Chapter Three: Synchronicity

Various sounding laughter from half a dozen different mouths within the Summers' living room echo throughout the house. Some soft, musical, almost tingling while others were coarse, harsh, nearly braying. Despite the unusual and highly strenuous and stressful circumstances of the situation the laughter was oddly light and carefree.

Illyana stares at the cards lying on the low coffee table. She can't believe she's lost. That somebody out bluffed her bluff, and that somebody happen to be Dawn, the ancient mystical energy someone had melded into human form. When she squints her eyes just right the slightly older girl shifts to a dazzlingly green ball of energy.

The tiny sunkissed blonde knew she was going to have to be on her guard in this place. Against humans her soul sword wouldn't cause the slightest injury, but magic. Magic it would unravel with the slightest scratch. It would take nothing more then a touch to unmake Dawn.

And the other three teenagers, Annabelle, Molly, and Kennedy. Who knew what would happen to them. Like Buffy they all had the essence of a demon interlocked with their spirits. Unlike Buffy there was an extremely delicate lattice work of magic interwoven between the two keeping them separate from each other. Her sword could break the spell but there was also the chance it would kill the girl at the same time.

Kennedy gives Dawn a friendly pat on the shoulder as she says, "way to go."

"It's about time somebody put that blonde hustler in her place," Molly gloats.

Illyana shrugs slightly. It was only the fifth hand, out of the twenty they had played, she had lost. It was the second Dawn had won. The other three had gone to Kitty.

"You did very well," Rahne comments with a smile. "Illyana does not lose very often. Hardly ever in fact."

"We're starting to realize that," Kennedy mumbles annoyance with the proceedings filling her voice. She was the one that was use to being the card shark at these sort of slumber party like gatherings. It was the reason she had suggested the game in the first place.

Plus it was the perfect way to flirt with four complete strangers. Kind of feel them out. Get a read on them.

Dawn, she wasn't sure about, more then likely she was straight, just self-conscious and feels the need to check out the competition to see how she stacks up against it. A lot of girls were like that, she knew she was.

Rahne is as straight as a bible thumper could possibly be, she wasn't a bad sort for someone as devoutly Christian as she is. Probably had a lot to do with living in a prejudicial society where people hate you, want to kill you, and exterminate your entire race for no other reason then the fact you exist. Kennedy could see how that would put the whole bigotry issue in its place.

"Mr. Logan is the only one to win a fair amount of games against her, so much so I often overhear him arguing with himself about bringing her along to his Friday night poker games. Only she's not old enough to gamble legally and Mr. Logan is trying to set a good example for the younger students," Rahne babbles feeling unusually comfortable in her surroundings.

Dawn tries to shrug the praise off as if it didn't matter only her coloring checks lets everyone know it does. "I used to play cards all the time with Spike," she tells everyone without adding that mostly they played gin or rummy. That this was in fact her first time playing poker.

Then there was Kitty and Illyana. Kennedy knew there was something between them. Something bonding them together. She would almost say something stronger then love, but she didn't really believe in true love or soulmates or love at first sight or anything else like that. Lasting relationships were things that have to built and worked at and given a lot of time and energy to maintaining.

"The vampire?" Kitty asks perking up a little more as she senses a good mystery that needs to be solved.

"Yeah, how did that soul thing come about anyway?" Illyana chips in still not quite believing the vampire's rendition of how he came to be in possession of a human soul.

Dawn looks at the tiny blonde with wonder as she blurts out, "you know about that?" She didn't think Spike was just going around and telling every person that he meets that he has a soul, but she had never thought he would go out and get his soul restored in the first place.

"Know about it," Illyana repeats with a slight chuckle. She was practically able to see it, all bright and shiny and kind of crammed in out of place. "You could say I know about it," she adds cryptically. She didn't think there was any reason to let anyone know that two people in the house had no souls of their own. One the brunette sitting in front of her and the woman, she couldn't remember her name, that had been a demon.

Believing the two of them were best friends. That was easy. They made it look easy with the bantering and playfulness, it was almost like watching two people flirt without knowing they were flirting. There was still more to it then that. It was there in how Illyana looks at the older brunette. Short, brief glances that wouldn't be seen unless someone was watching for them. They were the kind of glances that scream you're the sole reason for my existence. If not for you I'd be better off dead type of looks. Only Kennedy wasn't even sure Illyana knew she was giving them.

Illyana feels Kennedy's dark eyes lingering on her. Turning her head away from Kitty she turns her questioning blue eyes on the raven hair brunette just as the older girl looks elsewhere. When Kennedy looks back up from getting a handful of chips Illyana's eyes are still on her making her feel like trapped badger.

Before either could say anything the front door bangs open softly allowing Xander to partially stumble, partially stagger into the foyer lugging a pair of standard document storage boxes. Seeing the girls sitting in the living room he turns in that direction, taking a couple of steps he sets the boxes down on the floor by the arm of the sofa.

"What kind of research stuff did Giles have you bring back?" Dawn asks a bright smile bursting over her face.

"Giles, shmiles," Xander pants slightly as he straightens up knuckling his back. "He'd never think to look here for information as to what brought your totally unannounced house guest... And doesn't that just sound like an awesome title for a horror movie? Unannounced House Guest, get one of the Baldwin brothers, or heck get all of the Baldwin..."

"Xander," Dawn cuts him off with a slight whine.

"Right," he responds regaining his focus. "Kind of got sidetracked there for a moment," he adds with a slight embarrassed shrug. "Anyway I thought these might be able to help you guys figure who trapped you here," he declares a moment before he pulls off the lid of one box revealing maybe two hundred comic books.

"Comic books?" Annabelle mumbles softly.

"Hey I'll have you all know these are jam packed full of useful information not to mention relevant social commentary," he defends plaintively.

"Plus they have lots well endowed, super model like, incredibly gorgeous woman running around in the tightest, skimpiest, most revealing outfits imaginable to the mind of men every where," Kennedy says with a large, dreamy smile splitting her face in two. "What?" She questions seeing everyone staring at her. "Why else do you think I'd read them?"

Deciding that maybe Kennedy had said a little too much Xander pleads, "and I got about six more boxes out in the car if any of you super powered young girls would mind helping out the average ordinary guy?" The seven girls roll their eyes almost as one entity after sharing a brief look. Xander shrugs lightly almost apologetically as he mumbles, "they're heavy and its a long walk up the driveway, and... Did I mention they're heavy?" He asks hoping they'll pick up on the hint.

"This way to the fridge Elf," Logan tells Kurt walking through the open front door. A heavy wooden crate full of a variety of whiskeys and bourbon balanced on his left shoulder while he carries a thirty pack of Moosehead Lager in his right hand. "Gonna have to clear ourselves a space in the fridge, but since its mostly rabbit food it shouldn't be that great of a loss."

Giles grunts lightly as he helps Forge settle the large bathroom mirror onto the dining room table. "Here you go," the watcher says straightening with a small wince.

"Thanks guys," Amanda replies with a smile while running her fingers over the glass' smooth surface. "This is just what I need."

Willow glances between the mirror and Amanda. She wasn't quite sure if she understood correctly what the other witch was planning on doing. "So this is some kind of locator spell?" She finally asks.

"Scrying," Amanda replies with a shrug.

Giles turns back, his eyes lit with a hungry light. From what he understands there are very few people with both the magical skill coupled with the mental discipline necessary to do a scrying spell. Certainly never one as young as Amanda.

"Kind of. It'll show me what I'm looking for, in this case my friends, what's going on where they are, let me see if they're all right, in danger. Once I know they're in this reality I'll be able to do a locator spell," she explains.

"And you do all this with a mirror?" Giles inquires stepping back up to the table. He's a little startled with how open Amanda is with the particulars of her magic to near complete strangers. Most practitioners guard their secrets jealously.

Amanda nods in reply to his question. "Any reflective surface will do though; water, silver, a mirror," with a shrug she adds, "even a pain of glass. The more reflective the surface the clearer the image will be. If the witch or sorcerer is powerful enough they can even use it for communicating over vast distances. Some can even use it to glimpse the future," she finishes in awe.

"What about you?" Willow asks.

Again Amanda shrugs. "If I'm lucky, we'll get a clear picture," she answers with a little grin. "I've been hanging around with Kurt to much," she mumbles under her breath. Raising her voice she adds, "I should be more then capable of finding them. If not, Illyana has the strength."

"That would be the young teenager you arrived with? The one with her arm encased in armor," Giles questions. Amanda nods as she runs her hands over the mirror. "She seems a trifle young to have the level of power you're insinuating."

Amanda lifts her eyes to make a closer inspection of the older man. "Don't let her age mislead you. Illyana can take care of herself," she says in a hard tone.

"I'm sure she can," Giles replies warily finding the young girls presence to be slightly disquieting. If Ororo's accounts could be believed then she had already faced off against the First Evil and dealt it a serious blow. He, however, was having a hard time believing it. The First was an incorporeal being of immense, incalculable power. To think that a fourteen year old girl could deal it a serious blow was outrages.

"How does it work?" Willow asks wanting to bring the discussion back on track.

Amanda smiles, grateful for Willow's intervention. "You need to know the person your scrying for, or have something of theirs in your possession," she answers still running her fingers along the surface of the mirror, but never touching it. "You need to concentrate on what you want to see."

"Is there any incantation?"

Amanda nods again. "I'll write it down for you once we're done here. Hopefully you can read German," she finishes in a light murmur.

Willow's eyes widen slightly at the comment. "Latin I'm good with. Ancient Sumerian I can handle. But I don't think I've ever had to translate German before?"

"Don't worry. I know a spell that'll translate any language you don't read to your native one," Amanda replies.

"That must come in handy," Giles remarks.

Amanda grins as she murmurs, "you have no idea."

Angel sighs softly as he hops up the steps leading into the Hyperion. Lorne close on his heels with Peter, easily carrying Rachel in his massive arms, right behind him. On the street Wesley and Gunn drive their borrowed Cadillac off so they can dump it a few blocks away.

Lorne glances at Angel as the vampire pushes the door open. "We still need to find Fred, plus let Cordy and the little nipper know what we're up against. Seeing how I doubt if we're done dealing with this Beast," he says as he comes to a stop after entering the hotels foyer. Seeing Peter walking towards him he swiftly steps aside.

"I know," Angel answers while holding the door open for Peter. "But we have injured to see to..."

"Rachel merely needs rest," Peter says looking down at Angel. "She used much of her strength extricating us from our previous predicament. She was near exhaustion before transporting us, but she felt the risk needed to be taken considering what was at stake."

Angel looks slightly confused as he says, "I never heard her say any of that. And trust me, I would've heard."

"Not unless you are telepathic my friend," Peter says with a slight smile. "And a powerful one at that," he adds after a brief pause. "Go, gather your friends before the Beast can exact his revenge on those you care about. I shall see to the safety of your comrades if he should attack here."

"You sure you're up to it?" Angel asks without thinking and before he can stop himself. Peter gives him a questioning look. Angel gives his head a slight shake as he says, "right. Sorry. Forgot who I was talking to. Lorne you want to get a room set up for Rachel."

"Not a problem boss man," Lorne answers stepping down into the lobby.

"She can use mine while Lorne's setting it up," Angel adds.

"Thank you my friend. I am in your debt," Peter says solemnly.

Angel gives his head a sharp shake. "If it wasn't for you and Rachel a lot of people would have lost their lives tonight. If somebody is in anyone's debt, I'm... We're in yours. I might not know where you came from or how you got here, but as long as you're here you've got a place to stay. Whatever I can do to help you get back home I'll do."

"Wow," Connor breathes out from the foot of the carpeted stairs. The sound of his voice causing Peter to tense as he shifts Rachel's weight in his arms while he turns subtlety to take the young man in from head to toe. "That was actually touching," he adds mockingly. "Now just don't forget the part where if he does something to upset you, you kick him out. Or just try to kill him."

"Connor," Angel begins in a hard, quiet voice.

Peter stiffens even more, if that is possible at the tone of Connor's voice and his harsh words. "I'd show some care with the words you chose before I take offense and teach you proper manners."

Connor smirks at the thought as he asks, "you think you can?"

"Da!" Peter spits out turning to face the boy.

Angel lightly touches Peter's arm as he says, "its okay Pete. He has cause, not to mention a few reasons," he tells the young mutant that towers over him without taking his eyes of his son. "You're hurt," he says without preamble.

It takes Connor a moment to pull his eyes off Rachel after realizing Angel had said something to him. He couldn't help it. There was just something about the young girl that he felt drawn to.

Almost kinship.

Even asleep she looks guarded. Tense. As if she expects to wake up from a nightmare only to discover it had been a dream and she is living the nightmare.

Its a feeling he is all to familiar with. He experiences it almost every waking hour.

Peter sees the lingering look and his scowl deepens. Hardens.

"I'll heal," he says without looking up at Angel.

Peter takes the opportunity to step down the stairs and enter the lobby proper.

"I was worried about you," Angel says with as much warmth as he can.

"I can take care of myself," Connor replies defensively.

Angel nods saying, "I know you can."

"I don't need you checking up on me," Connor tells him. Even though he shifts under Angel's gaze he never lowers his eyes.

Angel exhales softly as he gives his head a brief, resigned shake. "I wasn't checking up, just giving you the heads up. There's a new demon. Big, rock like hide, horns out the top of his head.

Connor manages to keep himself from giving a visible reaction as he says, "I know. What do you think broke my rib?"

Angel feels his concern for Connor skyrockets. It takes an almost physical effort to keep from reaching out to his son. He knows showing any kind of concern over his welfare is more then likely to make Connor bolt. "You fought it," he demands.

"I was there when it burst up out of the earth in the same alley, the very spot I was born," Connor hisses.

"Is Cordelia alright?"

Connor gives Angel a sharp nod. "She was the one that insisted I come here. To see if you needed my help. I'm surprised you're in such good shape?"

"That's more Peter's doing then mine," Angel begin finally stepping inside and letting the door swing close behind him. A small slips over his lips as Connor's head whips around to where the large Russian is climbing the stairs. He could almost see the wheels turning in Connor's head as he begins reevaluating Peter. "The beast was tossing all of us around like rag dolls, but Peter there went toe to toe with it. The two of them brought the house down. Literally."

Connor swallows hard as he turns back around. A small hint of fear tinting his scent. Without thinking about it he mumbles, "do I chose the wrong people to piss off or what?"

Buffy continues to shoot furtive glances at Ororo as the two of them take a slow walk through her house. The taller woman was so self assured and self possessed that it seems as confidence seeps out of her pores. That the very air she exhales is able to turn chaos to order.

"How do you do it?" She finally asks.

Ororo looks down at her, a slight quirk to her eyebrows. "Do it?" She replies.

"Lead," Buffy clarifies quickly. "I mean nothing seems to faze you. Here you are, in a different reality and you're calm, cool, collected. Totally and completely unfazed."

"Is that what you think?" Ororo asks a slight twist to her lips.

"Its what I see," Buffy answers.

Ororo nods at Buffy's response as they stop between the den and the dining room. "I have spent many years containing my emotions, of not letting the smallest scrap of what I feel effect me, or the world around me," she begins explaining but stops when she sees Buffy's questioning look. "when I was younger then your sister is now," she starts again. "Thirteen or fourteen," she adds with a slight shrug unsure of exactly how old she was at the time, "my powers began manifesting. A sudden lightening strike on a cloudless day. A gust of wind or a freak thunderstorm that would spring up out of nowhere. I paid no attention to these, but soon I felt myself drawn out of Cairo and onto the Savannah.

"In that vast grassland I nearly died." She stops to take a slight breath. "I also became aware of the fact that I could control the weather. Wrap the elements to my will, my desires. The natives thought me a Goddess and I believed them."

Her small smile is nothing more then a small up turning of the corners of her lips. To Buffy it looks more like a grimace then a smile. "Me? A Cairo street urchin, beggar, and best thief in all of Egypt a goddess. I eat up the attention. I relished it," she admits softly.

"Who wouldn't?" Buffy says in wonder. She knew a little something about the temptation of power and abusing it.

"Who indeed?" Ororo agrees as she looks down the short hallway. "One day I lost my temper. I sudden storm sprang up out of nothing. Larger then anything I had ever created before. Its ferocity knocked me back to my senses, but by then the storm had a life of its own. The villagers begged and pleaded with me. I tried desperately to bring the raging fury I had unleash to heel, but it was too powerful. There was nothing I could do but wait it out like everyone else. Two days of torrential rain, wind, lightening, hail."

She gives her head a small, heartfelt shake as she still remembers those few days. "Three people died, a mother and her two children, a daughter and a son. And it was my fault," Ororo says as she turns her head to lock eyes with Buffy. The anger and loathing in her voice still present even after all these years. "When the villagers asked me why I had let it happen I gave them the only answer I could as their goddess. Because it was my will," she finishes in a stern tone.

"Wow," Buffy breathes out lowly. That put a whole new perspective on things. "The most I have to worry about is breaking somebody's jaw if I hit them too hard," she says in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Ororo gives Buffy a wane smile. "After that I held myself apart from the villagers. When they needed a miracle from me they came to an altar they erected at the base of a small mountain I took for my own. I learnt how to use my powers, refined my control, and kept my emotions on a short leash. That is until lately. I have begun to loosen up considerably in recent months," she finishes earnestly.

Buffy's eyes widen fractionally at the admission wondering what the woman must have been like if this was loosened up. Before she can say anything Forge ducks out of the dining room closing the door behind him softly. His eyes light up as he spots Buffy while next to her she can sense Ororo stiffen. A bare tensing of her body but more then enough for Buffy to notice. Just like how Forge's eyes flicker towards the X-Men's leader briefly before landing back on her.

"Just the two people I need to see," he says enthusiastically. Trying, and failing to keep his light charcoal colored eyes on Buffy. "If I'm going to have any shot at finding a way to get us back home I'm going to need a little space to work in. Now I know you don't have a lot of options here..."

"You can use the basement," Buffy cuts in with a shrug. "Its not much..."

"It'll do," he interrupts before she can finish. "I'm also going to need a computer. If you know if there's a place that I can scavenged some components I think I can whip something up..."

"Willow's got a laptop. I'm sure she'd be willing to loan you," Buffy breaks in.

"The tiny redhead?" Forge inquires. Buffy bristles slightly at the description of her friend since Willow is taller then her, but considering the fact Forge is taller the Ororo, who is close to six feet she realizes she doesn't have anything to be angry over. "Her and Amanda are currently in a full blown discussion on magic, and since I like my head attached to my shoulders I think I'll pass on asking her."

Buffy nods at the statement. She thought she heard just a little hint of scorn on the word magic but she wasn't sure. "Dawn will know where the laptop is then."

"And I need about two million in operating capital," he finishes with a completely serious expression.

Buffy's face drains of color in a heartbeat as a frantic, "what?" Shoots out of her mouth.

Before Forge can repeat his statement Ororo grabs hold of his bicep. "Check with Logan. See if him or Kurt have any semi-legitimate ideas on how to come up with that kind of money."

Buffy could hear a distinct change in Ororo's voice between talking to her and her talking to Forge. Right now her tone is stoic. Completely business like and devoid of any feelings where as a few minutes ago it was full of emotion. Mostly anger, bitterness, regret, compassion, and remorse.

"Do you have any idea how to return us to our world?" She questions with a tone as sharp as a knife edge.

"A few, but its going to take some time," he assures her in a voice thick with painful emotions. "It'd help out if I knew what happened for us to get stranded here."

Buffy felt like she should turn away. Only she couldn't. It was like flipping through the channels and coming across one of those cheesy, daytime soap opera her mother liked to watch so much. You want to change the channel, but something stays your hand.

"Do what you have to, but remember we are guest here," Ororo says letting go of his arm.

He gives her a slight nod before he goes to turn away. In the middle of his turn he stops and shifts back to face them again. "I almost forgot. Peter and Ray are in L.A. They're with some guy, Angel. Willow says you'd have the number."

"How did they look?" Ororo demands.

Forge gives her small shrug before answering. "Like they'd been in a fight. Ray was out cold, Pete was missing his shirt, But other wise... They didn't look hurt."

Ororo nods. "Don't let Logan get to creative. We don't need to upset the local authorities if we don't have to."

"Will do Boss Lady," he says to Ororo before turning his attention back to Buffy. "And I'll try not to take up too much space in the basement," he tells her before brushing his way between the two woman.

Buffy watches Ororo as Ororo watches Forge walk away with longing in her eyes. "You really love him," she murmurs quietly.

"Its complicated," Ororo replies without looking at Buffy.

The tiny Slayer gives a short bark of a laugh as she says, "tell me about it. I'm the queen of complicated relationships."

This time Ororo does look back at her with a quirked eyebrow. "I suppose you are considering who holds the strings to your heart."

Buffy blinks as she blurts, "what?"

"It can not be easy maintaining a relationship with a mortal enemy," she adds after a small pause. "But I suppose anything is possible if the love you feel is strong enough to endure."

"You think me and Spike..." Buffy starts off but stops with a quick glance at Ororo's knowing look. "All right we had a thing, a very brief thing that ended a while ago. We're friends. Good friends and that's all we are."

"Somebody sounds like they're protesting just a bit too much," Rogue says from where she's leaning against the wall at the end of the corridor near the pallor.

At the first sound of Rogue's voice Buffy's head snaps around to face the brunette. She was still finding it hard to believe the young woman was responsible for the destruction of the house next doors. Plus she had walked away without a scratch or breaking a nail or even tearing her green and yellow form fitting, skin tight, body suit.

Rogue wasn't that much bigger then herself. Three or four inches and about twenty pounds, but the girl is a living powerhouse.

Buffy's light glare is still enough to give Rogue a little pause. She matches the blondes scowl with a small, knowing smile. "Relax sugar. I ain't gonna say anything if you like living in the land of denial. I just stopped by to let you know that Xander follow brought in just about every comic you ever heard of and the youngsters have fallen to them like a pack of ravenous dogs."

"But not you?" Buffy asks curiously.

"Please I grew up with a precog. You have any idea what its like being grounded before you did anything wrong." She gives her head a mild shake as she adds, "the last thing I need is any more glimpses of the future."

Buffy glances at Ororo and asks, "aren't you worried about altering the future?"

"No," Ororo answers without hesitation. "This is hardly the first time we have gained an insight to our future. It is not as detrimental as you might think since the future is not set in stone. In fact the future is almost like a living creature reacting to the actions you take."

Buffy blinks a little at Ororo's statement. "Scary part. I understood that."

"Um, excuse me," Andrew calls out from the den. "Whoever's out there. Anyone, please. I really, really have to use the little boys room."

Ororo and Rogue peek into the den with curiosity. After seeing the young man tied to the chair they both look back at Buffy with questioning gazes.

"That's Andrew," Buffy says before they can ask anything. "My hostage."

"I prefer guestage," Andrew calls out. "I was part of the Trio. We were Buffy's arch nemesis," he finishes with pride.

Buffy rolls her eyes slightly at Andrew's response. "More like annoying nuisances," she corrects loud enough for him to her hear. In a softly, more compassionate voice she adds, "more recently he was the dupe of the First Evil."

Ororo nods having had a brief encounter with the entity that calls itself the First Evil. Rogue simply shrugs not really all that concerned with why Buffy has someone tied up in her den.

"So you want that phone number so you can get in touch with your friends?" Buffy asks after a brief pause. Ororo nods and the three women move away from the den's doorway.

Inside the den Andrew squirms in his chair trying to look over his shoulder. "Guys," he calls out. "Guys, hey guys. Come on, please. I'm serious. I really need to use the little boys room. I'm noting joking here. Please!"

Forge looks from the laptop's screen to Logan his eyes alight with amazement at the feral mutant's accomplishment. "How..." He begins in a stammer. It wasn't the only thing that had taken away his ability to speak in the last few minutes.

The laptop itself had done that as well. Its size. Its computing power. They had nothing comparable to it on their Earth.

Forge still couldn't believe in less then a decade the computer was going to become a household item. For them the home computer was the province of the extremely rich or the eccentric. Now that he knew what direction the industry was heading it wouldn't be that hard to garner himself a strong foothold.

"The realities might change," Logan begins as he raises his Moosehead Lager to his lips and takes a healthy pull. "But Governments, and the people running them, never do," he finishes.

Kurt gives his head a slight shake as he shifts his stance uncomfortably. "Mien friend, you do realize you just broke into the CIA?"

Logan grunts again as he takes another swig off his lager. "Its a defunct branch. Back in the day it was a watershed funding some of their nastier ops."

"Its still the CIA," Forge mutters. "I doubt if they're going to be to happy with us borrowing a few million dollars."

Logan glances up as he stops scrolling down the screen. A wolfish light gleaming in his eyes. "That's the beauty of it. As far as anybody is concerned none of this is even suppose to exist. Means nobody is going to come looking for it."

"How do you even know about this?" Forge questions the man standing in front of the computer.

Logan doesn't bother answering the question as he starts to scroll back down the screen. "Isn't this interesting," he murmurs.

"What?" Forge asks angry at Logan's reticent to answer his previous question. If he didn't know better he would have thought Ororo sent him to Logan simply out of spite.

"Looks like someone was funneling a lot of money into Sunnydale a few years back. Ended about six months into the new millennium, but for the previous six years... One point seven billion in construction, six hundred and twenty-five million payroll."

"Mien God," Kurt breathes out in a soft whisper. "Look at their utilities."

Forge whistles lowly. "Think somebody left more then just the air conditioning on?"

"Special operations? I wonder what that was for," Kurt murmurs softly as he leans in for a closer look.

"Is there any way to dig deeper? Find out what they were working on, where they were working?" Forge demands insistently.

"Probably," Logan says turning away from the computer. His shoulder hitting Forge, bumping him back slightly as he walks away from the little breakfast island and makes his way over to the fridge saying, "but you'll need a better hacker then me to break their encryption." Reaching the refrigerator he finishes of his bottle.

"Did somebody say something about needing a hacker?" Buffy chirps as her, Ororo, and Rogue enter the kitchen. "What the hell?" She squawks seeing what's been done to her refrigerator.

Logan swings the door close after pulling out another bottle of lager. "Had to rearrange the fridge a bit to make room for the supplies," he informs her twisting the cap off completely unfazed by Buffy's death glare.

"Where the hell's my food?" Buffy demands swinging the door back open.

"I told you she wasn't going to be happy," Kurt reminds Logan in a soft whisper.

"You actually ate that? Thought you had a rabbit farm out back I hadn't spotted yet," Logan quips. If possible Buffy's glare hardens even more as she continues to stare at him.

As quietly and unobtrusive as possible Forge gathers the laptop from the island and makes his way to the basement door as he senses a major confrontation coming.

Logan polishes off his current bottle in one long pull.

"Logan," Ororo says a mild warning in her voice.

"What is it with men and their booze?" Buffy wonders aloud with a disgruntle shake of her head. Shifting her gaze back to Logan she again glares at the little man as he plucks another bottle from the still open refrigerator door. "Look I don't care if you keep a few beers in here, six or seven, but the rest come out..."

"Sure enough darling," Logan drawls twisting the cap off his bottle. Swinging the door shut he adds, "ain't a Brit. Like my beer with a little chill." He takes a short swig from his lager. "About an hour it'll be cleared out."

"We are guest here Logan," Ororo begins her voice hard enough to drive nails.

At the same time Buffy starts, "I'm not going to put up with a drunk."

"I expect you to treat our hostess with the same respect you would the Professor, Scott, or myself," Ororo finishes in a tone she normally reserves for combat situations.

Often dealing with Logan can be considered a combat situation.

Kurt leans closer to Rogue as Logan's scowl shifts between Ororo and Buffy. In a soft voice he whispers, "do not try this at home young viewers. Those are trained professionals, with years of experience in handling the unpredictable and highly volatile Wolverine."

Rogue laughs softly then hides her smile behind a gloved hand as three sets of hard stares swing towards them. Kurt swallows hard under the three pairs of eyes, two dark, one light. "Unglaublich! I just remembered something that requires my immediate attention. Auf Wiederesehen," he says and vanishes with a slight pop of displaced air and leaving a small stream of sulphurous smoke.

"You know, I think I'm just going to check on the girls. Make sure they ain't getting themselves into any mischief," Rogue tells them. She didn't bother to hide her tiny grin as she took her time walking out of the kitchen.

With her departure Logan returns as the main focus for both Buffy and Ororo's heated stares. "Five minutes Logan," Ororo orders.

"And I want everything put back the way it was," Buffy demands.

"That's going to be kind of hard darling," Logan says keeping his wolfish grin in place. Ororo wants him to give her the same respect he gives to her or Chuckles or Cyke. Fine. He could do that.

Once she earned it.

She was off to a fairly good start. She wasn't backing down from him.

"And whys that going to be a problem?" Buffy demands biting off each word.

His grin widens slightly. A bare moment before he says, "cause I used the rabbit food to feed the rabbits."

"Rabbits!" Anya shouts from just inside the kitchen entryway. She had entered just in time to hear the last part of Logan's remark and stopped in her tracks. Her eyes dart from place to place as she tries to see everywhere at once. "When did you get rabbits? Where are they?" Not seeing any she looks up eyes locking with Buffy. "You keep those little buggers away from me." With that she turns and flees from the kitchen like all the hounds of hell were hot on her heels.

Her hasty exit leaves the two X-Men sharing baffled looks while Buffy drops her head in shame. She had wanted to show these heroes from an alternate reality, that her and the scoobs function like a well oiled machine. It would be great if she could earn the respect and admiration from a group of her peers.

Next on her list would just be keeping them from thinking her and her friends are insane.

Then again the X-Men didn't appear to be the cohesive group Xander made them out to be. Forge's and Ororo's desire for each other was as hot as molten lava. Anyone that saw them could see that. Only when they were around each other it felt like a glacier was in the room between them.

Logan barking at anyone in charge. Pushing, pulling, and prodding them as much as he possible can and still never back down.

Kurt wisecracks. Obviously he was the groups comedian, sort of like Xander. Only the blue furred mutant was also a smooth, suave, and flamboyant showman. Something Xander could never be.

Rogue was an enigma. Covered nearly head to toe, for everyone's safety. Knowing she can never touch anyone she still flirts with everyone. A gentle heart that she protects with a hard shell of indifference.

Kitty reminds her of Dawn a little. Or maybe that was what she hopes Dawn would grow into when she got older. Smart, strong, confident in herself. Odd since Dawn was actually the older of the two of them. As long as you go by Dawn's physical appearance and not the moment of her creation two and a half years ago.

Rahne just reminds her so much of Tara, not physically. The two couldn't be more different in that department. But their make-up; gentle, caring, compassionate, not a mean bone in her entire body, and always thinking of others. It was almost painful being around the young girl.

Amanda was almost exactly what the doctor ordered. Not nearly as powerful as Willow, but sure and confident in her abilities without coming across as arrogant. Maybe with a little luck she would be able to restore her friend's confidence after the fiasco with the locating spell Willow tried. Or maybe build it back up.

Seeing Willow so unsure, almost afraid of herself was tearing her up inside. She needs to be cautious of her power, of what she can do with it. Not so terrified she's a detriment instead of an asset.

That's just playing into the First's plans for them.

And Illyana.

The girl is just evil, rotten to her core. No ends, ifs, or buts about it. Being around the girl made her skin crawl.

The only other time she had felt anything so strongly was around the Mayor. A human being towards the finally stages of an Ascension.

Only Illyana is a fourteen year old child.

Absently Buffy wonders what could have possibly happened to the girl to make her feel like that. She suspects it must have been something extremely traumatic. Life altering.

The Mayor had been a century old, if not older. He had sold his soul, plus who knows what else.

Even with as evil as Illyana feels she didn't seem like the kind of person who would up and sell their soul on a whim.

Buffy gives her head a slight shake pulling herself out of her reverie and back to the problem at hand. She actually felt a little better about herself as she comes to realize one simple thing.

The X-Men might be heroes, but the people were just that. People. Individuals. Each with their own quirks and personalities that make them unique.

With a final, hesitant step Fred stops just outside the room Lorne had put Peter and Rachel in. Lorne had spent the last ten minutes filling her in on everything that happened after her fight with Charles. Lifting her left hand, her right hand holding the forgotten portable phone, she taps lightly on the wooden door.

If who was on the other side of the door that Lorne claimed was on the other side it could prove or disprove countless theories about traveling, not just the temporal stream, but the spatial boundaries as well. Crossing hundreds if not thousands of different realities. Maybe even slipping from one universe into another.

The door swings open slowly just as she was contemplating knocking again. A large body nearly as broad through the shoulders as the doorway is wide and not very much shorter then the seven foot high frame.

Fred looks up and up until her eyes finally reach the rugged, square jaw face with the smooth cheeks and the sad brown eyes. "Hi," she chirps excitedly. "Peter right?"

"Da," Peter says with a slight nod.

"Oh wow," she gushes. "This is like... This is like the most amazingly, incredible thing that's ever happened to me, well aside from the whole being rescued from this rather lovely little hell dimension I was stuck in for a few years. But this is right next to that," she finishes softly under the large man's impeccable gaze. "And I bet you're wondering just what it is that I'm doing up here talking your ear off?"

Peter nods saying, "da. It has crossed my mind," he adds stepping back and pulling the door all the way open. Fred is slightly amazed by how smoothly he moves for someone so big. "Please, come inside."

Fred smiles as she steps across the threshold. "You know you should be careful about who you invite inside," she says as an after thought while turning to face him.

"Vampires," he replies swinging the door close.

"Oh," Fred gasps remembering the phone in her hand. "I forgot," she says holding the phone out to him. "Its for you."

"Thank you," Peter responds taking the phone.

"Welcome," Fred returns with a nervous little curtsy.

"Hello," Peter says into the phone as Fred moves away to give him a little privacy.

"Hello little brother," Ororo's voice greets him from out of the phone.

A smile blooms on his face. "Ororo," he exclaims softly. "Are you well? Are any of the others with you?" A questioning frown slips over his lips as he asks, "how did you know where to find me?"

Fred smiles at the rapid burst of questions as she takes a slow, meandering stroll through the room. Lying on the bed, her body covered with a light quilt that is tucked up under her chin, was the young woman Rachel Summers. She looks so peaceful just laying there.

"Amanda did a scrying. As our luck would have it the young lady we are staying with has had dealings with Angel in the past. Allowing us to get in touch with you right away," Ororo explains.

"And everyone else, Illyana? Katya?"

"Everyone is fine," she replies in a gentle voice. "How is Rachel?"

Peter looks towards the bed. "Exhausted. She spent most of her energy diverting Belosco's attack..."

"Belosco," Ororo snarls.

Peter frowns, a slight down turning of his lips as he turns back away from the bed. A few quick strides puts him near the window. "You did not know?"

"We have been trying to figure out how we arrived here, what could have happened to shoot us so far from are original destination, without any success. This explains much," she finishes thoughtfully.

Fred looks down at the round back chair Peter must have been sitting in when she knocked on the door. Resting on the scarlet velvet is one of Angel's sketch pads along with several pencils. Some sharpened to fine points while other's had rounded heads from use.

Out of curiosity she reaches down and picks up the pencils and pad. It was easy for her to identify what Peter was beginning to sketch despite the fact he's barely begun. Even with it being nothing more then a few scratches on a piece of paper she can clearly start to see depth and pick out a few details of the bed Rachel is in. Peter was obviously a very skilled artist. Maybe even as good as Angel.

She flips the last page back up to the top and gasps softly. Her eyes go wide as she looks down upon what is quite possible the most terrifying thing she has ever seen. It was one thing to hear Lorne's description of the Beast it was quite another to see it first hand. Even if only in a drawing.

It was a rough sketch thankfully. She didn't know if was Peter's work or Angel's, but whichever one drew it captured the Beast's hate and loathing of humanity perfectly. The creature's eyes express his desire to indiscriminately kill everything he comes across.

"Da," Peter says answering Ororo's question as he glances back at the young girl who had brought him the phone. She was looking at the sketch pad he had borrowed from Angel. If he wasn't mistaken she is looking at the hasty rendition he had done of the Beast.

He hadn't wanted to forget the vile demon so he had jotted the picture down as quickly as possible while waiting for Lorne to ready this room. He was planning on making a better, more realistic portrait of the creature while Angel tried to locate his fellow X-Men.

If time permitted.

There were many sketches he had done over the years that he wants to paint but time was always against him. There was never enough of it.

"Do you need me in Sunnydale right away?"

"Your presence would be a great comfort little brother, but I do not wish to move Rachel in her present condition. There is an Entity, an evil that permeates this entire town. Illyana has faced it once already and managed to strike a blow it will not soon forget..."

"Or forgive," Peter adds a harsh edge to his tone.

"Or forgive," she confirms. Several moments drag by slowly as the meaning sinks in. Another powerful enemy gunning for their scalps. As if they need any more. "I think we should keep Rachel where she is for time being. Possibly until she is back in top shape. According to the experts here this being is an expert at manipulating and controlling those with deep seeded, buried, or repressed guilt."

"Like Rachel surviving and escaping while all her friends and family died in a future that may yet be our own," he says understanding Ororo's meaning.

"Exactly," she responds.

Peter nods a little. The X-Men always take care of their own no matter what. "With the Beast here I cannot leave either," he adds understanding her silent request.

"Hopefully, now that we have a point to start with we will be able to discover a way home before too long. In the mean time give Angel whatever add he requires in destroying the demon," Ororo suggest to him, but may as well have ordered.

"Let everyone know I am thinking of them," Peter says a little hesitantly having never been comfortable discussing his feelings. After a short pause he adds, "and be sure to give Illyana my love." He wants more then anything to add Katya as well but it would not be proper after their breakup.

"I will little brother. Our prayers are with you and Rachel both," she replies. "I will check in with you tomorrow. Around twelve o'clock."

"I'll talk with you tomorrow then," Peter agrees. After a slight pause he takes the phone away from his ear and hangs up. One worry off his mind but others ready to take its place. Turning, his gaze falls on the brunette that was still studying his sketch. He clears his throat slightly as he moves back across the room.

Fred gives a small start at the noise. "Sorry," She apologizes. "I was just... I mean I wasn't trying to be nosey or anything. I just saw the sketchbook sitting there on the chair open and all and I just sort of couldn't help myself and take one little peek. Its really good," she finishes honestly.

Peter waves off the praise. "It was done in haste. Something to capture the moment while it was fresh, before I lost the feeling. When I have time I will sit down with canvass, paints, and brushes." He gives a little shrug. "Maybe it will even be good."

"Are you kidding? If you paint even half as good as you sketch it'll be a masterpiece," Fred assures him. With a little grin she adds, "I can't draw much more then a stick figure myself."

"Thank you," Peter says deciding to let the subject drop sensing the girl was very good at getting what she wants. Holding out his hand to her Fred hands back over the pad and the pencils. Flipping to a fresh page he moves back to the chair and sits down. With a quick glance up at Fred he sets pencil to paper saying, "you said you wished to talk with me?"

"Last year wasn't too bad. It started off pretty good, the bank job, the museum job. Both of them went off without a hitch. Well there was the part when the M'Fashnik demon threatened to kill us, but Warren took care of that... I wonder what ever did happen to him anyway?" Andrew mumbles to himself thoughtfully as he shifts uncomfortable in his chair.

"I'm not sure I really believe Warrens whole Jedi mind trick, but wouldn't it have been so cool if it was true. Imagine if we had the force on our side, what we could've done. Sunnydale would've been ours.

"Not even the slayer would have been able to stand up against three Jedi Masters. She would have fallen before us, drawn to our dark power. She would have knelt at our feet. The entire world would have bowed down before our combined might."

Logan leans back against the wall in front of the boy. Andrew's eyes had been closed since before he had entered the room. With his enhanced senses he has been forced to listen to the boy's insistently constant drivel.

That was about to change. Logan had other plans for the ultimate geek. He pulls a cigar from the breast pocket of his borrowed shirt. Striking a match he watches Andrew's eyes snap open. Then widen to the size of teacups while he stares at him. Logan puffs away, white plums of smoke filling the air as he makes sure to get a good spark going.

"This can't be... You're not... I must be..." Andrew fumbles unable to form a complete sentence as his mind moves to fast. Racing with all sorts of inane explanations.

"You know who I am bub?" Logan demands menacingly as he leans forward.

Andrew shakes his head. "It can't be," he denies. "Somebody's playing a practical joke. Or I must've fallen asleep and I'm dreaming."

Logan's claws pop out with their distinctive scraping sound. "Wanna find out if you're dreaming boy? It'll only hurt for a second." If possible Andrew's eyes grow even wider then they had been. A hopeful light gleaming in Logan's eyes. A slight whimper escapes past Andrew's lips as he shakes his head no. Logan's half smile fades as his claws slide back home. "Now, you know who I am bub?"

"Logan AKA Wolverine AKA Weapon X AKA Patch," Andrew manages to say without stumbling as he continues to stare at Logan. "What... What are you going to do to me?" Andrew whines.

"First," Logan starts off with a cruel smile hooking his lips. Suddenly both sets of claws shoot out with a double snkt.

Andrew tries to snap his eyes shut as Logan springs forward, but they're held wide with fear and terror and a horrible fascination.

Logan strikes true. His claws shredding the ropes with ease. "Is getting you out of those. Next we're going to have a little talk about how you're going to repay me for setting you free."

"You're," Andrew starts but the word comes out sounding like a dry croak. Working a little moisture back into his mouth he tries again. "You're not working for the First because I've kind of given up the whole super villain gig. It wasn't really working out for me."

Logan ignores the question. Instead he says, "there's a man working in the basement..."

"And you want me to kill him," Andrew cuts in with a little shudder. "I don't think I can do it. I mean last time I couldn't even kill one little pig. He just kind of stared up at me with those big pig eyes and I couldn't do it. He doesn't have pig eyes does he, because maybe..."

Logan growls softly stopping Andrew mid stream. "If I want the man dead he'd be dead."

Andrew nods his head nervously. "Right, of course. You're Logan, Wolverine. Why would you need me to kill someone for you?" He finishes with a nervous little chuckle. Glancing up at the short man looming over him he asks, "so what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to annoy him. All you have to do is what you've been doing. Talking," Logan states simply.

Andrew lets out a relieved sigh. "I can do that. I've had total and complete strangers walk up to me on the street to tell me that I annoy them just by being there."

Logan looks down at him and mumbles, "for some reason I'm not all that surprised."

"What if he tells me to leave?" Andrew asks quickly as Logan moves back.

Logan takes a long pull from his cigar. Exhaling he causes a large cloud to form over his head. He looks at Andrew with hard glare eyes. "I'm telling you not to."

Andrew swallows giving Logan a sharp jerk of his head. He grunts sourly before walking out of the room. Andrew swallows again coming to the realization that there was one person he did not want angry with him. Anymore then he wants Buffy, Spike, or Willow angry with him.

Using her hip Buffy gently closes the door to her bedroom. In her hands she carries a serving tray loaded down with various things. A piping hot mug of blood, O positive. Spike's favorite. Strange how she could still remember that after nearly three years. There are also a lot of condiments, things she has heard Spike mention he likes mixing in with his blood to give it some texture.

Normally he would be drinking the standard pigs blood, but with the severity of the injuries he's suffered over the past couple days at the hands of the First and its henchmen.

With how he is now he isn't going to be any good to anybody.

They need him on his feet as quickly as possible. That meant human blood. Which meant a raid on Sunnydale General Hospital since she knew, without even having to ask, what everyone's response would have been if she asked for blood donations.

It will help him heal two maybe three times faster. That was all she cares about right now.

Downstairs was a mad house. With thirteen more people needing a place to stay. All of them arriving at nearly the same time. She had no clue where to put them all.

The girls, the three potential slayers plus the three mutants and her sister seem to be intent on having a slumber party in the living room with what might possibly be Xander's entire comic book collection downstairs. Buffy didn't know just how much sleep the girls were going to get. She didn't really care either so long as they were all bright eye and bushy tail for their morning workout.

Dawn had volunteered her room to Kurt and Amanda. Possibly with the hope of something sexy happening in her room. Her sister was going to disappointed if that was the case. The lovers had already assured her nothing untoward was going to happen. That they would treat the room with the utmost decorum.

Ororo and Rogue, someone had made the mistake of calling her Marie downstairs. It had been a tense couple of moments before the young woman left the room without a word. The two of them along with Anya were bunking with Willow.

Buffy figures Forge is probably going to sleep on the cot in the basement. She has no idea, nor does she care overly much, where Logan is going to sleep. If possible the man was an even bigger, more annoying pain in the ass then what even Spike ever thought of, or was capable of being.

Looking at the blonde hair vampire resting peacefully in her bed a wisp of a smile floats across her lips. She knows she is love with him. She could admit it in her mind even if she could never allow the words to pass her lips.

True with his soul she feels he is capable of loving her. She had been close to believing him last year without the soul.

Only Angel had already shown her what type of love a soulless demon is capable of.

She couldn't, she wouldn't put her friends, her sister, or herself through that again.

It didn't mean that they couldn't be friends. As long as that was as far as it went, that it was as far as she allowed it to go. Then there wasn't a thing anyone could say to her.

If that meant she had to nurse him back to health with her own two hands then so be it. She would do the same thing for any of her friends.

Setting the tray down on her dresser she makes her back to the bed. Placing her hand on his forehead she smiles as she murmurs, "still room temperature."

Spike's eyes flutter open at her touch. Her smile widens fractionally while the rest of her face brightens noticeably. "Hey," she greets him warmly.

"What're you doing?" Spike more groans then asks.

"Taking care of you," she answers a little nervously.

Spike looks back up at her with skepticism in his eyes. "Shouldn't that involve dumping me back down in the basement with my shackles? Or maybe a more permanent solution," he suggest with meaning.

Buffy's eyes blanch slightly as her face pales.

"As long as that trigger is in my head I'm a danger to everyone here," he adds.

"I don't kill the people I..." She stops as her brain freezes.

Spike takes the break as an excuse to continue speaking. "Sent Angel to hell didn't you?" He asks reminding her of a time she would much rather forget.

"Had the world hanging in the balance," she replies sitting on the edge of the bed. Without any real thought or motivation beyond a subconscious need to be in physical contact with Spike she takes hold of his hand. "Kind of an easy choice there. Angel the world. Hmm, which am I going to condemn to hell?" She mocks asking him.

"Easy choice here as well pet," his voice a hushed whisper.

Buffy shakes her head defiantly. "Once we get you back on your feet then we can get that trigger out of your head," she tells him.

Spike gives her a weak shake of his head as he says, "I get back on my feet I'm going to be an even greater danger to everyone."

She gives his hand a hard squeeze causing him to flinch slightly with the pain. "You're not going to hurt anyone. I won't let you. And nobody is going to kill you, yourself included. I won't them," she vows in a hard, deathly soft voice that brings the conversation to an end.

Cordelia holds her hand up level with her shoulder keeping the glowing sphere of light held high to illuminate the dank tunnels she is currently dredging her way through. She wishes there is an easier way to get where she needs to go. Just like she wishes she couldn't see some of the things that squish under her feet.

Not because they were too disgusting for her to stomach seeing, but because she could see what they were doing to her boots. She was never going to be able to wear the soft black leather footgear again no matter how she scoured to get them clean.

Her own dark dreams made what she saw in these vast and ancient tunnels seem like roses and lily pads lining the banks of a clear slow moving stream, that churns lazily over smooth river rocks on a cloudless, pleasantly warm spring day.

She had sent her beautiful boy out to begin the next phase of her plan. If the Rain of Fire was a wash out she was going to get her eternal night even if she had to wipe out half the world to do it.

It shouldn't take long. A day or two to gather all the necessary ingredients, plus cause enough mindless mayhem and destruction to keep the big brains at Angel Investigation, Wolfram and Hart, and all the other agencies out there guessing what was going to happen next.

The only organization she had really had to worry about divining her true plans has already been eliminated, destroyed by her ancient rival.

The First Evil.

What a quaint little name these humans had given it.

They were older then any concept of good and evil. They predated thought itself. Self awareness came with the birth of the universe.

They had played this same game on countless worlds. Following rules as old as they are. Rules so ancient they are all but forgotten in the darkest recesses of their minds, but graven so deeply in what they are they follow them without conscious thought.

Sometimes she wins.

Sometimes her rival wins.

To the worlds they play on it doesn't really matter. In the end the results are nearly the same.

But now she had a pair of interlopers to deal with. Beings with enough power they could throw a serious monkey wrench in her plans if given the chance.

She has no desire to give them that chance.

The tunnel comes to an abrupt end. The rough hewn rock with deep pits in its surface baring anyone from going any further. The light vanishes bathing everything in blackness darker then deepest void of space.

She holds her hand out, her palm pressing on the callused stone. She speaks one word. An ancient word from the first language. A word of pure power none living know.

The wall before her vanishes revealing a narrow passage through the rock walls. A soft bluish white light washes over everything.

Once she was done with them they wouldn't be much of a problem at all. Sleeping Beauty would continue to sleep, and her protector... Soon that was going to be the only thing on his mind.

And sometime over the next two days she was going to have to find some way of tripping Connor into her bed. His bed actually. Any bed would do.

It wasn't necessary for Angel to see the event. That just would have been the coup de grâce. But a vampire's senses being what they are after all. She was more then positive Angel would figure it out on his own.

With that last thought she steps through the opening in the rock and into the soft light leaving this world behind and entering a realm as old as the universe itself.

Her true home.

________________________________________________________________________

Synchronicity - The Police

With one breath, with one flow
You will know
Synchronicity

A sleep trance, a dream dance
A shared romance
Synchronicity

A connecting principle
Linked to the invisible
Almost imperceptible
Something inexpressible
Science insusceptible
Logic so inflexible
Causally connectible
Yet nothing is invincible

If we share this nightmare
Then we can dream
Spiritus mundi

If you act, as you think
The missing link
Synchronicity

A connecting principle
Linked to the invisible
Almost imperceptible
Something inexpressible
Science insusceptible
Logic so inflexible
Causally connectible
Yet nothing is invincible

We know you, they know me
Extrasensory
Synchronicity

A star fall, a phone call
It joins all
Synchronicity

A connecting principle
Linked to the invisible
Almost imperceptible
Something inexpressible
Science insusceptible
Logic so inflexible
Causally connectible
Yet nothing is invincible

It's so deep, it's so wide
Your inside
Synchronicity

Effect without a cause
Sub-atomic laws, scientific pause
Synchronicity......