Crone's Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation (16 page)

I shot her a glance and frowned. I knew
she was just being concerned, but at the moment, I needed someone
on
my
side not Felicity’s.
Fortunately, RJ was staying out of the way in the kitchen with the
twins, Shari and Jennifer, who had arrived with Felicity’s Jeep
somewhere in the middle of all this. I’m sure they were hearing the
whole story from beginning to end.

Still, if there was a silver lining to the
situation at all, at least the seizures were happening to me again
instead of Felicity. For that, I was thankful. It also didn’t hurt
that I was now back on the side of the fence I was used to
occupying. For all its pressures and pitfalls, it was still a path
I had grown accustomed to walking.

“Look, Felicity, I…” I continued.

“What if I tell you to take him?” Agent
Mandalay took her turn at interrupting even though her question was
directed at the paramedic. She had already flashed her badge and
federal ID when she arrived on the scene moments behind the
paramedics, so it was no secret that she was an FBI special
agent.

“Is he in your custody?” she asked.

“He can be if that’s what it takes,”
Constance replied.

“Constance!” I appealed again, louder this
time. “Felicity! Both of you. All of you. Listen to me. I’m
fine.”

She turned to face me and shook her head as
she shot me a concerned look. “Rowan, what I walked into here a few
minutes ago doesn’t exactly inspire me to believe that.”

“You know what it was as well as I do,” I
told her, trying to skirt around specifics in the presence of the
paramedic. If I started talking about ethereal visions, then she
might very well change her assessment of me. I glanced over at my
wife and continued. “You too Felicity. Especially you. I don’t need
to go to the hospital.”

“Row,” Felicity replied. “Cally and I
performed CPR on you. I think I know what I’m talking about.”

I looked back at her with pleading eyes and
spoke in a deliberate tone. “You know what it was, Felicity.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“I am,” I stated, lacing my voice with all
the confidence I could muster. “And, I don’t need to go to the
hospital.” Once again I repeated a declaration I had already made
over a half-dozen times in the past fifteen minutes.

She stared at me for a moment as if visible
evidence that would dispute my claim would suddenly appear. As it
was not forthcoming, she finally turned her gaze away and closed
her eyes.

“What would you like to do?” The paramedic
asked, addressing Agent Mandalay. “Am I taking him or not?”

“It’s up to you, Felicity,” Constance told my
wife. “If you want him to go to the hospital, I’ll make it
happen.”

I didn’t say anything more. The two of them
had allied with one another almost as soon as Constance arrived.
Once that happened, my opinion became instantly moot. Arguing with
them had accomplished nothing so far, other than provide fuel for
my headache.

Felicity finally let out a heavy sigh, and
when she spoke, her normally lilting accent thickened, underscoring
her words with a serious edge. “No. If he’s wrong, I’ll just kill
him later, then.”

T
he shrieking whirr of the
blender was biting into my skull as Felicity repeatedly pulsed it
on and off. I rubbed my temples and watched on, as in a quick
motion, she popped off the lid and added yet another ingredient to
her homebrewed hangover remedy.

I slid my hand back around to the base of my
neck, brushing it gingerly against my flesh. It was still
throbbing, and I wondered if I must have hit something on my way
down when I blacked out earlier. What little memory I had of the
incident was all but completely out of focus, but I did seem to
recall falling forward, not backward. I pulled my hand away and
inspected it for blood but found none. Apparently, there was no
wound even though it felt like there should be. Whatever it was, I
just wished it would go away.

My friend groaned as he opened one eye and
looked at me. He was sitting at the breakfast nook, or to be
accurate, he was sprawled in a chair next to it. He had one elbow
planted against the tabletop, and the side of his face was pressed
into his loosely doubled fist.

I was sitting across from him, nursing a cup
of coffee and staying out of it. I’d been on the receiving end of
the Felicity hangover treatment before, and while it seemed to
work, I knew what was in it, and moreover, what it tasted like. I
didn’t envy him one bit.

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.

“What?” I asked.

“That’s what you said when you first came
to,” she replied with a dismissive shake of her head. “Brittany. No
head.”

The biting pain in the back of my neck
suddenly made all the sense in the world.

Just as it had happened with Felicity, the
vision had faded away as quickly as it had come, and I didn’t even
remember uttering the words. In the wake of everything that had
happened over the course of the evening, this was actually the
first time it had even been mentioned.

I wasn’t at all surprised that Felicity
didn’t understand what the comment meant because I hadn’t told her
what Ben had confided in me earlier in the day. But, I knew full
well what the words implied, and so did Ben and Constance.

My friend slowly moved his hand aside and
stared at me. I just stared back.

“You sure that’s what he said?” he finally
asked without turning.

“Positive,” she replied. “Do you know what it
means?”