* * *

"Did you get to see the Leng exhibit?"

Andrew nodded and swallowed another spoonful of warm white mush.

Dinner was courtesy of Colonel Sanders that night. Tucker had brought home Andrew's favorite: a large container of mashed faux-tatoes, plain, no gravy. ("You know that has absolutely no nutritional content, don't you?" Tucker had admonished.) After spending half the day with Zillah, he'd been looking forward to a little brotherly interaction, but Andrew had been mostly quiet and withdrawn.

"Those photographs of Antarctica," Tucker said conversationally, "can only be seen in the museum. There's a condition that they not be widely published; in fact, they're usually put away in the vault, but you lucked out by visiting at -- " His brother didn't seem to be listening, so Tucker stopped talking and concentrated on eating.

Five minutes later, Andrew mused absently, "Someone should start a mashed potato delivery service."

"Yeah," said Tucker. It was one of the dumbest ideas he'd ever heard, but he'd rather have inane-chatter Andrew than quietly-thoughtful Andrew. And so he agreed, hoping his little brother would continue and say something else. He didn't, and the meal lapsed into silence once again.

And again, it was Andrew who broke that silence, minutes later. "Do you know Ms Haelstrom? In the museum?"

"Haelstrom?" Tucker swallowed his macaroni. "Yeah. The Haelstrom family has donated a load of Dark Arts books to the library. A few have wound up in the vault, even. I think there's always been one of them on staff. Watching the family artifacts, taking advantage of faculty perks, that kinda stuff."

"Oh." At his brother's curious look, Andrew began rummaging in his pocket. "She, uh... I spoke with her earlier, in the museum? And --" He pulled the note out, " -- she wrote that I... am granted... access... to..." Andrew trailed off as he studied the note. He'd wager his life-sized cardboard Xena that the note hadn't said that earlier.

"Access to...?" prompte Tucker.

"A, uh... it's permission to borrow Haven Haelstrom's journal from the library," Andrew replied, trying to mask the confusion in his voice. He tried to sound as if that's what he'd meant to say, instead of just reading it for the first time.

"Seriously?" Tucker snatched the note from his hand and read it. "Wow," he muttered in conclusion. "Pretty impressive, Drew. What'd you have to do to convince her?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked at his brother.

"Oh, I just -- Tucker! Gross!" Andrew swatted at Tucker, then grabbed the note away from the snickering boy. "For your information, I just *asked*. Nicely."

Tucker nodded in consideration. "I should try that. Maybe then they'll let me check out Extradimensional Teleportation for Dummies."

By now, Andrew was scraping the bottom of his styrofoam container for the last bits of delightfully bland faux-tato. "So," he jammed the last spoonful of mush in his mouth, "what'd you and Zillah do today?"

Tucker blushed. "We... uh, summoned things, and... runes..."

"I thought you had an essay?" asked Andrew unsurely.

"That's what I meant," Tucker said, barely batting an eye. "An essay. On... runes."

Andrew nodded thoughtfully, then said, "I'm not too good with runes. My friend Jonathan, though, he's pretty good with them."

With a snort, Tucker rolled his eyes. "You're still hanging out with that little poseur?"

"Yeah," he replied in a small voice. "Jonathan's okay."

"Drew, even Warren's better than that little goblin. I can't believe -- "

Sharply, Andrew changed the subject. "How long have you and Zillah been together?"

"A while," shrugged Tucker. "Couple months."

"And..." He tried to think up suitable questions to ask; anything to keep Tucker from criticizing his choice in friends. "Uh, how'd you meet?"

A wistful smile crossed Tucker's face. "We met at a student art exhibit. She was morose because her piece had to be removed -- it was attracting flies, you see..."

Andrew shuddered inwardly.

"I said I was sorry over the loss of her project, and we got to talking. Well, when I mentioned I was from Sunnydale, we both really clicked, and ended up talking until dawn."

"How romantic," muttered Andrew. He'd be happier for his brother if Zillah hadn't been an evil toad-woman. Surely he couldn've done better.

Tucker shook his head, detecting his brother's sarcasm. "I really don't see how you don't like her. You two have a lot in common, actually."

"I don't not like her!" protested Andrew. He hoped he sounded sincere.

"But you don't *like* her, Drew."

"Do I have to?" whined Andrew. "I mean, you don't need my approval or anything."

Tucker frowned. He'd been twirling his fork in his fingers somewhat nervously, and now placed it down on the table. "Andrew," he'd taken on that older brother tone that made Andrew wince every time, "you can't dislike Zillah just because she scares you. She may be different, but she's really nice, once you get to know her." After letting that sink in for a moment, Tucker added, "Besides. Women usually scare you."

"Only when they're descended from giant frogs," Andrew shot back. He regretted it as soon as he'd said it, and regretted it even more when he saw Tucker's eyes narrow and his jaw clench.

"I thought you'd matured enough that I could have an adult conversation with you." He'd risen from his seat and was stiffly clearing leftover dinner trash from the small table.

Andrew rose from the table as well. "I'm... I'm going to get that book now," he said awkwardly.

Tucker responded with a curt nod. "Don't be out too late."

"Won't," muttered Andrew.

* * *

The library was empty, which surprised Andrew. He'd expected it should be full of students -- isn't that what college was about? Evenings spent with your nose in a book?

A man at the main desk looked up expectantly as Andrew approached. "It's so empty. Where is everyone?"

The man stared a moment, looking bored. He then asked, "What do you need?"

Andrew handed the post-it from his pocket to the man, who looked it over intently. He mused for a moment, then pocketed the slip. "Normally you wouldn't be able to do this. All checkouts require a student ID."

"Oh," said Andrew, "That's -- "

"Can't really control what Hepzibah does with her own books. If she thinks some kid..." The muttering faded as he walked away, post-it in hand.

Andrew was left alone as the man vanished into a back room. It was ten minutes before he came back, and with him, he carried a thin leather-bound book. "Here it is. Take care of it -- I guess that goes without saying. If Haelstrom trusts you enough to take the journals, I'm not one to say different."

The book was light and the leather covering it was peeled and worn in places. It looked as if it once had a latch over the pages, which had at some point fallen off. Andrew opened it, gazing reverently: Haven Haelstrom, the inside cover read in ancient, faded ink, March 1792. Andrew closed it and held it tightly against his chest.

"Thanks," he said, turning to leave. Holding the book, he felt like he'd been transported to a different world. All Andrew wanted was to get back to Tucker's dorm so he could start reading.

Andrew paused in realization.

Actually, all Andrew wanted was to get back to Tucker's room, period. With only a vague idea of the way, it'd be a miracle if he got back.

As he walked away, he could hear the old man call after him: "You'll wanna be careful what you read... there's no such thing as unlearning, you know."

* * *

Hours had passed. Tucker wondered how his brother was doing. He felt a pang of guilt leaving Andrew yet again that day. He was supposed to be spending time with his little brother, but he'd been spending it all with Zillah. As if he couldn't see her every other day.

Tucker had been close to Andrew before he'd left for college. The boys were close in age and shared many interests, including demon summoning. When the Slayer thwarted his attack on the school prom, Tucker was comforted by a similarly dateless Andrew. When Holden Webster kissed Andrew backstage during Drama Club, it was his older brother that heard all about it.

Yawning, Zillah finished her chant and tossed the remaining shred of evil ingredient into the flame. "Done," she said, wiping her dirty hands on her jeans. It'd been a particularly complex spell to cast, and had taken hours. She was finding it hard to keep the look of extreme pride off her gray little face.

"That was it?" Tucker looked disappointed. He'd been expecting elaborate explosions, a show of colored lights, maybe the screams of damned souls...

Zillah quirked an eyebrow. "For living on the Hellmouth, you have had very little contact with actual magicks."

"What little I've had," snorted Tucker, "looked less like Martha Stewart Living and more like -- "

"Siegfried and Roy?"

With an exasperated sigh, he snatched his jacket from the back of his chair. "Sure, Z. Lycra jumpsuits and all."

She frowned in his direction. "Where are you going?"

"It's..." Tucker checked his watch. "...2:03 in the morning. I'm going back to my room for sleep." As he pulled his jacket on, he said, his voice tinged with guilt, "Besides, I want to make sure Andrew got back safely."

"Of course he did," she said flippantly.

Irately, he replied, "Adding prophecy to your resume now?"

Tension swarmed around them like gnats, only with more metaphor. During their time together, the couple had bickered occasionally, but this was different. Tucker had always been with her completely when it came to their spells; now this was the most important ritual of Zillah's life so far, and he'd behaved as if they were simply summoning Pringles from the 7-11.

Turning away, he uttered, "Night, Z."

"Night, Tucker," she growled through sharp, clenched teeth.

Two nights left. Tucker had better stop screwing around like some weekend warlock. She'd been relying on his help with this summoning and knew there wasn't any way she could pull it off without him. If tomorrow didn't go well, Zillah was going to be his worst nightmare.

Literally.

Absently picking a bit of dead animal flesh from under her nail, she mused that Tucker had been correct about one thing: the mixture did not end with ingredients stewing in a fiery cauldron like Chicken 'N' Stars from Hell.

Heard by no earthly ears, Zillah chanted words contained only in the vault of Miskatonic's library.

Clouds converged over Arkham, and split open in a sudden downpour.

* * *

The room seemed exceptionally dark as Tucker entered. He couldn't place what was different at first; then, noticed that every electrical light source -- even the blinking digital 12:00 on the VCR -- was dark and the only light came gray through the closed curtains.

"Andrew?" He called, squinting against the black.

Had there been a power outage? Surely not, as the entire building would then be out. And where the devil was his brother? Tucker frowned, worried. He'd been with Zillah all night. He felt neglectful. He was a very bad brother, and a very bad human being.

A weak voice came from the bed. "Tucker?"

Tucker exhaled a sigh of relief. "Andrew... Andrew, what happened? You feeling okay?"

"I don't think so." Andrew's small voice shook. "I feel all cold. And, and dizzy." The boy crawled into his big brother's arms as Tucker sank down on the bed next to him. "I had a headache. The light made it worse."

Tucker stroked his brother's hair, letting his palm linger on Andrew's forehead. "You're all clammy," he said, barely whispering so as not to worsen Andrew's headache. "Lay back down. I'll get you some Advil, but I'm gonna have to turn on the light."

A messy blond head pressed itself into the pillow, whining in a most Andrewish way. When Tucker flipped the main light on, he could see his brother more clearly: body curled under the blankets, fists clutching the pillow, smothering his face from the brightness. Shit, thought Tucker. He left Andrew alone for a few hours, and the boy wound up with the flu. Mom was going to kill him.

With as little noise as was possible, Tucker fetched a glass of water and bottle of painkillers for his brother. He saw Andrew's grip on the pillow had lessened and thought he may have fallen asleep.

"Drew..." He laid a hand on Andrew's shoulder. "I have, uh..."

Tucker trailed off as his brother raised his head. The skin of his face was devoid of color and abnormally tight. Eyes that were usually playful and blue appeared to be opaque pools of black, ringed by bruise-colored shadows.

"Tucker?"

He quickly looked away, thrusting the glass of water and pills at Andrew. "Here. I'll sleep on the couch. If... If you need anything..."

* * *