Chapter 6: Shelf Life
I had a very bad time with acid. I did that classic thing of looking in the mirror by mistake and seeing the devil. - Robbie Coltrane
It was still dark when Devishi awoke. There was moonlight filtering through the heavily etched glass of the skylight, painting barred shadows on the floor. She tossed and turned a few times, trying to go back to sleep, but soon gave it up. She supposed her internal clock was still screwed up. Sleep out of the question, she settled for a shower. The minuscule bathroom didn't have a proper shower stall; instead, the concrete floor of the whole room sloped gently to a drain in the center. A plastic curtain hung from a rail attached to the ceiling, cutting the room in half when closed with the shower head on one side and the toilet and sink on the other. It was a rough-and-ready setup, but it worked.
Rising from the bed, Devi noticed something on the chair. Upon examination, she found a basket of toiletries, including a bar of sandalwood soap, shampoo, conditioner, and a toothbrush and toothpaste. Devi frowned, examining the shampoo bottle – it was fairly good quality. Perhaps this was intended as a "reward" for finding the Prophet. She shrugged, and took the basket into the bathroom with her, deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The water pressure in the shower was fitful, coming in stuttering bursts. Devi wasn't sure how much hot water she would have, and in anticipation of running out, she turned it off to lather up. It was a trick she'd learned growing up in a household of six with only one water heater, a necessity especially if she needed to wash her hair. Turning the water back on to rinse, she stretched under the warm stream, trying fruitlessly to ease the tension in her shoulders. Free of suds, she started combing the conditioner through her thick locks with her fingers, tugging gently at the tangles. With no means to tame it, the natural wave in her hair had reasserted itself, resulting in some truly epic frizz. She wished Crowley had thought to include a brush in his little gift-basket.
She lingered as she rinsed off for a second time, savoring the feel of flowing water. How long had it been since she'd had a swim, three weeks? Long, hot showers were soothing, but didn't come close to the moving meditation of gliding weightlessly through water. She longed for the feel of it flowing over her as she moved in the closest facsimile of flight the unaided body could accomplish. The sea was the best. It was enormous and strong and terrifyingly alive, and it was wonderful. Pools were an acceptable substitute, but she always looked forward to the first day of the year the ocean was above 70°, being embraced by the extra buoyancy of salt water that seemed to foster her speed. Diving down, there was the knife-edge severance of sound above to the thick, distant rhythm of waves, a different language for a different world.
Feeling the shower-water flag in temperature, she sighed and released her daydreams. She picked up the towel she'd placed on the toilet seat, in lieu of a towel rack, and wrapped herself in the threadbare terrycloth. She stayed behind the curtain as she dried off, prolonging the moment she had to release the warm steam. Wrapping the towel around her hair, she dressed in the tiny room; so far, no one had knocked before entering her room, and she didn't expect such consideration to develop anytime soon. She put on a fresh set of scrubs, one of three she had now. Sitting down on the bed and wrapping one of the blankets around her shoulders against the chill, she began combing her fingers through her damp hair as it dried. She glanced up at the skylight, noting the darkness outside had taken on a faint gray tint, suggesting dawn was about an hour away. She wished the glass was clear enough to see stars.
She heard swift, businesslike steps on the metal stairs outside a moment before Crowley's assistant came through the door (without knocking, Devi noticed). The woman snapped her fingers at Devi, and gestured impatiently for her to come. Devi gritted her teeth; few things raised her hackles at work so much as when customers snapped or whistled at for attention, and being "summoned" by a demon hardly made it better.
"What?" she snapped at the suited woman.
"Mr. Crowley requires you," the woman said coldly, stepping towards the bed. Devi rose with ill grace, reluctantly putting her bare feet on the concrete floor and shrugging off the blanket. She didn't want to go, but if go she must, she preferred it be on her own rather than being "fetched." The woman sneered, turned on her heel, and set a quick pace from the room. Devi trotted behind her on the now-familiar route to Crowley's office.
They entered the room to find Crowley pacing behind his desk. He was livid. Devi felt a knot form in her stomach – something had clearly gone wrong. Crowley glowered at her with an expression of cold fury.
"He wasn't there," she said numbly, sinking into one of the chairs in front of the desk.
That gave Crowley pause. It seemed as though he'd intended to say something, thought better of it, and began again from a different angle.
"Just missed him, regrettably," he said, "but we have his scent now." He leaned over the desk, resting on his palms, "Not to worry, pet, we'll get him next time."
"Next time, right," Devi said, pinching the bridge of her nose, "I thought..." She trailed off, hunching in her seat. Stupid, she chided herself, You knew better than to think it would just be over. Maybe it would have been easier if they had found Kevin Tran, and Crowley had refused outright to release her. This way, she was still stuck in the dreadful state of not knowing, of maybe, of irrational hope that she couldn't quite let go of. She ran a hand through her hair distractedly, then exhaled forcefully through her nose. "Never mind," she rapped out, rising from the chair and extending her arm, "Let's get this done."
Crowley studied her impassively, his face giving away nothing. She had sucked it up: swallowing back her disappointment, replacing her armor of self-discipline, and focusing on the task at hand. He could tell she was well-versed in that tactic. He smiled patronizingly, "I appreciate your enthusiasm, darling." He drew a syringe containing the last of the solution from his breast pocket, "Unfortunately, we're running a bit low on mental go-juice; it will take time to make more."
Devi frowned at the vial in his hand, "Does that stuff have an expiration date?"
"Why do you ask?" Crowley replied.
"Because it was regulation olive-drab when we started this little science project, and now it looks like day-old guacamole," she stated baldly.
He laughed, "Fair enough – this formula does lose effectiveness with time, but should still give you a bit of a boost."
Devi cocked her head at that, "Are you saying it's been getting less and less powerful since we started?" Crowley nodded slowly. "Then why have I been 'seeing' better?"
"Practice makes perfect," he replied, holding out the syringe, "and you're quick study, pet."
"And if I wasn't," she pressed, narrowing her eyes, "would you have told me about the potion's half-life, or just let me take the blame for the lack of results?"
"Turns out it wasn't a problem," Crowley shrugged, "Besides, a bit more schooling, and you won't even need the training wheels."
"I wouldn't define you throwing me in the deep end with a cheery 'Do or die' as 'schooling,'" Devi shot back, scowling.
"I have utmost faith in your ability to rise to the occasion," Crowley smirked, extending the vial again.
Devi reached for it, then paused. "Just to clarify," she said, her tone clipped, "You set me a task, gave me some pretty significant stakes, and then undercut my ability to complete it."
"I prefer 'encouraging growth by gradually removing assistance,'" Crowley countered cavalierly.
Devi set her mouth in a thin line, snatched the vial from his hand, and stalked over to the couch. She flopped down as Crowley instructed his assistant to bring the ingredients for the potion.
"Yes, Majesty," she replied, and exited.
Devi glanced up, one eyebrow raised. "You make your staff call you 'Majesty'?" she asked, her tone skeptical, "Like you're some kind of king?"
"The King, darling," Crowley corrected.
"Of what, potions class?" she queried, sarcasm skirting the question.
"Of Hell, of course, or haven't you been paying attention?" Crowley corrected, "And technically, this brew is classed as a 'solution'."
Devi rolled her eyes, returning to the task of finding a vein, "It's a liquid substance created by witchcraft for the purpose of enhancing ESP – that's pretty soundly in 'potion' territory, if you ask me." She set the needle in, injected the substance in question, and leaned back against the couch, waiting for it to take effect. "What does Hell even need a king for anyway?" she inquired. She wasn't terrifically interested in the answer, but want to distract herself from the rush of nausea the potion had given her.
"It's an extensive, complex, and delicate operation," Crowley replied imperiously, "Someone has to keep things running smoothly."
Devi gave brief laugh, "Right, can't let Hell just go to hell..." Maybe it was the potion, maybe the lack of sleep, but she was feeling stupefied, flippant, and a little bit reckless. She found herself staring at the ceiling lamp, purposely dazzling her vision. Her consciousness slipped out of place, wandering drunkenly toward the targeted person.
Kevin was moving. His location, his mind was hard to zero in, and Devi felt like she was playing catch-up. She saw flashes of a sunlight off a long, lean black car, before falling into place in the back seat. Kevin was looking out the window, not really seeing the landscape passing by. His mind was miles away.
Devi glanced at the two men in front of Kevin. Both were quite tall, and wearing canvas jackets. The driver had short-cropped hair, and slouched behind the wheel in an air of assumed disaffection; he seemed to be channeling James Dean. The other was much more engaged, shifting his gaze from the road to the driver to Kevin and back, his shoulder-length hair swinging as he moved his head. His glance into the back seat revealed a long, angular face etched with concern, eyes delicately outlined with worry, thin lips pursed slightly.
"Hey, Kevin," he said softly, "You wanna grab a bite?" Devi felt Kevin shrug, and the passenger looked to the driver, who wasn't paying attention. The long-haired man tapped him on the shoulder, startling him.
"Huh, what?" the driver looked at his passenger, "What's up?" The passenger raised his eyebrows significantly, and nodded his head subtly to the backseat. "Oh yeah, food sounds good," the driver said, "Hey, Kev, any preferences?" Seeing Kevin's shrug, he grinned, "Alright, burgers it is."
The car pulled off the road into the parking lot of a burger stand with an outdoor seating area. Devi was relieved; keeping up with the car had nearly exhausted her. As the men exited the car, they both glanced around the area, hands on pockets. Only after the taller one nodded did Kevin get out. He walked slowly to the one of the tables and plopped down on the plastic bench. The taller man came over and sat next to him. After a moment, he started to speak, but something was wrong. His words came out warped and garbled, and the feature of his face started running like chalk-lines on a wet sidewalk.
Devi's breath caught in her chest, and she suddenly was aware of a sharp pains in her sides. Her vision spun, whiting out at the edges as the sunlight became painfully bright. She squinted into the glare, and raised a hand to shield her eyes. There was a irritatingly high-pitched buzzing in her ears, and it felt like something unclean had crawled into her mouth to die. She gagged, her body convulsing as she rolled to her side, fighting to catch her breath.
"Mind her head!" a gruff voice warned, and she felt several sets of hands trying to hold her still. She feebly attempted to prize them off, before a coughing fit distracted her. The smell of sick reached her, and she bit back the urge to retch again, spitting to rid her mouth of the taste. Someone was pressing a bowl filled with some sort of fluid to her lips, telling her to drink. She sputtered and drew back. Whoever it was lay a heavy hand on the back of her neck, forcing her head down into the bowl, like a kitten in a saucer of milk. "Drink," the voice ordered again brusquely, and Devi complied to keep from being drowned in the stuff. It tasted vegetal, with a slight scent of evergreen and a slick texture; nothing spectacular, but better than the fuzz on her tongue. It felt cool going down, and her stomach settled as the liquid reached it. Her body relaxed slightly, and she managed to draw a shaky breath.
"That's a girl," the voice soothed, and Crowley's face came into view, "You had us worried there for a moment, pet." Devi glanced around; she was in the same room where she'd recovered from her first dose of the sight potion. The twitchy demon was back, along with two burlier men who must have been the ones holding her down. She rolled on her back, regretting it immediately as the lamp overhead nearly blinded her. She threw an arm over her eyes with a groan, and heard Crowley chuckle. "Feeling a bit hung-over, are we?" he asked.
Devi had never been hung-over, but if it was anything like this, she swore she would never have more than one drink at a time for the rest of her life. "What happened?" she moaned.
"You've had what the kids call 'a bad trip,'" Crowley answered, "Seems that brew was a bit more far-gone than anticipated."
Devi glared at him from under her arm, "And you let me take it anyway."
"You seemed so eager, darling," he winked, "I didn't want to dampen your ardor."
"Or you just wanted to see what would happen," Devi shot back. She rubbed her palms against her eyes, "Ugh, I knew that stuff was sketchy. Why did I listen to you?"
"Maybe you were just as curious as I was," Crowley suggested, grinning. Devi looked away, scowling. "Anyway," Crowley continued, "did you see anything interesting during your magical mystery tour?"
Devi stared back at him in disbelief. She had nearly died thanks to his little experiment, and he still expected her to bring him information. "Can we even trust anything I saw?" she pointed out, "There wasn't much, and it didn't make much sense in the end."
"We'll work with what we have," he pressed coolly.
Devi sighed, and began, "Kevin's mobile. He was in a car with two other men, but I don't know where they were going. I had trouble locking on this time, but I don't know if it was your potion, or the fact that he was in a moving vehicle. They stopped for food, and that's when things got weird. Everything started shifting out of place and running together. I couldn't hear properly, either."
Crowley stroked his beard, "This car, it wouldn't have happened to be an ancient, over-powered Impala, would it?"
Devi frowned pensively, "I don't know much about cars, but it was an old-fashioned model, black, and it sounded powerful."
"So he's still with them," Crowley said, mostly to himself, "Not surprising, but it always pays to be sure." After a few moments of contemplation, he turned back to her, "The next batch will be ready in a day or so. Then we'll get something actionable. In the meantime, that draught I gave you will make you sleep," he cocked an eyebrow at her, "You need it."
Devi wasn't comfortable with the idea of being sedated, especially without her knowledge, but her eyelids were already feeling heavy. She gave a soft growl of protest as he pressed her back against the hospital bed. When this is over, she promised herself, I'm not taking any medication, not even cough syrup, for a month. That was the last coherent thought she had before succumbing to sleep.
