A Caffrey Christmas Carol

The Wine

Neal's loft.

"What was in that wine?" Henry asked, groaning after he followed Neal upstairs to the loft.

It was a good question. Throughout the Arkham Round Table session, Mozzie had barely spoken, making Neal wonder if the complaints of the others had been a hoax of some kind. But Mozz had simply been biding his time. As dinner was served, he poured everyone glasses of his latest variety of honey wine, and then things went sideways.

For the last week or so, Mozz had been experimenting with increasingly odd ingredients in his wines, to the point that Neal wondered if something was affecting his friend's palate. Some of the results were barely drinkable.

Tonight Peter had taken a sip, made a face, and started to push his glass away, but Elizabeth put a hand on his arm and insisted that he finish one glass and then he could switch to coffee. Everyone else but Jones followed their lead, drinking one glass and refusing a refill. After sniffing the contents of his glass, Jones announced he "wasn't a wine guy" and switched to water. As the rest of them forced down the stuff — Neal felt it was overly generous to call it wine — they often gazed at Jones with jealousy.

About halfway through the meal, Mozzie began elaborating on the inspiration he'd gained recently from re-reading A Wrinkle in Time.

Neal was vaguely familiar with the scientific concept of a Theory of Everything, but Mozzie had taken that and run with it in an entirely different direction. Throughout the meal he'd expounded on a unified theory of literature. There was no such thing as fiction, he insisted. Every story was true in its "source universe" and authors were simply people whose minds had unconscious access to those other worlds. Therefore the travel described in a story like A Wrinkle in Time was equally as true as the time travel described in A Christmas Carol and It's a Wonderful Life. By studying these works, Mozzie was certain that people could learn to travel to the worlds of their choosing. Therefore, people who had regrets about a specific life choice could visit an alternate version of themselves who hadn't made that choice and observe the results.

The group had intended to watch movies in the mansion's media room later that evening, but by the end of the meal everyone except Jones was looking a little green. Whatever was in that wine had not mixed well with the meal, and it was mutually agreed that going to bed and sleeping it off sounded like a good idea. Even Mozzie seemed a little woozy.

In case the power went out later, Neal built a fire in the loft's fireplace to give them light and warmth. Before the Round Table they'd set up a cot for Henry to sleep in, so they only had to don their sleepwear and slip into their respective beds.

It felt odd that he'd just thought the word don, but the wine really was messing with his head. Neal and Henry tried talking about Mozzie's ravings, but both fell asleep within minutes.

He must have been dreaming about Christmas, because when Neal woke to a pounding on the door, the words of a holiday poem were running through his head with a slight variation, When out in the hall there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Neither Neal nor Henry actually sprang from their beds. They'd piled on so many blankets that it took more effort than usual to extricate themselves, but soon Neal was dashing to the door, mentally cursing the cold hardwood floor.

"Power's out," said Henry, who had gone in the direction of a light switch.

Opening the door, Neal saw Mozzie carrying a lit candle. Odd choice, given that Peter had supplied everyone with battery-powered lanterns or flashlights. "Mozz, what the hell?" Neal asked. Leaving the door open, he walked back to the bedroom area and slid on slippers. Henry was sitting on the cot, pulling on warm socks.