"Much less."

"To be more exact, he has fewer prejudices about extradimensional witch alts than he does about local vampires," says Juliet. "I think that he could tell that you were there, and that was enough for him to tell that I could tell you were there, but he didn't know what you were, just that I was not alarmed - and there are more nasty things than benign things to explain any given weirdness, but benign explanations aren't as unheard of as nice vampires."

"As the lady says," Sherlock agrees.

"I wonder what it would look like if someone with a daemon was turned into the local vampire sort," muses Amariah. "Not enough to try it, not near enough, but I wonder."

"Yes, I advise you to continue wondering," says Sherlock.

"Believe me, even apart from my basic interest in preserving my personality, I'm especially sensitive to the possibility that it'd hurt Path," says Amariah soberly.

Juliet's heard this story - Amariah's been following her around all day, inaudible to everyone around them, she has all the highlights by now. She nods.

"I expect that it would," he says softly.

There's the crypt! Combat practice time. Juliet ramps up to two-minute sequences, bolstered by all her new blessings, but sometimes they don't last that long due to repeated enactments of Sherlock, Meet Wall, or sometimes Sherlock, Meet Floor With The Slayer Sitting On You Bending Your Arms In Ways They Are Not Supposed To Bend.

Amariah has nothing to contribute tonight; she works on movement-based spells, dancing around experimentally in another section of the crypt.

It is all great fun.

The next day, Amariah brings her "groceries" to school with Juliet, and after school they go to Mr. Giles's house - the modification Amariah invented to the notice-me-not applies to him as well as to Sherlock. She casts blessings and a slightly different combination of less compatible charms and, after he accepts with great trepidation, a line of protective tattoos on his previously unmarked arm.

It helps that he's seen her cast quite a lot by then. Her magic and the magic of this world are fundamentally unalike.

"You're all set," says Amariah. "Don't be reckless with these. They'd help if you got hit by a car or something, but you shouldn't go lie on the railroad tracks."

"I shouldn't? Gosh, thanks for warning me," says Juliet.

"Thank you," says Giles. "And I have no intention of putting myself in harm's way just because it's now slightly less likely to run me over."

"- Something just occurred to me," says Amariah. "On my world, you'd want those tattoos visible, because people are less likely to attack someone a witch has decided to protect, and because a lot of people, even humans, are magically sensitive enough to tell they're there even if they're not in a visible location. But here, those advantages don't really exist. I can hide them, if you want. Though I personally think the bayleaf one and the sun-shaped one are both very decorative."

"...I'm not sure."

"Can you hide mine? I wasn't really getting them for cosmetic reasons. ...I don't have to take my shirt off, do I?"

"Nah, although the -" She addresses her cornucopia. "White vinegar and honey!" - she speaks normally again - "will need to soak through your shirt if you're going to leave it on. They'll disappear after, though, so you don't have to worry about laundry and Mr. Giles should not complain if you lie down on his carpet."

Juliet lies down on his carpet. "Does this part hurt too?"

"Nope," says Amariah, pouring the vinegar and then the honey across Juliet's shoulders. "Hide my marks / conceal them all / make unseen / all my workings," she intones. The liquids vanish.

"...Could you hide everything after the bayleaf?" asks Mr. Giles.

"If I edit the verse. You like the bayleaf?"

"I do," he says, twisting his arm forward to look at it.