“You wouldn’t want her to leave without saying good-bye,” Nate teased.
Pigeon blushed and looked away.
“Pigeon, don’t you think having a thing for her is a little twisted?” Trevor said. “After all, she tried to kill us.”
“Not kill us,” Pigeon corrected. “She was mainly just trying to turn us into mindless slaves. And it wasn’t her, not really. Belinda is gone. Linda is a new person.”
“I think he’s into the eye patch,” Summer said.
“It matches his leather jacket,” Nate observed.
“The patch is sort of cute,” Pigeon mumbled.
“I want to be best man at the wedding,” Trevor joked.
“You’ll have to ask John’s permission,” Summer said. “He already treats her like a daughter.”
There came a heavy knock at the door.
“Speak of the devil and he appears,” the coyote exclaimed.
Pigeon crossed the room to answer the door, but it opened before he arrived. Linda entered, wearing a black eye patch, followed by John, who held a plate stacked with miniature quiches.
“Hey, guys,” Linda said with a small wave. They had all hung out a few times since she had lost her memory. Sweet, friendly, and a little shy, Linda had offered no hint of recalling her former identity.
“Hi, Linda,” Pigeon stammered.
She beamed at him.
“No dip left?” John complained.
“I have some in the cupboard,” the coyote said.
“I’ll help you grab it,” Trevor offered, walking out of the room.
“I brought little quiches,” John said, setting the plate on the coffee table.
“What are quiches?” Nate asked.
“You’ll like them,” Summer said. “They’re soft. You can gum them.”
She was out of reach, so Nate stood up and shuffled toward her, brandishing his cane. Laughing, she ran away from him. “Come back here, you whippersnapper!” Nate called in his most cantankerous voice.
Summer cowered behind John. “Can’t you shoot him or something?”
“You’re on your own,” John said, raising both hands and backing away. Summer shrieked as Nate swatted her leg with his cane.
Trevor and the coyote returned with a can of bean dip. “What happened this time?” Trevor asked, popping the tab on the bean dip and tearing off the lid.
“She said I have to gum my food,” Nate huffed, panting.
“Don’t worry, Nate,” John said. “I’ll have you chewing like a pro again before you know it.”
“Did you bring him?” Kyle asked.
John reached into a bag and pulled out some tortilla chips. He scooped up some of the pasty brown bean dip and put the chips in his mouth. “I just got off the phone with him,” John said around the crunchy mouthful. “He’ll be here any minute. Nate is a lucky boy. Mozag does not normally make house calls. He was impressed by my report, and wanted to see personally to Nate’s well-being. No offense, Kyle, but he’s not here for you. You and Eric will have to journey with me to the lair where the Council meets.”
“Why not fix me while he’s here?”
“The Council wants you and Eric to account for your actions before offering any assistance,” John explained. “They’ll make Sebastian explain his role in all of this as well. I’m confident they’ll restore all of you in the end, though I imagine they’ll have a punishment in mind for you and Eric.”
“Punishment?” Kyle blurted.
John shrugged. “Nothing compared to losing the best years of your life, I assure you.”
“Where does the Council meet?” Kyle asked.
“Ohio.”
“You prepared the vehicle so I can ride in it?” the coyote asked.
“It will serve as a temporary lair,” John said, snatching more chips. “Should be quite a road trip. Two eighty-year-old kids, a little girl with amnesia, and a talking coyote.”
“I want to come,” Pigeon said.
“Who would you sit by?” Trevor asked innocently.
Pigeon blushed vividly.
“After this, I’ll be able to add some new items to my resume,” John mused. “Geriatric nurse, baby-sitter, and zookeeper. Oh, and antiques dealer—I think I found a buyer for the goblet.”
“I actually wouldn’t mind coming with you also,” Trevor said. “My folks have been in a nasty mood all week, arguing and shouting. Mom sent me to bed without dinner for flipping through the channels too quickly. Dad grounded me from riding my bike for sprinkling too much food in the fish tank!”
“My dad sleeps all the time,” Summer said. “He quit shaving and showering. He’s called into work twice already so he can mope around the house in his pajamas. He’s never acted so depressed.”
“My mom has been eating nonstop,” Pigeon said. “Lately she’s been downing brownie batter and milkshakes. And she’s more overprotective than ever. Technically I’m never supposed to see you guys again. Right now she thinks I’m studying at the library.”
“Everybody deals with white fudge withdrawal differently,” the coyote said. “It will pass in another week or so.”
“See, Nate,” John said. “At least you haven’t had cranky parents to contend with.”
“They think I’m missing,” Nate said.
“They contacted the police last week, once the fudge started wearing off,” John acknowledged. “But you can hardly visit them in your current state. We’ll have you back to normal shortly, and then you can enjoy a happy reunion.”
There came a knock at the door. John bounded over and pulled it open. A short old man with bushy white sideburns and a stained Chicago Cubs cap entered holding a platter of sardines. “Sorry I’m late, I’m no good with directions.”
“We’re honored by your presence, Mozag,” John said solemnly.
Mozag waved him away. “Where’s our young hero?”
John gestured at Nate.
“Not so young anymore,” Nate said.
Mozag squinted at him, deep crow’s-feet spreading from the corners of his eyes. “You aren’t nearly as old as you appear. The application of the artificial years was even sloppier than I expected. This treatment will do wonders.”
Nate gave him an incredulous look. “Sardines?”
“Excuse me?” Mozag asked. Then he glanced down at the platter in his hands. “Oh, no, these are for the others. And you as well. And me. Hard to call it a party without sardines.”