Two members of Team 13 were gathered in the parking lot of a remote chicken processing plant. Frink was back at the office ready to research any findings, and Bionic was still adjusting to the slightly different time zones of Florida and Wisconsin by taking a nap at the apartment.
Agents Johnson and Andy listened patiently to the obviously imbalanced plant employee as she described the intruder that she had spotted a few nights ago.
The owner of the plant had placed a call to the authorities yesterday to report a possible robbery. The only problem was that no one who was employed at the plant could remember what was stolen and the only person who had been around to witness the robbery claimed that the thief was incorporeal. She said it passed through doors without opening them and had no solid form.
So far, the agents had gathered that the intruder looked like a wisp of smoke, made the stolen item disappear, and erased the memories of the employees. Andy and Johnson also gathered that this woman was making this all up (she certainly had a mental disorder) or she was using it as a cover story.
“Miss Eucalano," Andy said as he addressed the short woman with glasses, "Could you just take us to where you saw the . . . the thing enter the building?” Andy pulled off his shades and massaged the area around his tear ducts.
“Well . . . that’s just the thing. I can’t - I can’t really remember . . . where I was. I think I was,” the woman raised one of her hands into the air before finishing, “floating.”
Andy and Johnson each raised an eyebrow and gave each other a sideward glance. “Floating?” Mark queried incredulously. This woman was becoming too unreliable. Even Agent Andy, who was good at extracting information from people, was unable to use his methods on the mentally disabled.
"I know, I know," explained Miss Eucalano, waving her hands in a defensive motion, "It sounds crazy. I tried to -- hey, nice sunglasses! I have a black pair like that myself, but mine are bigger and fatter, and have white rims and . . . "
"Miss Eucalano, please focus. The Bureau only takes testimonies from sane people, and if you have a history of . . . "
"I don't though!" The woman exclaimed.
"Are you sure ma'am?" andy asked, raising an eyebrow even further, "because sane people don't excatly see floating ghosts . . . " Before the woman was able to respond, the plant manager came running down the pavement towards them.
“I remember what we had there now!” he yelled as he approached, “I know what was stolen!”
Andy sighed with relief. The heat these days was heightening, and it was almost unbearable in these black suits. The less time he had to spend outside in the heat, the better.
“It’ll sound kinda silly,” the young man began, “but we kept chicken beaks in that storage room. We had a huge sack of ‘em there. They’re just so unimportant, I didn’t think of ‘em. I don’t know why anyone on God’s green Earth would steal the things.”
Johnson looked at Andy (although it was had to tell where the agent was looking behind Bureau-issue shades) and said, “Chicken beaks are a primary component of . . .” Mark left the sentence unfinished.
Andy knew why. Chicken beaks were used in disappearance potions. Johnson was reluctant to say something like that in front of bluepills.
Andy thanked the man and walked with Johnson back to the car. Once they got inside, Andy spoke his mind. “Y’think there’s a wizard about?”
Johnson buckled up and solemnly said, “More likely, there’s a witch about. A kitchen witch.”
Andy smiled. Most kitchen witches were harmless mortals that believed in the arcane but weren’t “Awakened” in that they had no real magic power. They often times lived in yurts and practiced herb-mixing and faux-spellcasting.
Looks like Johnson and Andy were going on a witch-hunt.
As Andy pulled the car out, Johnson contacted Frink on the car’s radio to look for local wiccans and whatnot.
"Jeez," Andy sighed, checking over his shoudler, "What was with that employee? She crazy or what?"
Johnson clciked the radio off. "Are you referring to the fact that she changed the topic thirty-seven times, or the fact that she saw a witch?"
"Well, the witch part wasn't entirely insane, at least," Andy muttered as he backed out of the side road.
Before driving back onto the highway, Andy slammed the brakes. He pointed at a billboard as Johnson looked up. There, in big letters were the words, “Jimena’s Pentacles - Witchcraft Accessories,” and in recently added paint was, “New Stock of Elixirs of Disappearance!”
***
Frink stapled a few documents together back at the Team 13 office and listened to the rain outside. Once finished, he said, “So, how did you and Andy take down that dangerous mage today?”
Agent Johnson, who was just walking in though the door, answered businesslike as always. “The wiccan had accidentally learned how to create disappearance potions from a mage’s old spellbook. She became overeager and illegally acquired certain material components. We were able to take her into custody. She will be given over to the psychiatric ward once she serves her minor larceny sentence. She will be just another citizen after that, safe from the secrets of the supernatural.”
Frink rolled his eyes. “Do you prepare this stuff, Johnson?”
Johnson dryly answered, “Yes,” as he took off his drenched trenchcoat.
Frink had to wonder what went on in that mechanical mind of Special Agent Mark Johnson.
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