Disclaimer: Joss created Buffy, Rob Thomas created Veronica Mars, I created Rae Mistwood and the storyline.

Author's Note: Still in between What's My Line and Ted. Attempting to advance the overall storyline, for a bit.

X X X X X

This much, at least, went like clockwork: I got to "Raven's Magic Emporium" (once again, Pete wasn't there) at 5:25, waited a minute for Rae to finish selling an -- of all things -- toad candle (I needed to ask what that did), and asked her to do what she could for Willow and magic.

Once I gave the thirty-second explanation, she asked, "So why do you want her slowed down?"

"Honestly? A reading of her personality. I think she genuinely wants to learn, but I'm not sure she's really ready for it yet." Maybe a slower introduction, carried on while Willow is younger and the apocalypse is far away, might help.

"I'll take your word for that," Rae said. "Really, though, I'm not a practicing witch. Sheila's already gone well beyond anything I can do; most of what I'm helping her with now is discipline and concentration."

"And are you helping her?"

She thought for a second and said, "Yeah. I'd say so. Though it's odd. She's definitely not interested in using them for selfish personal gain, unless you'd say having fun is personal gain. She's mostly interested in using them to damage things, and protect them."

"Protect them?"

"Shields. She's not quite up to them, yet." Hmmm.

"I've seen her 'find the target' and smash a bench with one blow," I said. "Seems like pretty good progress."

"Most of what she's learning is focused directly through her body – it's an easier kind of magic to learn. If she tried telekinesis, she probably couldn't even float a pencil." That explained why Sheila seemed to be progressing faster than Willow had – it was the kind of magic she was learning.

There were enough minor inconsistencies in the Buffyverse; I didn't want to introduce any more if I could help it.

Of course, part of the Adversary's point might be, indeed, that I can't help it.

Witness yon shy redhead walking through the door.

And the van dropping her off. Sure. At this point she might not have been fully dating Oz, but they were certainly exploring the possibilities (even though a large part of Willow was still holding out for Xander, that 'ship was never going to sail).

"Veronica?"

I nodded. "Willow." As she came in, I said, "You remember Rae –"

"Yes. It was kind of a bad time for full introductions, because, you know, imminent apocalypse, but still, nice to meet you," Willow said.

They shook hands and Rae officially said, "For the purposes of the business, I'm Raven Mistwood. Everyone calls me Rae."

"Willow Rosenberg," Willow said formally.

"Veronica tells me you'd like to learn something about magic?"

"If I can," Willow said.

"Well, there's a way to find out," Rae said. "Hold on a second." She stepped to the back of the store for a moment.

Willow half-whispered, "How did you meet her?"

"I needed someone to supply the holy water I use in my water gun," I said. "It was either this or the nearest church or synagogue, and honestly, it'd be kind of hard to explain to them what happened to the last gallon or so they gave me. 'Shot it at a vampire," while true, kind of lacks in the verisimilitude department. Rae, now, she wondered, but she believed; and that was the important thing." I really wasn't too sure whether the local rabbis and ministers would actually buy the vampire explanation. Just because you're open to one aspect of the supernatural doesn't mean you're open to another.

I did know that if push came to shove any religious celebrant was good for making it, as long as they believed. Wasn't too sure of the theological implications of that. But it might be helpful at some point.

"Makes sense," Willow said.

By now, Rae'd returned with the purple magic detection crystal. (I wondered idly if it had a more formal name – the Thaumaturgic Crystal of Nekhron the Dark, or something.) She said, "Take hold of this."

"Um, what will it do?" Willow asked nervously.

"Turn into a monster and eat you," I said.

"What?"

"Relax," I said. "It says how much magic potential you have inside you. See the way it's glowing?" Willow nodded. "That means that Rae has some magic ability. A bit more than the average person, but not enough to become a full-time witch." Look at me. Stick some tweed on me and give a British accent and I'll be a watcher in no time.

"Witch-trainer, now, that's a different story," Rae said. But she was grinning, at least.

"If you can't work full-time," I asked Rae innocently, "Can you at least pick up part-time work?"

"I'll check the employment section in tomorrow's paper and let you know," Rae said.

Willow still wasn't sure. I said, "But here, if you're nervous--" I took the crystal, and the glow faded quickly until all we were looking at was a junk of dull purple rock. Kind of pretty, but nothing you'd look twice at (unless you were told it was the Klopman Diamond, or something).

"No magic ability?"

"None. Good news is most magic won't work on me, either. I could drink a love potion – they do exist, right? –"

Rae said, "Yes. I don't sell them."

"And all I'd end up doing is quenching my thirst."

Willow nodded again. "I think I'm ready now," she said.

I handed her the crystal, knowing what would happen next. I had to fight the instinct to shade my eyes.

A half-second later I was wishing I hadn't fought the instinct. You could have used that crystal to light up the Astrodome. Astronomers on distant planets were probably wondering where the new star had come from.

Okay, I exaggerate. But not by much. We were all rubbing spots out of our eyes five seconds later, when I reached forward and clumsily took the crystal from Willow's hands. Immediately the light in the room dropped to the point where none of us felt like we were actively staring at the sun.

It did show me what level Willow was operating at, though. That was easily four times as bright as Sheila's glow had been, and if I remembered accurately, Rae had said that Sheila had the potential to be a "fairly powerful witch."

You already know what that makes Willow. "Um –" she began, several times, and then stopped.

Rae's jaw was scraping the floor as much as Willow's. "I take it," I said, though I knew the answer, "That you're impressed."

"Impressed. Awed. And a little scared," Rae said.

"Scared? Of me?" Willow said.

"I have never seen that level of power. Here or anywhere."

"So . . ."

"So that makes you, potentially, one of the most powerful spell-users on the planet," Rae said. "So it's not surprising that Sunnydale would have a surplus. But still. I was never expecting this."

"Powerful? Me?" Willow practically squeaked.

"Yes," I said. "Powerful. You. Good ol' Willow Rosenberg."

Rae seemed to have finally regained her bearings. I suppose it would be a bit of a shock – kind of like running a neighborhood boxing club, and having someone at the level of Muhammad Ali wander in. "I'm not even sure what I can do for you, other than point you in the right direction, teach you to focus, and tell you what to stay away from."

"Wow."

"That doesn't mean it's going to be easy," she said. "But with training and effort you could probably become one of the most powerful witches on the planet."

"Wow."

"You said that already," I gently reminded her.

"Well," she said. "I think I'm going to have to maybe give this some thought."

Rae said, "Remember, though: You need to take things slowly. A lot of the problems I've seen with witches come when they go too far, too fast. Sheila's staying controlled. If you decide to do this, I'm going to need you to do the same."

"If I could read up on it --" Willow said.

"I have a Wicca for Dummies-type book at home," I said.

"But I thought you couldn't do magic," Willow said.

"I can't leap tall buildings at a single bound, either," I said. (I leave that for my father.) "Doesn't mean I can't read about them."

X X X X X

"I'll read it tonight and get it back to you tomorrow morning --" Willow said as we left my bedroom.

"Relax," I said. "I'm long since done it. Keep it as long as you need." She reached down to skritch Backup's head. Backup reacted favorably -- always a good sign.

Right then, the front door opened. "Lucy! I'm home!"

While Keith Mars can do passable accents when he needs to disguise who he is, as a celebrity impersonator, he's a wonderful private detective. He sounded as much like Speedy Gonzalez as Desi Arnaz.

It always annoyed him that I refused to do an equally bad Lucille Ball impersonation.

But don't children live to disappoint their parents?

(Speaking of: Mom's somewhere out there. Dunno if I've mentioned this, but once bitten -- okay, bad word to use in Sunnydale -- once burned, twice shy. I would not be looking for her this go-round. The last time I knocked myself out bringing Lianne Mars back into our lives, she lied, kept drinking, used up my money, and stole from us before taking off for parts unknown, never to be seen or heard from again. I still love my mother. I just don't think I ever knew her.)

"Hey, you," I said as we appeared around the corner. "How's tricks?"

"A good magician never reveals his secrets," Dad said.

"I thought you were a private investigator," Willow said.

"That explains why I never get any bookings at the MGM Grand," Dad said, grinning. "Hello. Keith Mars. Veronica's father. And you are?"

"Willow. Willow Rosenberg."

Ah," Dad said. "Good to meet you."

"You too, Mr. Mars," she said.

"Just get the book back whenever," I told Willow when no one had said anything else after about fifteen seconds. "You okay to get back?" The sun was starting to go down.

She knew what I meant. "It's not that unsafe yet," she said. "A little early, you know."

"Yup."

After she left, Dad said, "Anything I need to know about?"

I sighed dramatically. "Yes. You've caught us. This is the beginning of our nefarious plan to control the world. It starts with lending books. Pretty soon it snowballs. Eventually all I'll need to do is walk up to the President and ask him for the guy with the football. And when that happens . . ." I did my best evil cackle and rubbed my hands.

"As long as you're a benevolent dictator, sweetie," he said. "So, you up for some of my famous tuna salad?"

I wrinkled my face. "You know, I've kept my ear out. And I have yet to hear anyone else refer to your tuna salad."

"Famous among those who count," he said.

"All three of us?"

"All three of us."

Me. Him. Backup. Just in case you were wondering.

I went and did what little homework I needed to do – quickly reviewed the math and did a worksheet – and then it was time to eat.

After I took a bite of the tuna salad – okay, it's not famous, but it really is pretty good – I decided to talk to Dad delicately about Epimetheus.

And when I say delicately, I mean that if I was a pitcher and my words were the baseball I just threw? Wouldn't have broken tissue paper. I have no intention of blowing my cover for this, much less my "wager" with the Adversary.

They would be both be, in a sense, suicidal. And while I've been accused at times of having an insufficient regard for my own safety, there's a difference between being a risk-taker and being an idiot.

I was hoping for some ways, essentially, to prolong the search; a couple of new angles I hadn't thought of. At some point I am going to have to report failure to Giles. I'm just hoping to postpone that day as long as possible.

"So," I began. "I have this case I need your advice on."

He looked at me, then suddenly reached across to feel my forehead. "No, it doesn't feel like you have a fever . . . "

I said, "Ha ha."

"What do you need?" he said more seriously.

"Someone at school hired me to see if I could track down someone who's been calling him," I said.

All traces of humor left his face. "I don't want you trying to find stalkers," he said.

I shook my head. "This isn't a stalker. Or if it is, it's someone who's well outside the normal definitions." I may not be a certified expert in the criminal code and criminal behavior, but I've done a lot of reading on it.

Doesn't everybody?

Then I gave dad a heavily edited version of who Epimetheus was and what she'd been doing – I didn't reveal any names, and I played down the parts that might make it seem like Giles was being stalked by an initialed government agency instead of someone with too much time on their hands.

Dad's mind wouldn't have leapt to the supernatural. Despite the evidence, his mind doesn't swing that way – and if the Adversary didn't have something to do with that, I was Kinsey Millhone.

When I was done, Dad said, "Hmmm. Odd behavior, definitely. One could say the world needs a few more mysterious strangers looking out for people -- but I wouldn't like it all that much if someone was doing it to me, even if everything they said seemed to be for my own good. There's also the matter of how this person was able to find out so much about your client and his friends -- and why they'd bother in the first place." He paused and said, "You're sure it's none of the friends?"

"Only one comes close to fitting the description," I said. "And she has an ironclad alibi." Okay, so Buffy and I didn't look that much alike, but if you were rounding up all short thin blonde women -- get your mind out of the gutter, please -- we'd both be part of the roundup.

Not that I really knew the hair color.

"That one public appearance could have been someone hired to play a part," Dad said.

"I know. The contact's been a woman every time, but there're no actual assurances that it was the same woman. Still, I'm operating on the assumption that it is the same person every time. Hear hoofbeats, expect horses, not zebras."

"Which works until you turn around and see that zebra staring at you," Dad said. "Still. Seems like this woman isn't leaving much of a trail."

"A handful of phone calls and a note in obviously disguised handwriting -- nothing physical that I can find out. No one at the library remembered seeing the woman before or since."

"Disguised handwriting?" Dad asked sharply. I cursed inside; I shouldn't have mentioned that. "People usually only disguise their handwriting if they have a reasonable suspicion that it might be recognized."

My grimace wasn't entirely faked. "I should have caught that. Thanks."

"So if you're sure it's not one of your client's immediate friends . . ." Dad prompted.

"Cast a wider net." I said.

"Exactly," Dad said. "Also, you said you had a camera set up?" I nodded. "Go back over whatever you have. I'm assuming you don't have hundreds of hours of recordings somewhere --"

"Six hour-tape, on a continuous loop. Anyone who looked promising I copied to the laptop hard drive. Nothing suspicious, unless you count an appalling taste for trashy romances suspicious."

"Go over what you have," he said. "And I'll look at it, too -- if you don't mind. I'm not looking to take this over --"

"No, I did ask your advice," I said. "An extra pair of eyes never hurts."

"Good," he said, smiling.

"But if you think I'm sharing my fee, you're crazy."

"C'mon," he said teasingly. "It's about time you gave your old man some money for a change."

"I'll get it to you tomorrow," I said.

He stood up and started clearing off the table. "Who knows?" he said. "Maybe I'll even be able to come up with a way for you to catch this Epimetheus once and for all."

Yes, that would be my luck, wouldn't it?