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Magic Box, Wednesday

Andrew was in high spirits as he went to open the Magic Box, but he frowned when his key didn't seem to want to turn in the lock. Then he heard a voice. It was as if the door was speaking to him, saying, "When is a door not a door?"

Andrew stared at it blankly. "Umm..."

"When it's ajar!" The key turned and the door swung open.

Andrew shook his head and rushed around to set up the shop.

The Magic Box is open for all of your phantasmagorical needs.

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Aziraphale hadn't been kidding when he'd told Wilson he intended to keep an eye on Andrew. So he stopped in at the Magic Box late Wednesday morning.

"Good morning, Mr Wells," he said cheerfully, as he walked in the door. "I've brought you another book I think you'd be interested in."

In his hand, was a fine and old-looking leatherbound volume.

Andrew smiled at Aziraphale and actually hopped in his excitement at the mention of a new book. "You always have the best candy, Mr. Aziraphale," Andrew said, eyes glued on the object in the man's hands.

"I don't know what I've done to deserve you kindness, but please let me know so I can keep it up."

Aziraphale chuckled. "Well, you can just promise me not to go using the knowledge you acquire to get yourself into too much trouble, and I think we'll be even," he answered lightly.

He held out the book. "It's the Vendidad (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vendidad). This one's in Persian, but I think you can manage it. The copies quite old, so do be careful with the pages."

Despite the suppose age, however, Andrew would find upon examination that the book was in remarkably good condition. And that there were some neatly penciled notes, also in Persian, in the margins.

"THE Vendidad?" Andrew's eyes went wide. "I've read bits and pieces in other compendiums, but I've never so much as glimpsed the real thing." He took the book from Aziraphale and carefully opened to the fist page, scanning the language.

"This is amazing," he said, truly awed.

Aziraphale grinned brightly, pleased to see how excited Andrew was.

"Now, just keep in mind that these writings aren't necessarily accurate in all cases. So don't go trying any of these suggestions on chasing off evil spirits without additional research." He peered over the top of the book and tapped his finger on the page. "The notations should help with identifying most of the inaccuracies, though."

Andrew tore himself away from the book and looked at Aziraphale. "Did you make them?"

"I did, yes," Aziraphale admitted, nodding. "I've put a fair number of notations into my books over the years. I don't like to see bad information being passed along, you know."

Andrew nodded in approval and closed the book. "So is everything at home going well? Did, um, your doctor friend make it home okay?"

With a little sad smile, Aziraphale nodded again. "Yes, he did, thank you. And you? Have you had the chance to talk at all with Mr Perry?"

"We've spoken," Andrew said slowly. "I haven't specifically come out and said how I feel yet ~~though some SP is still going on~~, but I'm working up to it."

Andrew frowned. "I just don't know how."

"I didn't either," Aziraphale replied, looking sympathetic. "Have you thought about...perhaps writing something? Or maybe give him something. Flowers are pretty universal as a gift, you know. And there's always the specific flower meanings, which can be very helpful in sending your message."

He paused, thinking for a moment, because he supposed not everyone liked flowers. "Or books," he mused. "Is he the sort who likes books?"

"That's a really good idea," Andrew said, adding, "He loves books. But what book would send the right message..."

His mind was racing through books and comics, but he was coming up blank. Curious, he also asked, "What flowers would you give?"

"Well, there's poetry," Aziraphale suggested. "I mean, that usually carries a pretty clear sort of message. Unless it's, you know, of the depressing sort. Or a book just on something you know he likes. It doesn't have to have intrinsic meaning, I don't think, because the sentiment is in the giving."

He thought carefully about Andrews question regarding flowers. "There's heather or camellia for admiration, jonquil or white jasmine means you hope he returns your affections, an orange rose means secret love, angelica is for inspiration...an iris can mean hope or friendship, and heartsease is for modesty and to show that you're thinking of him."

"So if I did a bouquet of white jasmine and orange roses, do you think he would get it? I mean, he's kind of an old fashioned guy so he might, right?" Andrew was so unsure of everything when it came to relationships.

"Or maybe just a book of poetry. Something classic." Andrew was pacing now. "He really likes poetry."

"I'm certain he'd get it. And he sounds like a clever enough young man that if he wasn't certain, he'd go and find out. And why not both? The flowers, and a book."

Aziraphale watched Andrew pace with an expression of mingled sympathy and amusement. "Let me put it this way. If I were giving James a gift, I'd do exactly that. Some flowers I thought he would like, or would recognize the meaning of, and an extra gift that I thought he'd appreciate. Don't make it anything fancy, just...something you like that you think he might like too."

Andrew stopped pacing and grinned. "I'll do it! I'm going to do it. What's the worst that can happen, right? Best to just risk it and see what happens. I mean, if he takes it the wrong way or doesn't feel the same, I can always feign ignorance or something."

In fact, the worst scenarios were playing themselves out in the back of Andrew's mind right at that moment, but he was doing his best to ignore them.

"If he's the sort of young man you'd want as a friend, then I would expect he'd be the sort who would be understanding. Even if he doesn't return your feelings."

Aziraphale gave an encouraging nod. "I hope you'll let me know how it works out, Mr Wells. If you don't think I'm being too nosy, that is."

"Totally. No matter how it turns out, you can rest assured you'll be hearing all about it." Andrew grinned.

"And thanks again for the book. I'll be sure to return it soon."

"It's my pleasure, Mr Wells. Enjoy the book, and good luck with your conquest."

Aziraphale gave Andrew a quick grin, and then headed out the door to let the young man get back to his job.

Giles came into the shop around midmorning. He needed to check on a couple of invoices and he wanted to have a little chat with Andrew about breaking the rules.

He nodded at the boy when he came in. "Andrew."

Andrew saw Mr. Giles walking in and immediately grabbed a cleaning rag to start wiping things down. "Hello, sir!" Andrew tried to sound chipper as he scrubbed furiously at the spotless counter top.

His ears were turning red and he couldn't bring himself to look up at his employer.

Giles crossed his arms and just looked at the boy for a moment. Then he sighed and asked, "Flying monkeys, Andrew?"

Andrew scrubbed harder, visibly wincing at the mention of the demonic creatures. "Yeah, I heard about those, too," his voice squeaked.

"I rather expect you did more than just hear about them."

Andrew ceased the pointless cleaning and looked up at Mr. Giles. "I had to do something," he said, his voice bordering on pleading. "That woman is hurting my friends."

Giles sighed again. "Your heart was in the right place," he said, pleased that he could. "But the list of things that could go catastrophically wrong with that kind of summoning...."

"But they didn't!" Andrew exclaimed. "It was virtually flawless. They reacted just like all my research said they would. And no one was hurt! Well, except maybe for the Headmistress and pretty much everything that was in her office."

As flying monkey infestations went, it had been the most humourous and satisfying one that Giles had ever encountered, but that so totally wasn't the point. "You got lucky. But it could have so easily gone very badly wrong."

Andrew hung his head. He knew Mr. Giles was right. "They were just flying monkeys." He offered up this last excuse, not wanting to admit that they had actually been much scarier than anything he had envisioned.

Giles came closer and rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "That would be a rather embarrassing thing to have as one's epitaph, don't you think?"

Andrew glanced up at his mentor. "What would you have done? I haven't exactly seen the teachers rally to the cause yet. I had to do something to redeem myself..."

He got very quiet.

"Redeem yourself?" Giles asked quietly.

It was at that point that Andrew realized it hadn't really worked. All the shame he felt was still there, compounded now by Mr. Giles' disappointment.

"..." He knew that if he spoke right now, he ran the very real risk of breaking down. He closed his eyes, damning his teenage sensitivity.

"Andrew?" Giles asked gently.

"It's just... I'm not..." And then he remembered what Neil had said to him at play practice. "I'm not a bad person, but I've made mistakes. I was a coward and I turned on my new friends here..."

He got silent again, burying his face in his hands.

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Magic Box, Wednesday

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