"Could you stop pacing, Dipping Sauce?" Mabel groaned. "It's giving me a headache."

"It helps me think," Dipper replied, carrying on with his incessant walking in circles around the attic bedroom the siblings shared.

Mabel sighed and lay back onto her bed. "You're going to wear a whole in the floor," she said. "You're going to fall down right into the kitchen, and you're going to hurt yourself on the table." She rolled back over to face her brother. "Dipper, don't work yourself into a panic like this. You said back at the police station, we don't even know if it's a magic journal at all."

"I know, I know," Dipper said. "But I keep thinking. I mean, it makes sense. More and more sense, the more I think about it. I mean, Gideon was the only one in town besides us- well, and, you know, Soos- who knew about all the crazy magic going on all over this town. Heck, even Wendy doesn't know about anything besides the ghosts. And, I mean, the only reason we know about it is because of that book."

"Yeah, but-"

"And the '3'," Dipper continued. "I'd been wondering about that three right from the start. Of course it's in a series! I was stupid not to think of it before. And I'll bet you anything that Gideon's journal was from the same series. He must have had journal number one, or journal number two, or both of them maybe. Heck, maybe there's even a journal number four, although number three does cut off a little abruptly."

"Dipper-"

"And if whatever killed Gideon wanted-"

Exasperatedly, Mabel put the tips of her thumb and index finger into her mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Dipper froze, both in his talking and his pacing, and looked over at Mabel. "Where'd you learned to do that?" he asked, feeling somewhat impressed despite himself.

"Internet, of course," Mabel answered. "Dipper you need to calm yourself down. You're playing worst-case scenario here, just like you always do, and that always ends with you being a mess of nerves." She sat up. "You're supposed to be the logic-y one, Dip. How about for once, instead of worst-case scenario, we play best-case scenario."

Dipper raised one eyebrow. "How do you mean?" he asked.

"Well," Mabel said. "Best case of all, let's assume that Gideon didn't have a magic journal, just a regular one. And it disappearing has nothing to do with Gideon, you know, biting the dust. That means all we have to do is figure out what did the killing part, and stop it. We've done that before. It won't be a problem."

Dipper nodded slowly. "Okay, okay," he said. "Second-best scenario. Gideon had a magic journal, but whatever took it from it just wanted that one, and doesn't even know there are others. And now that it has the journal, its done its deed, and won't be bugging anyone anytime soon."

Mabel smiled. "See, isn't this game more fun? Third-best scenario. Whatever killed him took the journal and knows about the other ones. But he wanted something that was specifically in Gideon's journal, and won't bother looking for any other ones."

"Fourth-best scenario," Dipper continued. "Whatever killed him took the journal and wants the rest of them, but it has no idea where the others are, nor has any leads or clues that could get it to suspect that I've got it."

"See?" Mabel said happily. "No need to panic."

Dipper frowned. "No need to panic if any of those are true, you mean. Which they may not be. In fact, which they probably aren't."

His sister groaned again. "Okay, fine. They might not be. As a matter of fact, whatever it is that killed Gideon is probably outside the front door right now ready to spring and kill you and then burn the Shack down just for kicks. Then maybe it'll kill the rest of the town while it's at it, take over the world, and turn everything into one of those science-fiction-y worlds where it's the supreme dictator and it kills you with a laser if you make it mad."

Dipper glared at her. "You know, your sarcasm used to be subtle."

"Whatever," Mabel said. "Point is, until we get a bit more info on this thing, it doesn't make sense for you to be all paranoid. Also, I think your pacing scares Waddles."

With a tired groan, Dipper took a seat on his own bed. "Sorry. I guess- I dunno. Been living in this town too long. Freaks me out."

"That's fine," Mabel said. "But cool it with all the nervousness. You're making me nervous."

Dipper smiled. "Sorry. You know what, you're right. For now, we forget the police report. Besides, I guess I'm going to need to keep that journal with me if I'm supposed to research whatever we figure out. But if we find any new breakthroughs, or if anything happens, that suggests that that book is going to land us in trouble, I'm taking it back to the woods where I found it."

Mabel nodded. "Sounds good to me." She picked up the stuffed tiger that had been perched beside her pillow and begin poking at its thin whiskers. "Hey, Dip?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

"In case something does come up with the journal - which, I'm not saying it will, but just in case - do you think we should let Grunkle Stan know about it?"

Dipper replied by letting his mouth fall open. "Why?" he asked.

"Well, you know, the thing got to Gideon while he was in the Tent of Telepathy. If it is going for journals, then the Mystery Shack might be a target. And, you know, it is Stan's house, after all. It'd probably be nice to give him fair warning, right?"

Her brother sat silently for a moment, pensively biting his lip, but then he shook his head. "No, we probably shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Firstly," Dipper said, ticking it off on his finger, "Like you said, there's a good chance that isn't gonna happen. Stan wouldn't be happy if we get him all up in a knot for nothing. Secondly, even if we do tell him, I doubt he'll believe us. After all, he didn't believe us about the wax sculptures or the manotaurs or anything. And third, well," He cringed. "I don't want to worry him. I think I'm worried enough for the both of us."

Joanne stepped through the door to Rose Thorn's trailer, somehow having managed to turn the knob with her elbow since her hands were occupied with bulging paper fast food bags. "Brought dinner," she grunted, and she set the bags down on the trailer's makeshift counter.

"About time," Rose said as she strolled over. "I could've found my own salad in the wild for as much time as it took you to pick one up." She reached into one of the paper bags and frowned when she pulled out a tightly-wrapped chicken sandwich. "What's this?" she snapped.

"My dinner," Joanne replied. She gently took the sandwich and pushed the other bag toward Rose. "This one's yours."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Then that's the one you should have set down closer to me." She took the plastic container from the bag and removed the clear plastic lid to get to the salad underneath. "Least you could do after taking so long to get the food. You know I like time to digest before I go onstage. If I've told you once -" Her frown deepened as she pulled several packets of salad dressing from the bag.

"Something else wrong?" Joanne asked.

"Ranch dressing," Rose said, gesturing to the label on the packets. "I asked for French dressing. Why did you get ranch?"

"I asked for French at the window. The worker must have misheard me."

"And you didn't bother to double check, make sure they gave you the right dressing?"

"I didn't think to."

Rose sighed dramatically and began warily squirting the ranch dressing onto the salad. "Of course you didn't," Rose muttered. "See, this is why you're such a frustrating student. You never think."

A hundred different rejoinders sprang to Joanne's mind, but she bit her tongue before one of them got loose, and instead answered with a stiff, "Sorry."

"Just don't let it happen again," Rose said, waving her hand. Joanne assumed that this was her signal to leave, but as she reached for the door Rose suddenly said, "Oh, Joanne?"

Joanne bit back an expletive and turned back to the magician. "Yes?" she asked, her voice tight.

"I don't know whether you noticed the man I had visiting earlier today." She looked up, and Joanne shook her head, puzzled. "Well, his name is Stanford Pines. He and I are - well, I guess you could say we're old friends. He owns a nice little business here in town. The Mystery Shack. A museum of oddities or some such nonsense."

"Ah," Joanne said, not quite sure where Rose was going with this.

"Stanford has a couple of... assets - that have always been a bit of a point of interest with me. And now that I'm in town, I thought, perhaps, a bit of curiosity might be satisfied."

Joanne blenched. "The same way you wanted to satisfy your curiosity with that psychic kid?" she asked.

Rose replied with a smirk. "Honestly, Joanne, you act as if that was my fault. No, I doubt I'd have to take it to such an unfortunate conclusion. But I'd like to keep a bit of an eye on Stanford until we can work out some, shall we say, negotiations. I'd like you to do me a favor: keep an eye on the Mystery Shack. Get Kenneth to do it as well. I want to know who goes in and who goes out, and when and for how long. And if you see anything suspicious."

"Suspicious, as in...?"

"Paranormal, otherworldly, occult, magic. The usual. Speaking of," she added suddenly, getting up from her salad. She hurried toward the door and gestured to Joanne to follow her outside. "I've perfected a new trick that I may want to incorporate into the act. Tell me what you think, would you?"

From her pocket she pulled out her red-backed deck of playing cards. She spread them into a fan, and let them fall away revealing a dove. Joanne opened her mouth, about to point out that that trick wasn't exactly new, but Rose held up a finger with a pointed glance at her. Wait. Joanne kept watching. Her eyes widened slightly as a small ball of white light began twirling on the tip of Rose's finger.

The magician lifted her hand, and the dove took its cue and fluttered off and up into the air. It hadn't gone far, however, when Rose, smiling viciously, jabbed her finger toward it and muttered, just loudly for Joanne to hear it, "Bang."

The little ball of light shot off her finger and drove like a bullet straight through the deck. The bird let out a sound like some odd scream, if birds could scream, and its body plummeted to the ground.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Rose said in an awestruck whisper as she watched a few stray white feathers dance toward the ground.

Joanne looked back to the stiff form of the little dove on the asphalt of the trailer yard, now splotched with a slick red from the life pouring from the perfectly round hole in the bird's neck. "Sure," she croaked. She swallowed back the bile that had been making its way up her throat. "Beautiful."

A/N: Pop quiz! How many decades has it been since I last updated?

Seriously, though, sorry for the long wait between chapters. To say that my semester has gotten off to a rough start would be an understatement, and I've been having trouble simultaneously getting both the time and motivation to write. But hey, I'm here now! Alive and kicking! So, favorite, follow, and review, and I will smile narcissistically and feel smug about myself!