomach, covering his head with an obnoxiously vibrant sofa throw.
She huffed, throwing her arms up resigned. When she rejoined the others, she looked to Giles.
"So, what do we know?" So began the meeting.
"Er…the apple obviously has something to do with it. 'Misfortune shows those who are not really friends.'" Giles began. "And the incantation…"
"'No man is free who is not a master of himself,'" Lily reminded him, embarrassed to look so pleased with herself. Anya grinned at her in encouragement.
"I'm thinking the incantation must have worked rather like a-a-well, something like a trigger," Giles responded.
"Makes sense," Buffy said. "I think we should start with the basics. The most obvious suspects."
"Mmm, I rather think a re-telling of the evening's events are in order from each of our views," Sirius had awoken finally it seemed, and joined them, kicking his crossed ankles up on the tabletop. Buffy shoved them off and he grunted, annoyed.
"There's no point," Buffy argued. "We know the story. Now-"
"Oh, sorry. I forgot Miss Super Princess Tiny Amazon Warrior Buffy gave the orders round here! That's a stupid name, anyhow: Buffy. No power behind it whatsoever. 'Sirius', now there's a name that strikes fear in the heart of-"
Buffy cut him off. "That's what you want? To scare people? Well, I've got news for you. You've come to the wrong dimension. This place is mine. I call the shots. You want to be in charge, you can find your on damn way home and order around your lowlies!"
Sirius glared an electrified stare at her, which she returned, undaunted.
"Oh, do carry on then," he answered when he realized he would need to be the one to break the tense interaction.
"Ahem. Anyway. The prime suspect would obviously be Peter," Buffy announced, a little awkwardly.
At once, an angry outburst arose from the Marauders. Even soft-spoken Remus shoved away from the table to argue.
"Now hold on, girlie. I agreed to let you run this show on your terms, but when you accuse my friends of-of-mutiny…that's too much!" Sirius shouted over the uproar.
"Really, now! Peter is far too loyal to do any such travesty!" Remus defended.
"Frankly," James started, a bit calmer than his comrades. "Wormy's a bit of a dunce. He's too thick to orchestrate something like this."
"Well, fellows," Lily, the voice of reason, spoke from her seat, never having jumped from it to defend Peter's honor. "Now it's no secret that I'm none too fond of Wormtail, but Buffy's right. It had to be him. And James is right, too. He's clearly working for someone else. He has to be. So let's don't rule out an Imperius Curse."
"…so he's water-proof?" Xander chimed in, genuinely confused, it seemed.
Willow smacked him in the back of the head. "Imperius," she corrected. "Not impervious."
"The Imperius Curse puts one under the thrall of another. It's difficult, nigh impossible to resist, and let's face it, Peter's not exactly he of the iron will," Remus said.
Discussion went on for a while longer, trying to nail down a clear-cut suspect, deciding unsuccessfully the best course of action. Eventually, a few broke off for a research party, the others drifted lazily into easier topics: past battles, stories of triumphant snitch saves, attempted murder plots. Even Buffy and Sirius began to swap stories of past foes.
"I hate this place," Andrew said, rubbing his forearms with his palms.
"Grow up, Nancy!" Jonathan responded, ducking Andrew's half-hearted smack.
"Ladies-"
"Sorry…" they both responded, and Warren grinned inwardly at his manipulation.
If Warren were honest with himself, he didn't like the morgue anymore than Andrew, but he'd never admit it.
"Whatever. Okay?" He clapped his hands together. "Just do the mojo thing and let's get out of here."
Jonathan, small and insecure, shrunk even as he walked into the center of attention. All eyes were on him. "Oh, God," he sent up a silent plea. "Oh, God, please, please don't let me throw up."
"Ahem." He cracked his neck, his back, the individual knuckles of his fingers…
"Go!" Warren demanded.
"Okay! Jeesh! This kind of thing takes preparation." But he followed Warren's terse urgency.
Jonathan knelt down ceremoniously, lowered his face to the ground, inhaled deeply, and… "A plane crashed here," followed by explosive giggles and high fives between he and Andrew. Further followed by their foreheads cracking together. When the black cleared from their vision, they saw Warren's slightly manic face above them.
"Morons," he released his hold on the back of their shirts, letting them fall back to the cement. He turned to depart, knowing the wouldn't let him get far. He was smug in his accuracy.
Then Jonathan was sitting again on the ground, surrounded by abrasively scented herbs. He murmured prayers and chants, feeling electricity raise goose bumps on his arms and legs. Unfortunately, this high was short-lived, for soon they heard a crack and were coughing away angry smoke as, for the second time in two days, a spell had gone awry.
"What the hell?" Warren demanded. "Fix it!"
"Hang on, hang on." Jonathan began a second enchantment, which caused the streetlight above to flicker. "Residual magic."
Warren looked back and forth between Jonathan and Andrew, who simply nodded in understanding. He caught Warren's eye and was prompted to explain.
"He means that some strong magic was already worked here recently. It's like a blockade. There's something in the way of our spell."
"And…how do we fix it, Spock?"
Andrew sighed patiently. "We either reverse whatever powerful spell happened here. Soon. Or we kill the subject slash subjects of the original spell. Soon."
"We'll do what we have to," Warren decided, and turned to leave.
Giles squinted hard at the tiny foreign text, written on paper quite possibly made of flesh, and swallowed hard around a newly formed lump. "B-Buffy?"
She came into the back room smiling, having spent most of the afternoon bent over books, pretending to research a way home for the Marauders.
"Read this. Quickly," he shoved the book at her and directed her to the correct passage. She furrowed her brow in concentration.
"Hmm."
"Well?" Giles demanded.
"I'll let you know in eleven years when I familiarize myself with whatever language this is."
Giles huffed impatiently and Buffy pouted as he snapped the book back from her. "What's the 'it', Giles?"
"It's unattainable, Buffy. That artifact doesn't exist anymore,"
"There has to be a way to get it. Not a word to anyone yet."
Giles nodded gravely.
