Hotch stared at his phone, his Scotch-enhanced brain slow to shift gears.

"Who is it?" Prentiss craned her neck, trying to see the caller ID.

"Rossi."

The phone clamored for attention. Hotch blinked at it.

Emily kept her voice non-judgmental. "You don't want to answer?" The Unit Chief gave his head a slow, regretful shake, but kept his eyes focused on the importunate device. "You want me to answer it for you?" His brows knitted together, pondering this previously unconsidered option.

Prentiss reached a tentative hand out. When no resistance was offered, she took the cell from her boss's fingers, keeping him in her field of vision in case she needed clues about how he'd like her to respond, as she brought the phone to her ear. "Hey, Rossi."

A few beats of silence told her that the senior agent hadn't been expecting someone other than the cell's owner to answer. "Prentiss."

"Yes."

A note of concern crept into Rossi's voice "Where's Hotch?"

"He's here. He's fine. Are you guys still at dinner?" Change the subject! Get it off Hotch.

"Just finishing up. You guys missed a good time." She's changing the subject! Reid was right. Something's off. "How was your day out in the wilds of the great Pacific Northwest?" Redirect. Bring it back around to Aaron from an oblique angle.

"Good. It was good. It's really beautiful here. I guess we wanted to extend the peaceful feeling a little longer. Neither of us was quite in the mood for a group dinner…you know?" Nice try, Rossi. Blocked you before you could circle back to him.

A pause followed as Rossi's profiler's antennae tested every nuance, every tone. "Well, I'm glad you had a good day. Tell Hotch I might drop in on him a little later. And if you feel like a nightcap, I'm usually up late. You know…time difference from Quantico." Dave added the last when he realized how transparent his concern was. I hope you can clue me in, Emily. But if you can't or won't, I'll be checking up on both of you.

"Sure…Thanks, Rossi." Prentiss saw the darting motion of Hotch's eyes, looking toward the door…which would lead to the hallway…which would lead out of the hotel…and onto the street…and back to Madame Sobrani's parlor. She closed the connection and handed the cell back to its rightful owner. "He said he'd stop by to see you later…"

Hotch nodded, slipping the phone into his pocket. "Then I guess we should get going." He raised eyes filled with dark questions to her. She still hadn't confirmed that she'd accompany him.

The two agents studied each other for a few beats. Prentiss saw a man who wasn't as drunk as she thought he should have been. Emotion is burning through the alcohol. She saw a man who needed answers as much as he dreaded them. We only have until the fog lifts. Our time is limited. We better make good use of what's left to us. She nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

Hotch's eyes were fixed on his teammate. He squeezed them closed, forcing himself to refocus.

For a moment, as Prentiss stood up, he'd thought the shadows behind her had rustled with a dry, feathery rush.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Standing in the foyer of Chandler's Crab House, where he'd gone for privacy while calling Hotch, Rossi frowned into the middle distance as he pocketed his phone.

Something odd had definitely reared its head, so Reid was on the right track. One corner of his lips twitched in faint humor. But whatever it was, he was sure Garcia's salacious suggestion wasn't at the root of it. But something must have happened during their hike. Something disturbing enough to make them want to hide out and lick each other's wounds before rejoining the rest of the human race.

A chill flitted across his shoulders as he returned to the main dining room. He wasn't sure why his mind had gone immediately to an image of an animal cowering down as it tried to heal itself.

He shook it off. I probably should have talked to Hotch last night after that episode with the fortuneteller, but…who knew? And he was exhausted. Fell asleep at the table. Rossi sighed. And that maybe should have been a warning sign that mentally he was trying to escape something. He adopted a calm smile as he approached the others.

"Hotch and Prentiss are fine. They just didn't feel like a group outing. So…who's for dessert?"

A confection-laden cart trundling its way around the dining area served to temporarily divert attention from any mystery that might surround their absent colleagues…

…And I'll wake Aaron up later, if I have to. We'll talk out whatever's bothering him. It'll all work out fine. His shoulders slumped as he dug into a slice of Boston cream pie. But I really hate all that occult mumbo-jumbo…

XXXXXXXXXXX

It had been raining the first time they'd visited Madame Sobrani. This evening, the only moisture in the air was the soft, pearly fog, drifting and curling in columns worthy of London's famous pea soup version.

"Are you sure you remember how to get there?" Prentiss was relying on Hotch's background as a former Seattleite to be able to navigate the cottony mist that turned street signs into unreadable blobs until you were within inches of them. She was also wondering about the effect of the Scotch overdose she'd engineered. She hadn't been expecting to go on an urban hike along the waterfront. She'd rather thought she'd be leaving her boss groggy and peaceful in his room instead.

Now Hotch was moving through the darkened streets and alleys with a surety that made Emily wonder if he did possess a canine ability to scent his way to a desired destination. Just as she was about to question their progress again, a familiar, acid-green, Egyptian-ish eye ghosted out of the fog, resolving into the signature logo for Madame Sobrani's Parlor of Past Possibilities.

Prentiss's brows rose. "Wow. I guess you do know how to get around in Seattle weather."

Hotch's response was an inscrutable sidelong look as he halted outside the recessed door flanked by windows hung with black velvet panels. He'd been reluctant to enter the establishment the previous evening. This time was so much worse.

He was glad he hadn't eaten. His felt his stomach leaping and somersaulting, wrapping itself around his spine, acrobatic with anxiety.

Even in the murky atmosphere, Emily saw his pupils dilate again; twin pools of velvet as black as the drapes masking Madame Sobrani's secrets.

She looped her arm through his.

"We can do this. Together."

Hotch's grateful nod was minimal, truncated by his growing dread. But he had no choice. Something deep inside needed to hear that the cycle the old seer had spoken of could be broken. And that means some level of me is accepting that this might be…real… But I don't believe in this kind of thing!

Feeling as though all his moorings had been set afloat, as though his very foundation had sprouted cracks, Hotch let Prentiss lead him into the incense-scented parlor.