Shell Bell conjures him a stack of those fifteen books, easy as pie. They appear on his desk. "There you go. I hope they help!"

"Immeasurably," he assures her.

"What sorta books did you pick out?" Juliet asks, peering over her shoulder instead of at the book she's currently notetaking from.

"Ones I wouldn't be able to get any other way, but that I know exist. and want to own. Not all of them are demonology; a few are about magic."

"Ooh." Pause. "It's possible I should have mentioned earlier that we think the reason I haven't gotten magic from here to work for me is that various demonic-and-or-divine entities cannot inspect the contents of my skull to figure out what I am trying to do."

"...Luckily, I don't think that will have too much impact on the usefulness of the selection."

"That's good! What kinda magic books?" inquires Juliet.

"Historical, theoretical, and one practical. Just one. But I think you might find the theoretical more interesting."

"More interesting, maybe. Not necessarily more so by enough to keep me away from the practical once you're out of stalling homework. I want to stretch my square supply and I don't care to base my entire fighting-the-forces-of-evil strategy on being able to punch holes through brick walls."

"I would say it's worked for hundreds of Slayers before you, but I can already imagine your reply," he sighs.

"It didn't work well enough for any of them to live past twenty-six," says Juliet.

"...Who told you that number?"

"Sherlock. Is it wrong?"

"No," he says, frowning. "But I want to know where he got it."

"It's possible to follow Sherlocky trails of evidence, but they're sometimes very lengthy and complicated," says Shell Bell. "Sherlocks are good at knowing things based on stuff everyone can see but doesn't put together right."

"I'm pretty sure he's still nocturnal, but come evening you could always brainphone him about it," shrugs Juliet.

"...I see," says Giles.

"Shell Bell would know, at least about Sherlocks in general. She can read her Sherlock's mind when they're in the same world," Juliet puts in. "Of course, twenty-six is specific enough that I'd bet someone just told him or something; he didn't say mid-twenties."

"And we are meant to live forever," says Shell Bell, "so mid-twenties is not going to cut it."

"Oh yeah. I am going to beat that record. I am going to beat that record so hard."

"I hope you do," Giles says sincerely. If uncomfortably.

"Something wrong?" Juliet asks him. "You don't think I ought to live forever or you just don't think I can?"

"If I had a better pain tolerance I could arrange it," volunteers Shell Bell, switching bent fingers. "She's not guaranteed to run into a better-equipped mint Bell, but it's pretty likely."

"I'm not planning to turn into a local sort of vampire," Juliet adds to Giles, "if that's what has you worried. Sherlock's an exceptional case and I have no reason to expect that my personality would survive the experience. It's possible I should've asked Golden to bite me, but I'm holding out for the option that doesn't have even her much more limited set of drawbacks."

"In this universe, the search for immortality has never led anyone anywhere good," he says. "And I have extensive sources to back that up. But clearly the rules are different for... you," with a gesture to Shell Bell and beyond.