A British author, G. K. Chesterton, once wrote: “When we really worship anything, we love not only its clearness but its obscurity. We exult in its very invisibility.” And that’s just what Hobbes and I were trying to do: be really, really obscure. We’d hoped to slip under the radar, but as it turned out, that’s not the way it went down.

“That the gland was dead?” Darien stalled for time, tugging at the little spit curl in front of his right ear. “Um. About two months.”

“Two months!?!” three incredulous voices shrilled.

“How?”

“Why?”

“How much?”

“Um.” Darien scratched his neck, then slid his hand back to his pants pocket. “There’s this place. Just west of here.”

“West of here, sir.” Hobbes inclined his shiny head toward the room’s only window, although it clearly faced south. “Sunnydale.” He nodded at Fawkes, who nodded back, pocket-hand moving rhythmically.

“Sunnydale.”

The pair paused as if that was explanation enough.

“And?” The Keeper stepped menacingly forward, scarier than the Official any day.

“They have this shop there.”

“A shop?” The Official’s teeth ground audibly.

“Shop. You know, sir. Like a store.”

“I know what a shop is, Hobbes! Get on with the explanation. And I should have known you were in on this.”

“It’s called the Magic Box, sir. They sell magicky-type things there.”

“And this is how you continue to go invisible? With magicky-type things?” Sarcasm dripped. “What the hell kind of gadget are you using?”

“Well, we had a choice, actually.” Darien’s pocket bulged and moved as if housing a gerbil rather than his hand. “There was a cloak. And there was a…” He paused, somehow reluctant to say it. “Ring.”

“And you chose the ring.” Claire held out her hand. “Let me see this magicky-type ring of invisibility.”

“No!” Darien jumped back, clutching the ring in his pocket. “Can’t see Precious. No. Bad scientist can’t see Precious.” He withdrew his fist from his chinos, clutching it to his chest, curling in on himself as much as a large man can. Hobbes leaned in and wrapped a comforting arm around his mumbling partner.

“A ring. I see.” The Official looked as if he did see and did disapprove. Of most everything. “Now answer the other question. Why? You’ve been trying to extricate yourself from our little operation here since the very beginning. Why find a way to stay involved now, when you’ve the only possible out?”

Without looking up, Hobbes continued to caress and soothe the trembling Fawkes. “Well, you see, sir, we didn’t want to be separated. Me and Fawkes, we’ve become kind of an item. Lovers, even. And as you well know, my friends, Bobby Hobbes does not fall in love often.”

At this last, Darien regained his composure somewhat. Straightening, he grasped his partner’s hand in his ring-free one. “Nor love lightly.”

“You’re saying I don’t love light?”

“No.” Darien focused on his partner. “I’m just saying you don’t love easily.”

“You’re saying I’m not easy?”

“It’s a quote. It means… Yes. Yes. That’s what I’m saying. You’re not easy. At all.”

Hobbes smiled warmly. Darien could only smile back.

“Gentlemen!”

Fawkes and Hobbes turned to gaze defiantly at their colleagues. “You can’t separate us now that you know.”

“Now that we…” The Official sputtered. “I’ve known for weeks. I’m a trained agent myself, you know. Haven’t always been behind this desk.” He thumped both palms on his desktop. “I can certainly see what my agents are up to.”

“I’ve known for weeks, as well. Darien. Bobby.” The Keeper unfolded her arms and swept her hair behind one ear. “I’m a skilled scientific observer. And you do realize, don’t you, that you two haven’t exactly been discreet?”

“So… we can continue to be partners, then?” Darien looked hopeful, eyebrows climbing toward his unusual hairline.

The Official leaned forward, steepling his fingers before him in a testosterone-laden mirror of Eberts’ prissy pose.

“Tell me about this cloak. It’s not from a place called Hogwarts, by any chance, is it?”