March 15, 2001

Early in the morning, a majority of the Scoobies, plus two, had gathered at the Magic Box for some early morning research on the newest bad. Giles' description was rather vague, since he'd been distracted by the devouring of human flesh, but he was attempting to sketch a reproduction. All who knew Giles were well aware that it wouldn't be much help.

Tara looked over at Max, who was returning from getting yet another book from the shelves. For a change, Max had decided not to dangle off of the upper balcony railing. "Is…is that for our stuff, or yours?" she asked, trying tentatively to engage the woman in conversation.

Max began quickly turning pages in the book. She eyed the shy witch with a touch of humor in her eyes. "Mine. Yours is too vague, and frankly, I just don't care enough."

"Oh," was all Tara could say, her eyes widening slightly.

Max shot Tara a lightening fast grin. "Just tellin' it like I see it." She paused and raised an eyebrow. "You don't have to be so nervous to talk to me. I don't bite…much."

Tara could only laugh, and felt herself relax… slightly.

Across the room, Giles was sighing into the phone. "Thanks for trying, Xander. No, not your fault. Tell Anya I'll see her this afternoon." He hung up and turned to the room, briefly ignoring Willow, who was idly rolling his pencil back and forth. "Buffy, Xander said there wasn't anything in the papers or the news this morning about a death or any recent missing persons."

Buffy looked up from the book she was idly scanning and yawned. "So, you mean, instead of researching a figment of your imagination, I could be home taking a nap? Gee, and just when I was hoping I could fall asleep in class…again."

"Buffy, please be patient." Giles frowned. "You're just as likely to skip class."

She grinned. "True. You go ahead and keep drawing…whatever it is you're trying not to draw, and I'll keep researching patchwork monsters." Giles reached for his pencil, and noticed Willow was still playing with it. "Are you done with that?"

"No," she said distractedly. "Giles, does it ever just…go away? Magic, I mean. Can it go poof? Just…poof?"

"Willow," he said exasperatedly as he quickly pulled the pencil away from her. "What in God's name are you talking about?"

"Me, Giles. I can't seem to do anything right lately. Magic-wise. Hell, last night I tried to float a pencil, and failed miserably. I almost even managed to stake Spike with it."

"I dare say you must be getting rusty if you missed his heart," he said glibly.

Willow frowned at him. "I wasn't trying, Giles. It was an accident."

He sighed, realizing just how concerned she was. "Willow, the magicks…don't just suddenly go away. Especially not for someone with the strength of your developing powers. And that's just what they are: developing. You can't expect every spell you cast to work perfectly every time. They can be affected, of course. Stress, illness…"

"But, Giles…"

"Willow." He slowly slid the pencil over to her. "Show me."

She took a deep breath, and concentrated as hard as she knew how, trying to block out everything around her. Remembering Giles' mention of stress, she said to herself, I am cool, calm, and collected. I am the stressless wonder. Slowly, the pencil began to lift above the countertop. It hovered in the air, perfectly still.

Willow let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding, and smiled. "It worked."

Giles reached over and patted her hand. "Of course it did."

The pencil wobbled.

Willow and Giles looked at each other, their smiles simultaneously sliding away. The pencil straightened, then wobbled, straightened, and wobbled again. "What on earth…?" Giles began, as the pencil repeated the pattern again.

Willow turned, and glanced over her shoulder. Nearby, she saw Max pacing with a book. "Giles."

Giles looked in the direction she was looking, and then looked back to the pencil. He, too, noticed the correlation between the pencil and Max's movements. "Max," he called. Max closed her book and began to wander over. As she approached, the wobble of the pencil became more pronounced, and it started a slow spin. "Max, stop!" he snapped.

Max stopped her approach, and held her hands out. "What?" she asked, sounding rather perturbed.

Giles could only stare at the slow rotation in the pencil. "I'm not sure what is going on here. Max, step away, slowly."

Max rolled her eyes, but complied, taking slow steps as Giles waved a hand at her.

He kept his eyes on the pencil, almost disbelieving as the pencil rotation slowed, turned into a wobble, and then steadied out.

"Would somebody mind telling me what the hell is happening?" Max crossed her arms, and eyed the witch and the watcher.

"I believe you are somehow…affecting the magic. I don't know why," he answered her unspoken question. "Logan, would you mind coming over here, slowly?"

"Sure," he replied from where he had been watching the whole by-play. He slowly wheeled towards Giles and Willow. As he came closer, the pencil continued to hover as it had. No movement, no wobble whatsoever.

All eyes swiveled to look at Max.

"I didn't do anything," she said defensively.

Giles scratched his head, not quite sure what to make of the situation. "We know you didn't, Max. It doesn't change the fact that you are inadvertently doing…something."

As Willow slowly lowered the pencil back to the tabletop, a thought dashed through her mind. "Giles, the books!"

Giles actually paled before he snapped, "Max, get out of the store. Now!"

Her eyebrows knit angrily, but she threw the book she was holding on the table, and quickly walked out through the alley door. She was followed by everyone from the shop. "Do you mind?"

"I'm sorry, but…Max, it seems that you are somehow affecting magic. The books and many of the other items in the shop, they are not just for research, or for focusing magic. They also physically contain magic," Giles explained.

"So, basically you're saying instead of just messing with a pencil, I could implode all of the crap in this joint."

"Yes. I'm sorry, Max. This means you won't be able to come back into the store until we have a better handle on the situation."

She sighed. "Which means I can't help look into getting us home." She looked at Logan. "At least you can stay."

He smiled weakly, in one way worried about the new development, in another, feeling for Max and how frustrated she must be with the new limitation. "Yes. I'll stay here and double my efforts. How about you head to the library and use their net connection? See what you can find that way."

"No problemo. See ya." Max slowly walked away.

As everyone re-entered the Magic Box, Tara commented, "Just when you think things can't get any weirder."

Buffy smiled wryly. "Tara, you've probably just jinxed us. For all we know…" Buffy trailed off as she passed the front counter, and picked up Giles' sketch. "Um…gang? I think things have just gotten weirder." She held up the picture. "Giles, don't you recognize what you were drawing?"

Giles frowned as he squinted at his own rather pathetic picture. "It only somewhat looks like what I actually saw, but I figured at the very least I would be able to give a decent approximation of what I had seen."

"Giles, we know. You suck. Now, take a closer look. Imagine it with a few more human parts…and with you as the position of 'mind' in the Uber-trio."

Giles' head snapped up sharply. "Adam? You're talking Adam…I mean, Initiative creation?"

"Initiative?" Logan peered around the group at the drawing. "Didn't you tell Max and me that this…soldier/monster creating group was defunct?"

"That's what we had thought," Buffy mumbled. "Maybe we were wrong."

Logan eyed the picture closely. "It looks to me like you have another problem."

"What?"

"This pieced together monster…You have a second chimera on your hands."

Giles, Buffy, Tara, and Willow looked at each other, remembering the message: Don't kill the chimera.

They were all thinking it, but Giles managed to voice it first. "Oh, crap."

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It was late that night before Giles locked up the Magic Box and made his way back to his house. On the short drive, he considered all of the general unproductiveness of the day. There seemed to be an awful lot of questions popping up about any number of assorted subjects, and a massive lack of answers to anything. Chimeras, spastic magicks, demons…it was all piling up.

He sighed as he pulled into his parking space. Just for once, he wished he could find one answer to something…even if it was simply a pesky New York Times crossword puzzle. He frowned at this thought, and also at the figure lurking in his doorway.

The figure stepped into the porch light and Giles could see that it was a young man – barely more than a teenager – wearing a hat that said "Zippy Courier" on it. "Jeez, dude. I've been banging on your door for, like, ten whole seconds."

Giles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Those are ten seconds you won't ever be getting back now, will you?"

The courier shrugged. "Dunno. Need a signature." He thrust a small clipboard under Giles' nose, and snapped his gum. As Giles took it, and quickly signed it, the man asked, "Who you know in a place like Mada…mada…madanascar?" He held out the package.

Giles' inner alert began to go off as he took the package and looked at the return address. "Madagascar," he corrected distractedly. He quickly fished into his pocket and took out a couple of bills. "Thanks."

The courier looked at the two twenties. "Thanks, grandpa." He quickly jogged to his moped and sped off.

Giles tore the paper off of the package as he went inside, and read the note sitting on top.

Rupert

I know this is more than the simple spell I'm sure you were hoping for. I had to bring in a little outside help – discreetly, of course. Ceridwen, an accomplished witch, who happens to have a bit of the sight. I'm sure you remember her quite well. While she was looking over the document you sent, she had a vision. The information gleaned from this, while I'm sure was partly information you already knew, you cagey bastard, also answered several of our own questions. Rupert, what you have here is bigger than either of us realized. I've included as much information as we have. It's the best we could do.

Cordially,

Maurice

Giles' brow furrowed over the letter, and he glanced at the pile of paper underneath. There had to be at least two hundred pages of information there. One part of him said that it had been a month, that it could wait until morning, when he was less exhausted. The other part looked at the first few lines... then both parts realized he couldn't look away.

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Coming March 26 – March 16, 2001