Chapter four: Chilli sauce

Heading back, Andrew had put his shoes on again. The sunny weather they'd enjoyed before had disappeared as suddenly as it had come over them, and rain-clouds were now gathering in the sky above Sunnydale. It was a bit dark outside, but Warren hadn't removed his sunglasses. Andrew figured it had something to do with prestige.

"Andy?"
"Yeah?"
"Could I borrow your jacket? It's too cold for wearing only a tee shirt, and if I'm not mistaken, you're wearing that knitted shirt beneath your coat."
Andrew lit up. He wants to wear my jacket! He trusts in me to lend him my jacket! He noticed what I was wearing!
"Of course." In what he hoped was a nonchalant manner, he pulled off his warm and comfortable coat, and handed it over to Warren, who dragged it on him quickly.
"Thanks. I was freezing, you know."
"No problem." His insides felt all fuzzy and warm. He didn't feel cold at all, even though he knew he should. The knitted shirt wasn't nearly enough.
But he was content with the way things where. His jacket on Warren, himself walking right there beside him.

"It fits you," he dared to say, quickly so he wouldn't lose his nerve.
"What? Oh, thanks I guess."
Then, they continued walking in silence. No words were needed in this situation.
At least that was how Andrew interpreted his partner's silence.
Well, they say ignorance is bliss...

---

Immediately when they entered the Lair, they knew something was wrong. All lights were out, and stumbling upon different things apparently scattered on the floor, Warren had to feel his way through the room, all the way to the light-switch.
When he finally reached it and pressed it down, he heard a gasp from behind him. He turned, and it felt as though his heart stopped beating for a second.

The place was completely trashed. Their things were all over the floor, like Warren had suspected, scattered widely. Nothing seemed to be broken, though. The furniture seemed to be in almost perfect order, except someone had poured some red substance all over them.

"Warren... that isn't blood, is it?" Andrew's voice was shaking.
"Nah, I don't think so. Looks like chilli sauce to me." Warren dipped his finger in the substance, and put the finger in his mouth. "Yep, it's chilli sauce alright."
"H-how did you know?"
"Jonathan bought some last week. You know, for the tacos."
"Right. Hey, speaking of, where is Jonathan, anyway?"
"He said he'd perform the ritual in the basement." Warren scowled. "He would've heard if someone tried to break in, though. Come on, let's go downstairs."

They walked down the staircase carefully, Warren first, Andrew a few steps behind. The latter was scared out of his wits. Something wasn't right. This didn't feel right.
The first thing they saw when they got down, in the very limited light of the small wax candles Jonathan used for rituals such as this, was ripped-apart pieces of paper covering the floor.
"What the hell is this?" muttered Warren. He picked up a piece. "How to make crops rot... burnt motor-oil? What kind of crap is this, anyway?"
"Hey, I've found the cover!" Andrew waved it back and forth in the air for Warren to see. "Says here, it's 'Ye Practical Magick Handbook', third edition. Author... Un Noown? Probably some Indian fellow..."
"Author unknown, idiot," grunted Warren.
"Oh."
Suddenly, an obscure sound was heard, almost like a moan.
"Did you hear that?" asked Andrew, even more frightened now that ever.
Warren nodded. "Yeah. I think it came from behind that wardrobe there..." He started walking towards it, slowly, and as quietly as he could. When he'd reached it, he carefully pushed it to the left. He saw that there was a small space behind it. Andrew gasped for the third time.
"Would you please stop gasping?" Warren asked irritably. "Or at least try and help me here? This wardrobe is pretty heavy..."
Andrew immediately shut up, and hurried to Warren's aid. Together, they pushed it entirely aside.

They weren't all together ready for what was waiting for them.