"This sucks," Chris said flatly, glaring down at the Book of Shadows. "We've been looking at the Book for three hours and we have nothing - I repeat, nothing - to go on."

Wyatt sat up from his stretched out position on the sofa and flicked a hand at the Book. It flew off the pedestal and soared over to hover in front of him. He grabbed it out of the air and began flicking through it again.

"Maybe we missed something," he suggested, his fingers running unceasingly over the worn pages. Chris snorted.

"Oh yeah," he said sarcastically. "Sure. We totally missed something. I mean, this is only the sixth time we've looked at it. Of course we missed something…"

"Shut up, Chris," Wyatt said with a faint sigh as he examined the page on Faustian Deals. Chris walked out of the attic, still grumbling to himself. Once he had left, Wyatt snapped the Book shut and leaned his forehead against it.

Chris was right. It had been three hours and fourteen seconds since Ardariaen had taken off with Eryn, and three hours since they had begun searching the Book for…well, anything. Anything that had to do with the Pen-Ultimae, or Ardariaen, or the weird-glowy-light-thingy that had happened when Eryn and Ardariaen had done that blood-oath thing. With the exception of a very small, almost minuscule paragraph on the Pen-Ultimae, they had drawn a blank at every turn.

Wyatt flipped to a page almost at the very beginning of the Book and focused on the bottom left-hand corner, and more importantly on the five-by-three inch paragraph on the Pen-Ultimae. Chris had found it on the third re-reading of the Book, and only because he had caught the letters P-e-n-U when he was looking at a page on a type of Power-Stealing demon.

Wyatt shifted so that the light fell on the tiny paragraph and re-read the words for what seemed like the hundredth time.

'The Pen-Ultimae is a small demonic clan that is obsessed with gaining power.

This clan is not a big threat: their dreams for power are unrealistic, as they wish to combine all demon breeds in one bloodline.

The Pen-Ultimae clan is comprised of lesser demons, all related. A simple vanquishing spell is all that is needed to vanquish them. It has been speculated that because they are all related, if you hurt one, you hurt all.'

Wyatt frowned and stabbed his finger angrily at the second sentence. Oh yeah, so not a big threat, he thought darkly, remembering what Eryn had told him about Ardariaen: about all the powers he had gained, and the minions he had, some of which Wyatt had already had the…ahem...pleasure of meeting.

He scanned the rest of the verse. 'The Pen-Ultimae clan is comprised of lesser demons.' Lesser demons…if Ardariaen was a lesser demon, then I'm an Elder. Again he examined the last sentence. 'It has been speculated that because they are all related, if you hurt one, you hurt all.'

He leant back against the sofa, thinking hard. If this part of the entry was accurate - although he didn't think it was, considering the other crap it had detailed - then all they had to do was get one of the less powerful Pen-Ultimae demons and torture it until some of the other demons turned up, maybe even Ardariaen himself. But then what? Eryn had said that Ardariaen was the "culmination of the Pen-Ultimae line". If he was a powerful Demon, you could bet your ass all of his family would be, too. He smirked.

Well, at least we know how she dealt with the Stoli all by herself.

He was still mulling over the possibilities when Chris came stomping back into the attic and over to the sofa. The younger Halliwell had just reached it when he suddenly gave a yelp of pain and hopped backwards, his hands going to his left foot. Wyatt sat up straight and looked at him.

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, scanning the ground, but all he could see was the floor-boards, dust, a rug, a scorch mark, and Eryn's back-pack. Chris swore softly, then nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just stubbed my toe on Eryn's bag. Whatever she's got in there, it's hard as concrete." He tested his weight gingerly on his foot, then shifted easily on both feet with a sigh of relief. "No permanent damage," he told his older brother with a quick grin, before taking a step forward and scooping up Eryn's bag. He nearly dropped it in surprise.

"What's wrong?" Wyatt asked, seeing the expression on his younger brother's face. Chris just shook his head slowly and tossed the bag to him. Wyatt caught the small leather back-pack with one hand, and promptly dropped it. The bag was only about twelve inches by eight, but it was as heavy as a couple of encyclopedias…at least. He arched an eyebrow slightly.

"Well, that was different," he remarked. Chris nodded.

"I'll say," he remarked drily. He nudged the bag with his toe. "What do you reckon is in it? A brick? No, no, wait, a dictionary. Or better yet, a series of dictionaries." Wyatt frowned at him and picked the bag up.

"Maybe…" he said slowly, examining the bag, "…we should find out."

It took a couple of moments for what his older brother had said to sink in, but when Chris realised, he did not think it was a good idea. At least, not if one wanted to live. In fact, it was an exceedingly stupid idea. And Wyatt wasn't usually capable of exceedingly stupid ideas. At least, not one this stupid.

"Did you just say what I think you said?" Chris asked. Wyatt nodded.

"If what you think I said is "Maybe we should find out" in reference to Eryn's bag, then yes, I did say that," he replied calmly

"We can't go through her stuff!" Chris felt a glimmer of despair. His brother - his dear older brother - had finally gone around the twist.

"She might have something in there that could help us help her," Wyatt said with a shrug.

"Yeah, help us help her kill us after we help her," Chris argued.

"You're rambling."

"I am not rambling."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I…forget it. We're not going through her stuff. She'd kill us."

"Good point," Wyatt said, tapping his lower lip with his forefinger. "That's why you are going through her stuff."

"What?"

"I said, you are going through her stuff."

"I am not going through her bag!"

"Why not?"

"She'll kill me!"

"So? What do you care, you hate her anyway. What's the big deal?"

"I…she…look, what makes you think I'd be able to get into her bag, anyway? She's a witch: she's gonna have magically protected it somehow, and you know it's gonna be a powerful spell…I mean, look at the spells we have on our locks, and we're not even being permanently hunted by a homicidal father…"

Wyatt waited quite patiently for his younger brother to end his tirade, then asked, "Are you quite done?" Chris sighed.

"Yeah."

"Then just open the damn bag."