* * *

Early summer, a warm New England night.

The couch was killing his back.

Andrew watched the VCR blink a digital twelve o'clock. Musing, he decided he was much like that clock: good-for-nothing much of the time, but correct twice a day.

Tucker had no roommate, nor a spare bed. Andrew spent two hours uncomfortably curled up on the worn couch before crawling into the small bed his brother occupied. The other man had simply groaned in his sleep and made room, just as he'd done when Andrew had been a child.

* * *

"I'm not having fun," Andrew whined as he pulled his socks on.

There was a pause in the brushing noises. "What was that?"

"Nothing," he called back, pouting to himself.

A moment later, the running water in the bathroom stopped. Andrew heard his brother spit out a mouthful of toothpaste foam.

"Take your Allegra, Drew." Tucker brought in a mug of water and set it on the nightstand next to the bed.

"I'm almost eighteen! You don't have to tell me to take stuff," Andrew protested. He waited until Tucker wandered off to fetch his clothes, then swallowed the small pill with a gulp of water. The liquid felt distinctly foul as it slid down his throat. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he said, "Where'd you get this?"

"Tap," muttered Tucker distractedly, "out of the sink."

The answer relieved Andrew; he was afraid it'd come from the toilet. Tucker was cruel like that. "Oh. It tastes funny."

With a long-suffering look thrown at his brother, Tucker grabbed the mug and took a sip from its rim. "It tastes like water, Andrew."

"It tastes like -- " Evil, he wanted to say. " -- like the time when Larry stole that chalice with the goats all over it from the school librarian and made me drink stuff out of it. Not really the taste, exactly, but the sort of squiggy feeling it gave me."

Blankly, Tucker stared at his brother. Then he said, "I have an essay I need to work on with Zillah. Perhaps you can occupy yourself for the morning."

"I'll get lost," whined Andrew in a small voice.

Tucker gave a highly annoyed sigh. "You won't. Just... go tour the museum, okay? Then I'll come get you when I'm finished, and escort you safely through the scary, scary campus."

"You're mocking me!" The younger boy pouted.

"Yes, Drew, I am. Observant, aren't you."

"I didn't want to spend the day with you anyway, Tucker," said Andrew, trying to mask the hurt in his voice. "You're always like, oh Drew, you're so not cool enough to be around me, you're a little fairy hobbit with bad sweaters, you say things that are really dumb around -- "

Tucker gave his brother a quick smack to the back of the head. "Retract the force shield, Drew." He looked annoyed still, but gave a small, kind smile. "We'll spend the afternoon together. Don't go all bitch on me, 'kay?"

"Kay," muttered Andrew. He was placated, but not satisfied.

Tucker grabbed a heavy bookbag off a chair. Though he'd grown, he was still thin. The weight caused him to stumble slightly, but he regained his balance and tried to look unaffected. "Have some cereal, watch TV, whatever. If you want to see the museum, you can't miss it. Not even *you* can get lost."

Andrew was pouting again. "I don't need you to explain everything to me like I'm some little kid."

"But you are." Tucker ruffled his brother's hair. "You're still my kid brother."

* * *

Meanwhile, across campus, in a room in which Tucker will arrive in six minutes' time:

She paced the room restlessly.

As if circumstances weren't difficult enough with Tucker being so goddamn inept with his summoning, now he was baby-sitting his stupid baby brother for the week.

Things may have gone much faster had she not brought Tucker into the plot. Now he was in, however, and she'd have to deal with him in partnership in order to perform the ritual. Which needed to happen soon -- sooner than soon -- before the astral window slammed shut.

"Unless..." Zillah's forehead creased in thought, and she crossed the room to her antique desk. Papers were stacked in neat piles atop it; she sorted through, careful not to disrupt the order, until she found that which she was seeking.

Her unblinking eyes scanned the page, then lit up with joy. She gave a low chuckle, sinister as any villain older and more evil than herself, and grinned behind the paper.

"Keen."

* * *

The museum, surprisingly, was quite a letdown. Andrew had seen fossils before, and old bones. He enjoyed the mutated fetuses and such, pickled in jars that lined a section of wall.

The book collection was somewhat impressive, but Andrew had read most of the questionable books, and a good many of the "evil" tomes could be found at Sunnydale High's library. Before it exploded, that is. A sign stated that more volumes could be found "with particular permissions" in the vault. Naturally, Andrew was off to the vault.

As he approached the main desk, a middle-aged woman seated behind it smiled at him. "May I help you?"

Andrew nodded, shyly. "Uh... I was wondering... if that pickled squid is actually a big normal squid, or a baby giant squid."

"Actually, it's an octopus." She'd hardly blinked before answering. "Medium-sized."

"Ah..." Andrew nodded in response, like it'd been the most fascinating thing he'd heard all day. Now that he'd broken the ice, he casually asked, "Can I go see the stuff in the vault?"

The woman took in Andrew's baby face and messy hair. "Do you attend classes at Miskatonic?"

"Uh." He shook his head slightly. "No," he said in a deflated voice.

"Access to the books and artifacts in the vault is restricted to students and researchers only with written permission from certain members of the staff." She adjusted her glasses and looked down at the disappointed young man. "I'm sorry, but the contents are much too -- "

"Eldritch?" Andrew supplied.

"I was going to say fragile, but that too."

"Oh." Andrew did his best to look serious and mature. "I would be very careful with the books. And... and I wouldn't even touch the other things. I have a lot of fragile things at home. My comics, my action figures... and I only broke one of those, and that was only 'cause my friend Jonathan had a little mishap with some Pop Rocks and -- "

He felt a little funny, like his insides were drying out. The woman gave a mysterious smile and turned her attention from him; a moment later, she handed Andrew a note written on a Garfield post-it.

"I've got a lecture to give in ten minutes' time. If you're still interested in ...eldritch things... give that note a glance later tonight." She'd risen from her seat as she talked, and lifted her tote over her shoulder.

"Okay," Andrew said absently. He was staring at the post-it; Garfield was cutting all the Mondays out of a calendar. Andrew Wells is prohibited from entering restricted areas of the campus, read the pretty cursive writing. This includes areas of the museum, library, labs and catacombs. It was signed Ms. Hepzibah Haelstrom.

Her name sounded like a character out of a fantasy book. Andrew was afraid he'd said that aloud, but looking up, discovered he was alone in front of the desk. Which was just as well, since if she'd still been here, Andrew would've given her a stern piece of his mind. Just like he'd done earlier, with Tucker.

Looking over the note again, he cursed Ms. Hepzibah Haelstrom. He cursed her stylish glasses, her shallow crow's feet and her nice penmanship. And when did he tell her his name?

* * *