FIC: Isolated Elements, 7/?, PG-13 (for now), Grissom/Giles
Title: Isolated Elements
Author: Tara Keezer
Rating: PG-13 for the time being
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Rupert Giles
Type: Crossover with Buffy: the Vampire Slayer
Summary: The best laid plans of criminalists and watchers sometimes go awry.
Author’s Note/Warnings: At some point in the future, the two of them will be having hot monkey sex. I think. For now, though, snark reigns supreme. This story is set during the summer between S5 and S6 of Buffy and between S1 and S2 of CSI. One last note - the Grissom/Giles icons that will accompany each part were created for me by the delightful wickedfox.
Feedback: Love it, want it, can’t get enough of it.
Disclaimer: As I’m neither Anthony Zuiker nor Joss Whedon, it’s a pretty safe bet that I own neither of the pretty men. If I did, though, if I did...
Part 1 can be found here. Links to subsequent chapters are found at the bottom of each posting.
~*~*~
Giles dropped the binder on a convenient credenza and said, “Right then. Let’s see what’s in the kitchen.”
“The kitchen?”
Giles paused at the tone of the man’s voice. Other than the fact that it set off his internal alarms, there wasn’t anything particularly notable about Gil’s question or the way he’d asked it. Still, after five years of life on the Hellmouth, he was disinclined to ignore his instinct for self-preservation.
Cautiously, he answered, “Yes. The kitchen.”
“You’re hungry.” Even without the flat voice and closed expression on Gil’s face, Giles knew he didn’t have a hope of escaping into a quick search for spell ingredients without having a small chat first.
Giles sighed. “I’m not, actually. I thought I would see if they’ve left the ingredients I need to read their ‘invitation.’”
“Ingredients?” The muscles along Gil’s jaw rippled as he started to grind his teeth.
Suddenly curious as to how long the other man could last without resorting to a screaming fit, Giles couldn’t resist egging him on just a bit. He told himself the shouting would probably do both of them a world of good, ignoring the small voice that whispered it was just this sort of game that he’d enjoyed playing when he’d gone by the name of Ripper.
He raised his eyebrows, as if surprised that Gil even had to ask, and said, “Yes. For the spell.”
“Spell.”
The word was clipped off, and when Gil didn’t add anything else, Giles chose to misinterpret the response as permission to continue to the kitchen. He nodded once, and with an approving smile, said, “Right. Spell.”
Giles picked a possible direction for the kitchen and set off for it. He gave him five seconds before -
Gil suffered a verbal explosion of moderate volume. “A goddamned spell?”
Oh well. He’d never been very good at determining someone else’s timing. Giles turned back to him, his face set in a more serious expression.
“You did hear Ms. Morgan mention an invitation, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did, but that doesn’t mean you have to start talking about spells. This is the twenty-first century, not the middle ages.”
“Believe it or not, I do know what year it is. However, if I’m to be certain of what she told us, I’m afraid that I do, in fact, need to talk about spells.” Giles put the sword next to the binder on the credenza before approaching Gil slowly. “I asked you earlier to look around and tell me what you saw. You never answered the question. I’d like you to do so now.”
Gil gave him a startled look then visibly calmed down as the request for factual information settled in. “I see a living room with a wet bar. Expensive furniture and even more expensive interior design.”
Speaking gently, Giles said, “Turn around and look out the French doors. Tell me what you see outside.”
“An ocean, a beach. Lots of vegetation. A pur -”
“Say it,” he encouraged.
“No.”
Genuinely curious, Giles went to Gil’s side and asked, “Why not?”
“It could be a trick of light. Colored glass.” Gil turned to Giles. “It’s a trick of the glass, right?”
“Let’s open the doors and find out,” he said, moving toward them and skirting around the coffee table.
“Let’s -” Gil paused. “The sky is really purple, isn’t it?”
Giles opened one of the doors. “It is. Looks like there’s a full moon as well.”
“There was a crescent moon last night,” said Gil, somewhat desperately objecting to Giles’ observation.
“And if I’m not mistaken, there was also a single moon over Las Vegas last night.”
Though Gil dragged his feet, he still found himself next to Giles all too soon. He stood on the threshold, looking up at the purple sky with its red sun and three pale moons. “Christ.”
Giles leaned against the door frame. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this nonsense.”
“Did you know it was going to happen?” Gil frowned as he caught sight of an insect with far too many sets of wings buzzing around an improbably-colored flower.
“I knew something would happen if I touched the sword.” Giles took of his glasses and pulled out his handkerchief to polish them. “As soon as I saw the thing, I could tell there was a problem.”
A hint of anger returned to Gil’s voice. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Looking down as he cleaned his glasses, Giles said, “I didn’t go to Las Vegas prepared to deal with a mystical object. My employers told me the sword was merely an antiquity.” Finished with his glasses, he returned them to his face and looked at Gil. “Remember the conversation you heard me have in the lab?” At the other man’s nod, he said, “My supplier was assuring me that I would very shortly have in hand what I needed to determine the nature of the sword’s spell.”
“I don’t understand.” Gil frowned. “For that matter, I don’t understand anything about the last half hour. What’s a Watcher? And a Slayer? And magic? My God - you really meant it when you said your store caters to magic users, didn’t you? How did we get here? They drugged us, didn’t they? This is all a massive hallucination, isn’t it? Why -”
“I can either slap you or -” Giles paused significantly before saying, “Do something equally shocking to stop your incipient hysteria. I’ll leave it up to you.”
The comment was as good as a slap, and he shut up with an audible click of his teeth coming together. “What’s the nonslapping option?”
Giles raised his eyebrows. “Does it really matter?”
Gil said carefully, “Why did she keep implying that we’re lovers?”
Feeling the same impulse to tweak him that he’d had earlier, Giles said in vaguely apologetic voice, “You’re not entirely unattractive, you know.”
He opened his mouth to reply, briefly hesitating before saying, “She was winding me up. And so are you.”
“I am?”
Gil took in the studied innocence of Giles’ expression. “You are. You’re trying to keep me from going nuts right now.”
“Is it working?”
“Sort of.” Grissom sighed. “Magic is real?”
“It’s very real,” Giles said gently, dropping the subject of attraction. He needed the man to focus on the problem at hand, not to worry about whether he would have to fend off unwelcome advances.
“And you think you’ll find what you need in the kitchen?”
Giles nodded. “Sage and sea salt at the very least, with perhaps a few other items as well.”
Gil cocked his head. “Is that all you’ll need?”
“Not really,” he admitted. “I suspect it may be too much to hope for an actual - er - lab with everything I need, but it might be worth taking a look around.”
Gil nodded. “Okay. I’ll take a look through the rest of this place.” He gestured toward the door Lilah Morgan used earlier. “What do you think is behind there?”
Giles glanced at it briefly. “Most likely it’s the transit point she’s using to move from our reality to this one.”
“Oh.” After a pause, Gil said with vague enthusiasm, “So you’ll take a look in the kitchen, while I look around the rest of the place?”
“Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” Giles said, pushing himself away from the door frame to head back to where he thought the kitchen might be.
“Mr. Giles?”
He stopped and looked back at Gil. “Just Giles. Or Rupert, if you prefer.”
“Rupert - when she mentioned the kitchen was stocked with every food known to man and demon -?”
“It’s unlikely you’ll see any demons here.” Continuing the way he’d been heading, Rupert added casually, “Unless they’re functioning as servants, of course.”
~*~*~
Finally alone, Gil started to find his center again. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so rattled by anything, and he wasn’t in the slightest bit pleased to have had an audience for his minor meltdown. His only comfort was that Rupert Giles seemed to keep himself as closed off from others as he did, so perhaps there wouldn’t be an attempt to “talk it out” in order to make him feel better about the whole thing.
There were two hallways leading out of the room; since Rupert had chosen one, Gil chose the other. Midway down, along the left wall - the direction he mentally dubbed ocean side - he found a closed door.
Gil turned the knob slowly and cracked open the door with a great deal of caution. Not for the first time that day, he rued his habit of keeping his gun in his desk while at the office. When nothing jumped out at him, he opened the door further, carefully poking his head in the room to see what was there.
Stunned by the sight before him, Gil lost all sense of caution and opened the door wide as he entered the library. It was huge. There was an upper level, complete with an spiral iron staircase reminiscent of the one in The Music Man. He wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to see Shirley Jones and Robert Preston singing Marion - and he stopped that train of thought almost as quickly as it got started.
“Don’t go there, Gil,” he muttered. “Avoidance is his thing, not yours. If you stop thinking about musicals and just work the evidence, you’ll be fine.”
The evidence, such as it was, nearly overwhelmed him. At a glance, he could tell that most of the volumes were old and no doubt extremely valuable. Display cases littered the floor, and curious, he walked toward one. Before he reached it, he heard, “Dear lord!”
Gil turned to find Rupert standing in the doorway, gaping at the room. “I thought you were looking for ingredients in the kitchen.”
“There aren’t any,” he answered faintly, his eyes glazing over a bit. “Found this instead.” He held out his hand, and as Rupert walked past him and toward a display case, Gil snagged the brochure.
“’Welcome to Wolfram and Hart’s Sanctuary for Scholars.’” Gil shook his head, bemused by the cover of the brightly colored piece. “They’re joking, right?”
“Good heavens!”
Gil looked up to see Rupert hovering over the nearest display case. He went up to him and saw three clay tablets with familiar markings. “Are those -?”
“Sumerian,” Rupert breathed. And then he whimpered a bit. “Oh my. It’s the Ashkerian Prophecy.”
Cocking his head for a better look, Gil said, “The what prophecy?”
“Ashkerian.” His hand shaking slightly, Rupert pointed at the tablets. “The Ashkerian Prophecy was the first ever to be recorded in written language.”
“A prophecy.” Gil frowned then decided to set aside for the moment the troublesome connotations not only of the word “prophecy” but also of Rupert’s reaction to it. “Do you think the tablets are genuine?”
“Without question.” If not for the display case, Gil was fairly certain Rupert would be running his hands along the surface of the clay tablets.
“Shouldn’t these be in a museum?”
“Absolutely not.”
Gil blinked. “Why?”
“Hm?”
Gil clenched his jaw. “Why shouldn’t these be in a museum?”
Rupert looked up from the display, apparently puzzled by the question. “These tablets contain Sumerian prophecy. A museum could never hope to protect either the tablets or their message.”
“Security -”
“Means nothing to those who can create and maintain a pocket universe, let alone a multitude of such things,” Rupert said firmly. “Look around you, Gil. For all intents and purposes, we are the only ones here. Wolfram and Hart controls who comes in and who leaves, so these tablets can never be stolen.”
“I thought you said it was an evil law firm. Why would you want them to have these?”
With a look of frustration, Rupert said, “Wolfram and Hart is evil, and frankly, I’d rather the Council have possession of them. However, the Council can’t provide nearly as much protection as Wolfram and Hart, so -” He broke off, shrugging with a helpless air.
And then Rupert was promptly distracted by the other contents of the library. He was halfway across the room before Gil realized it and followed. “Wait a minute. What council?”
“Of Watchers,” he said with the same abstracted air he’d had earlier. “Look! It’s Morley’s Guide to the Taxonomy of the Lower Beings!” Rupert stopped at the shelf and pulled the book out with a great deal of care. “My god. It’s in excellent condition.”
“You never answered my question. What are Watchers?” Gil would have tugged the book out of Rupert’s hand if not for the vicious look the other man gave him just then. He backed up a step and held both hands up and close to his shoulders. “I get the message. I won’t touch your precious.”
Rupert inhaled sharply then returned the book to the shelf with as much care as possible. “I’m sorry. I reacted badly just now.”
“You’re a junkie,” Gil said in a flat voice.
“What? I am not!”
He reached out and grasped Rupert’s chin to bring his face in closer. Peering closely, Gil said, “Your eyes are dilated, and your skin is flushed. You’ve just broken into a light sweat.”
Clearly annoyed, Rupert twisted his head away from Gil’s hand. “Oh, please!”
Gil spoke clearly and carefully. “You shouldn’t be in here. You don’t seem able to think for yourself when you’re around all these books.”
The denial was plain on his face, right up until he said, “I fear you may be correct.” He turned around in a full circle. “However, the room I need can only be accessed through the library.”
“What room? Are you sure you need to go there?”
Rupert took out his handkerchief and blotted the sweat off his brow before answering, “According to the brochure, it will have everything I need to cast a spell to trigger the invitation on the sword.”
Gil was proud of himself for not twitching at the mention of a spell. He nodded as if Rupert made perfect sense then asked, “Can’t you take what you need out of the room and put it into the kitchen?”
“I’d rather not,” he said, walking reluctantly toward a door in the corner opposite the library’s main entrance, even as he continued to crane his neck to see what other treasures the room held. “The spell room is warded against accidents.”
“Accidents?”
At the door, Rupert turned to Gil. “The sword is still on the credenza. Would you go get it, whilst I prepare?”
Part 8
Author: Tara Keezer
Rating: PG-13 for the time being
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Rupert Giles
Type: Crossover with Buffy: the Vampire Slayer
Summary: The best laid plans of criminalists and watchers sometimes go awry.
Author’s Note/Warnings: At some point in the future, the two of them will be having hot monkey sex. I think. For now, though, snark reigns supreme. This story is set during the summer between S5 and S6 of Buffy and between S1 and S2 of CSI. One last note - the Grissom/Giles icons that will accompany each part were created for me by the delightful wickedfox.
Feedback: Love it, want it, can’t get enough of it.
Disclaimer: As I’m neither Anthony Zuiker nor Joss Whedon, it’s a pretty safe bet that I own neither of the pretty men. If I did, though, if I did...
Part 1 can be found here. Links to subsequent chapters are found at the bottom of each posting.
~*~*~
Giles dropped the binder on a convenient credenza and said, “Right then. Let’s see what’s in the kitchen.”
“The kitchen?”
Giles paused at the tone of the man’s voice. Other than the fact that it set off his internal alarms, there wasn’t anything particularly notable about Gil’s question or the way he’d asked it. Still, after five years of life on the Hellmouth, he was disinclined to ignore his instinct for self-preservation.
Cautiously, he answered, “Yes. The kitchen.”
“You’re hungry.” Even without the flat voice and closed expression on Gil’s face, Giles knew he didn’t have a hope of escaping into a quick search for spell ingredients without having a small chat first.
Giles sighed. “I’m not, actually. I thought I would see if they’ve left the ingredients I need to read their ‘invitation.’”
“Ingredients?” The muscles along Gil’s jaw rippled as he started to grind his teeth.
Suddenly curious as to how long the other man could last without resorting to a screaming fit, Giles couldn’t resist egging him on just a bit. He told himself the shouting would probably do both of them a world of good, ignoring the small voice that whispered it was just this sort of game that he’d enjoyed playing when he’d gone by the name of Ripper.
He raised his eyebrows, as if surprised that Gil even had to ask, and said, “Yes. For the spell.”
“Spell.”
The word was clipped off, and when Gil didn’t add anything else, Giles chose to misinterpret the response as permission to continue to the kitchen. He nodded once, and with an approving smile, said, “Right. Spell.”
Giles picked a possible direction for the kitchen and set off for it. He gave him five seconds before -
Gil suffered a verbal explosion of moderate volume. “A goddamned spell?”
Oh well. He’d never been very good at determining someone else’s timing. Giles turned back to him, his face set in a more serious expression.
“You did hear Ms. Morgan mention an invitation, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did, but that doesn’t mean you have to start talking about spells. This is the twenty-first century, not the middle ages.”
“Believe it or not, I do know what year it is. However, if I’m to be certain of what she told us, I’m afraid that I do, in fact, need to talk about spells.” Giles put the sword next to the binder on the credenza before approaching Gil slowly. “I asked you earlier to look around and tell me what you saw. You never answered the question. I’d like you to do so now.”
Gil gave him a startled look then visibly calmed down as the request for factual information settled in. “I see a living room with a wet bar. Expensive furniture and even more expensive interior design.”
Speaking gently, Giles said, “Turn around and look out the French doors. Tell me what you see outside.”
“An ocean, a beach. Lots of vegetation. A pur -”
“Say it,” he encouraged.
“No.”
Genuinely curious, Giles went to Gil’s side and asked, “Why not?”
“It could be a trick of light. Colored glass.” Gil turned to Giles. “It’s a trick of the glass, right?”
“Let’s open the doors and find out,” he said, moving toward them and skirting around the coffee table.
“Let’s -” Gil paused. “The sky is really purple, isn’t it?”
Giles opened one of the doors. “It is. Looks like there’s a full moon as well.”
“There was a crescent moon last night,” said Gil, somewhat desperately objecting to Giles’ observation.
“And if I’m not mistaken, there was also a single moon over Las Vegas last night.”
Though Gil dragged his feet, he still found himself next to Giles all too soon. He stood on the threshold, looking up at the purple sky with its red sun and three pale moons. “Christ.”
Giles leaned against the door frame. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this nonsense.”
“Did you know it was going to happen?” Gil frowned as he caught sight of an insect with far too many sets of wings buzzing around an improbably-colored flower.
“I knew something would happen if I touched the sword.” Giles took of his glasses and pulled out his handkerchief to polish them. “As soon as I saw the thing, I could tell there was a problem.”
A hint of anger returned to Gil’s voice. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Looking down as he cleaned his glasses, Giles said, “I didn’t go to Las Vegas prepared to deal with a mystical object. My employers told me the sword was merely an antiquity.” Finished with his glasses, he returned them to his face and looked at Gil. “Remember the conversation you heard me have in the lab?” At the other man’s nod, he said, “My supplier was assuring me that I would very shortly have in hand what I needed to determine the nature of the sword’s spell.”
“I don’t understand.” Gil frowned. “For that matter, I don’t understand anything about the last half hour. What’s a Watcher? And a Slayer? And magic? My God - you really meant it when you said your store caters to magic users, didn’t you? How did we get here? They drugged us, didn’t they? This is all a massive hallucination, isn’t it? Why -”
“I can either slap you or -” Giles paused significantly before saying, “Do something equally shocking to stop your incipient hysteria. I’ll leave it up to you.”
The comment was as good as a slap, and he shut up with an audible click of his teeth coming together. “What’s the nonslapping option?”
Giles raised his eyebrows. “Does it really matter?”
Gil said carefully, “Why did she keep implying that we’re lovers?”
Feeling the same impulse to tweak him that he’d had earlier, Giles said in vaguely apologetic voice, “You’re not entirely unattractive, you know.”
He opened his mouth to reply, briefly hesitating before saying, “She was winding me up. And so are you.”
“I am?”
Gil took in the studied innocence of Giles’ expression. “You are. You’re trying to keep me from going nuts right now.”
“Is it working?”
“Sort of.” Grissom sighed. “Magic is real?”
“It’s very real,” Giles said gently, dropping the subject of attraction. He needed the man to focus on the problem at hand, not to worry about whether he would have to fend off unwelcome advances.
“And you think you’ll find what you need in the kitchen?”
Giles nodded. “Sage and sea salt at the very least, with perhaps a few other items as well.”
Gil cocked his head. “Is that all you’ll need?”
“Not really,” he admitted. “I suspect it may be too much to hope for an actual - er - lab with everything I need, but it might be worth taking a look around.”
Gil nodded. “Okay. I’ll take a look through the rest of this place.” He gestured toward the door Lilah Morgan used earlier. “What do you think is behind there?”
Giles glanced at it briefly. “Most likely it’s the transit point she’s using to move from our reality to this one.”
“Oh.” After a pause, Gil said with vague enthusiasm, “So you’ll take a look in the kitchen, while I look around the rest of the place?”
“Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” Giles said, pushing himself away from the door frame to head back to where he thought the kitchen might be.
“Mr. Giles?”
He stopped and looked back at Gil. “Just Giles. Or Rupert, if you prefer.”
“Rupert - when she mentioned the kitchen was stocked with every food known to man and demon -?”
“It’s unlikely you’ll see any demons here.” Continuing the way he’d been heading, Rupert added casually, “Unless they’re functioning as servants, of course.”
~*~*~
Finally alone, Gil started to find his center again. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so rattled by anything, and he wasn’t in the slightest bit pleased to have had an audience for his minor meltdown. His only comfort was that Rupert Giles seemed to keep himself as closed off from others as he did, so perhaps there wouldn’t be an attempt to “talk it out” in order to make him feel better about the whole thing.
There were two hallways leading out of the room; since Rupert had chosen one, Gil chose the other. Midway down, along the left wall - the direction he mentally dubbed ocean side - he found a closed door.
Gil turned the knob slowly and cracked open the door with a great deal of caution. Not for the first time that day, he rued his habit of keeping his gun in his desk while at the office. When nothing jumped out at him, he opened the door further, carefully poking his head in the room to see what was there.
Stunned by the sight before him, Gil lost all sense of caution and opened the door wide as he entered the library. It was huge. There was an upper level, complete with an spiral iron staircase reminiscent of the one in The Music Man. He wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to see Shirley Jones and Robert Preston singing Marion - and he stopped that train of thought almost as quickly as it got started.
“Don’t go there, Gil,” he muttered. “Avoidance is his thing, not yours. If you stop thinking about musicals and just work the evidence, you’ll be fine.”
The evidence, such as it was, nearly overwhelmed him. At a glance, he could tell that most of the volumes were old and no doubt extremely valuable. Display cases littered the floor, and curious, he walked toward one. Before he reached it, he heard, “Dear lord!”
Gil turned to find Rupert standing in the doorway, gaping at the room. “I thought you were looking for ingredients in the kitchen.”
“There aren’t any,” he answered faintly, his eyes glazing over a bit. “Found this instead.” He held out his hand, and as Rupert walked past him and toward a display case, Gil snagged the brochure.
“’Welcome to Wolfram and Hart’s Sanctuary for Scholars.’” Gil shook his head, bemused by the cover of the brightly colored piece. “They’re joking, right?”
“Good heavens!”
Gil looked up to see Rupert hovering over the nearest display case. He went up to him and saw three clay tablets with familiar markings. “Are those -?”
“Sumerian,” Rupert breathed. And then he whimpered a bit. “Oh my. It’s the Ashkerian Prophecy.”
Cocking his head for a better look, Gil said, “The what prophecy?”
“Ashkerian.” His hand shaking slightly, Rupert pointed at the tablets. “The Ashkerian Prophecy was the first ever to be recorded in written language.”
“A prophecy.” Gil frowned then decided to set aside for the moment the troublesome connotations not only of the word “prophecy” but also of Rupert’s reaction to it. “Do you think the tablets are genuine?”
“Without question.” If not for the display case, Gil was fairly certain Rupert would be running his hands along the surface of the clay tablets.
“Shouldn’t these be in a museum?”
“Absolutely not.”
Gil blinked. “Why?”
“Hm?”
Gil clenched his jaw. “Why shouldn’t these be in a museum?”
Rupert looked up from the display, apparently puzzled by the question. “These tablets contain Sumerian prophecy. A museum could never hope to protect either the tablets or their message.”
“Security -”
“Means nothing to those who can create and maintain a pocket universe, let alone a multitude of such things,” Rupert said firmly. “Look around you, Gil. For all intents and purposes, we are the only ones here. Wolfram and Hart controls who comes in and who leaves, so these tablets can never be stolen.”
“I thought you said it was an evil law firm. Why would you want them to have these?”
With a look of frustration, Rupert said, “Wolfram and Hart is evil, and frankly, I’d rather the Council have possession of them. However, the Council can’t provide nearly as much protection as Wolfram and Hart, so -” He broke off, shrugging with a helpless air.
And then Rupert was promptly distracted by the other contents of the library. He was halfway across the room before Gil realized it and followed. “Wait a minute. What council?”
“Of Watchers,” he said with the same abstracted air he’d had earlier. “Look! It’s Morley’s Guide to the Taxonomy of the Lower Beings!” Rupert stopped at the shelf and pulled the book out with a great deal of care. “My god. It’s in excellent condition.”
“You never answered my question. What are Watchers?” Gil would have tugged the book out of Rupert’s hand if not for the vicious look the other man gave him just then. He backed up a step and held both hands up and close to his shoulders. “I get the message. I won’t touch your precious.”
Rupert inhaled sharply then returned the book to the shelf with as much care as possible. “I’m sorry. I reacted badly just now.”
“You’re a junkie,” Gil said in a flat voice.
“What? I am not!”
He reached out and grasped Rupert’s chin to bring his face in closer. Peering closely, Gil said, “Your eyes are dilated, and your skin is flushed. You’ve just broken into a light sweat.”
Clearly annoyed, Rupert twisted his head away from Gil’s hand. “Oh, please!”
Gil spoke clearly and carefully. “You shouldn’t be in here. You don’t seem able to think for yourself when you’re around all these books.”
The denial was plain on his face, right up until he said, “I fear you may be correct.” He turned around in a full circle. “However, the room I need can only be accessed through the library.”
“What room? Are you sure you need to go there?”
Rupert took out his handkerchief and blotted the sweat off his brow before answering, “According to the brochure, it will have everything I need to cast a spell to trigger the invitation on the sword.”
Gil was proud of himself for not twitching at the mention of a spell. He nodded as if Rupert made perfect sense then asked, “Can’t you take what you need out of the room and put it into the kitchen?”
“I’d rather not,” he said, walking reluctantly toward a door in the corner opposite the library’s main entrance, even as he continued to crane his neck to see what other treasures the room held. “The spell room is warded against accidents.”
“Accidents?”
At the door, Rupert turned to Gil. “The sword is still on the credenza. Would you go get it, whilst I prepare?”
Part 8