Besides, I was too preoccupied to get involved. I was still busy wishing that the aspirin I had taken would actually do some good for my own headache. I knew they wouldn’t really, but if they worked their usual chemical magic, they would at least dull it a bit. Eventually.
Agent Mandalay was positioned diagonally across from Ben, standing with her back against the wall and watching him intently. We were down to just the four of us now, Cally and RJ having shuttled the twins back to Nancy’s house after helping us re-arrange the vehicles. It was a good bet that they shouldn’t be present for what was about to transpire, so we had ushered them out as graciously as we could under the circumstances. Still, we had to promise to give them an update as soon as we knew anything.
“Yo, Kemosabe,” Ben eventually croaked, barely loud enough to be heard over the whining blades.
“Yeah?”
“Why you got a freakin’ potato in a shoebox?”
I hadn’t paid much attention to it, but the physical remnants of Felicity’s recently dissolved binding were still adorning the table.
“Leftovers from a spell,” I replied.
“What kinda spell? Potato salad or French fries?” he chortled.
“A binding actually.”
“Binding. You mean like yer shorts?” He found himself amusing again.
“It’s like a magickal version of a restraining order,” I offered without acknowledging his attempt at humor. “Basically, it’s supposed to keep an individual from doing or saying whatever it is the spell is directed toward.”
“‘Zit work?”
“Depends,” I replied, avoiding the recent details. “Sometimes they backfire.”
“Then you make potato salad, right?” he chuckled.
“Yeah, Ben. Whatever.”
The pulsing whine of the blender’s motor came to a halt, and I looked up to see Felicity pouring a healthy measure of dangerous looking liquid into a glass. In a quick flourish, my wife settled the pitcher back onto the base and quickly dropped the lid onto it before stepping over to the table.
“Drink it,” she demanded, planting the full glass in front of Ben. “All of it.”
“What is it?” Ben muttered as he turned and gave the glass a one-eyed stare.
“It’s an old family hangover remedy,” she replied. “Just drink it.”
“I’m drunk,” he mumbled. “I’m not hung over.”
“You’re both,” she told him. “But you won’t be either one after you drink this.”
He turned his head farther, and I could tell he was trying to focus on the collection of bottles, cans, and cartons my wife had lined up on the counter during the preparation. He finally gave up and rolled his head back forward.
“What’s in it?” he asked, his voice still a gravelly rasp.
“Never you mind what’s in it. Just drink.”
“No thanks.” He closed his eye and slumped down even farther.
“It works, Ben,” I offered.
“Mebbe so, but I’ll pass.”
Felicity pushed the glass closer to him then gave his shoulder a light slap with the back of her hand as she adopted an even more stern tone. “Aye, drink it or I’ll be sitting on your chest and pouring it down your damn throat.”
“I don’t think she’s bluffing, Storm,” Agent Mandalay offered from her vantage point.
“Yeah, well ah’m fuckin’ bigger’n she is,” he told her.
“Maybe, but I think she’s meaner,” Constance returned. “And besides, I’ve got a pair of handcuffs she’s welcome to use.”
Ben opened a single eye again, then both. After a moment, he dropped his hand down and pushed himself back up in the seat. He wasn’t fully upright, but he was moving in the right direction at least. He wrapped his large hand around the glass and lifted it, inspecting the contents with bleary eyes.
“Bitch,” he muttered.
“Which one?” Constance asked with a thin smile.
He looked at her and then cast a wobbly glance up at Felicity who was still standing over him.
“Both of ya’,” he replied.
“We love you too,” Felicity replied sweetly. “Now drink.”
He lifted the glass up to his face and peered into it with one eye then passed it under his nose. He wrinkled his forehead and then put the glass back down as he announced, “Smells like shit.”
“Constance,” Felicity said.
“Storm,” Mandalay returned amid the metallic clink of her handcuffs slipping out of their case.
“All right, all right,” he returned, then picked up the concoction again.
“Just hold your nose,” I offered the bit of advice. “And drink it as fast as you can.”
“Yeah, right,” he sneered back at me, then put the glass to his lips and tossed it back.
Halfway through the first gulp he started to grimace. As the glass started back down, Felicity quickly placed her fingers against its base and forced it back up. He gagged for a moment then swallowed hard and finished the drink.
My wife wrapped her hand around the bottom of the glass then deftly took it from him as he pitched his head back forward and began to sputter.
“JEEZUS! Fuck me!” he exclaimed, waving his hands in the air and working his mouth in an attempt to evict the lingering flavor. “What the hell is that shit? It tastes like somethin’ died!”
“It’s not that bad, then. It’s just egg yolk, tomato juice, brewers yeast, Tabasco, vinegar, salt and a few other things,” Felicity returned. “Oh, and a couple of anchovies. Mustn’t forget those.”
“Jeez…” he continued, face screwed up in disgust. “Fuckin’ hairy fish?”
“Fish don’t have hair, Ben,” I told him.
“Bullshit. Anchovies got hair.”
“Those are small bones.”
“You call it bones, I call it hair. What’re ya’ tryin’ ta’ do, Felicity? Kill me?”
She ignored the question as she began disassembling the blender and washing the various parts in the sink.
“No,” Constance told him. “She’s trying to wake you up, so I can kill you.”
“Oh yeah? So what’d I do to you?” he grumbled.
“Briefing. Seven-thirty. Mandatory attendance,” she returned succinctly.
If the few hours of sleep combined with my wife’s home remedy hadn’t sobered him up yet, Mandalay’s words did so post haste. A pained look of realization washed over my friend’s features as he closed his eyes and dropped his forehead into his palm. “Oh jeezzzz… Fuck me…”
“Yeah, fuck you is right,” Constance agreed. “Look, Storm, I’m not even going to ask what your problem is. I don’t want to know. Rowan says you’ve got your reasons, and I’m willing to leave it at that.”
Ben shot me a startled glance from beneath his hand, and I just gave him a nod of reassurance as I mouthed the word ‘later.’
“Listen, Mandalay,” he groaned. “I’m sorry… I”
“That’s fine.” She held up her hand to stop him. “Like I said, I don’t want to know. I’ve already covered for you, and as far as I’m concerned this never happened. However, things have taken a turn, and I just need you to straighten up and get back on board here. Sooner, not later. As in right now.”
“Finally get a ransom demand?” he asked.
She clucked her tongue and took in a breath. “Not exactly.”
“What?” he asked, trepidation apparent in his voice.
“Rowan?” She turned the floor over to me.
Ben shot a glance over at Felicity then back to me. “You two go all Twilight Zone again?”
“Yeah,” I responded. “Unfortunately.”
“Aww, Jeezus…” he groaned. “Larson’s dead isn’t she?”
“If we’re right, yeah, she is.”
“Yeah, like you’ve been wrong about shit like that before,” he replied with a sarcastic note. “Dammit. When?”
“Our first inkling of it came just a little while after you crashed,” I told him. “So about three and a half, maybe four hours ago, I guess. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t actually happen earlier, or even yesterday.”
“I still don’t understand what you meant about ‘no head’ though,” Felicity said as she turned to face us and leaned back against the kitchen counter. She began absently drying the freshly washed blender parts as she looked at us.