Chapter 7
Damn this stinking roadhouse in this miserable backwoods town, Crowley thought as he glanced over his shoulder at Dean, who was throwing back shots at the bar. Had the King of Hell really been reduced to this? To this filthy, classless life that so strongly reminded him of his human days over three hundred years ago? He was King!
He knew that his followers snickered behind his back…he knew. They did not give him enough credit, but at least they still feared him. He glared at the demon wearing a lawyer's meatsuit, who was beckoning him outside.
"Well?" he asked, sucking in the crisp air of North Dakota. Far too cold for his taste, really. He preferred…a warmer climate. But that was Dean's doing: in his present state, the Winchester had a taste for cold and dreary landscapes.
"Sir," the demon began instantly, "we have a report."
Crowley peered at him. It was Gregor, a demon he hadn't seen in a few years. Not since he'd assigned him one specific task, actually. A report from that quarter was actually quite surprising. The King of Hell raised his eyebrows.
"Has she regained her memories?"
"She has, sir."
"And her son?"
"I believe so. I was not able to get confirmation of that, because I have limited access to her…"
"Limited access?" Crowley eyed Gregor's trim, athletic meatsuit in the well-cut slacks and shirt. "By now you should be sleeping with the woman. What in the fiery inferno are you doing? How are you keeping watch on her actions?"
"I—uh, I…" Gregor hesitated, and Crowley was amused to see embarrassed red creeping up his neck. He hid his amusement, though. "I'm…in the yoga class she teaches, sir."
Behind Crowley, his two closest followers snickered a little. The red flush spread over Gregor's face. "I did make an attempt…to seduce her, but she hasn't slept with a man since her memories were erased."
"You never had much success with the ladies," Crowley said with dry mockery. "Not even when you were human, isn't that right?"
The snicker behind him was louder now. Sycophants, all of them, turning whichever way the wind blew. Crowley was sick of it. His thoughts flashed back to Dean, inside at the bar. The man—ahem—demon had his own problems, but he would never be boot-licking scum like this.
He paused to think. This new development—Lisa Braeden recovering her memories—had the potential to cause complications. He had always been concerned about what might happen if she remembered her life with Dean, but had satisfied himself with assigning Gregor to watch her for the past few years. There was no sense killing her off, first because of Castiel, and later because he regarded her as an asset…a string to pull if needed.
But right now, all he wanted was to make sure she stayed away from Dean. The last thing Crowley's pet project needed was a woman from the past. Dean might be swayed, even now, from the path that Crowley had laid out for him.
"You need to get closer to her," Crowley said aloud to Gregor. "I want you to prevent her from making any contact with the Winchesters."
"Prevent?" Gregor repeated, and an unhealthy gleam shone in his eyes.
"For Lucifer's sake, don't kill her," Crowley said irritably. "Not unless I order you to. Just get closer. You'll never make it in that meatsuit, obviously. Has she got a friend, someone she'd let into the house?"
"There's a woman who works with her, a friend. She was the first one that the Braeden woman told about her memories."
"Perfect." Crowley snapped his fingers. "Possess her." He turned to go, considering the interview over, but turned back as Gregor hesitated. "What?"
"I would never presume to contradict you, sir, but perhaps I could find a different…man…to possess? She might be more attracted to another type."
Crowley glared, and then the corner of his lip lifted in a sneer. "You actually want to sleep with the woman," he said. "I would advise you against that. Do you want to know what would happen if the Knight of Hell inside this bar were to find that out?"
Gregor's eyes flicked instantly to the door of the roadhouse. "You are right, of course, sir," he replied quickly. "I will do as you say."
Crowley waved his hand impatiently and turned back to the door as Gregor got into a Lexus parked at the curb. To his surprise, his two henchmen stepped in front of him.
"Sir, will you give us a moment?"
"What now?" He wanted to get back inside, back to his new friend.
"We were just wondering," the bolder of the two said a little nervously, "when you might be ready to return to the throne of Hell?"
"Is it your place to question me?" Crowley began, but paused as he saw the looks on their faces. No—he'd try a little more smooth talking. Wasn't that what he did best? After all, he had been previously the King of the Crossroads. He looked meaningfully at the door.
"He's not ready," he told them in a low voice. "Not yet. I need a little more time to make sure that he's at full power—that he has adjusted fully."
The demons looked doubtful, but stepped aside as Crowley pushed open the door and strode back into the bar.
He took a seat beside Dean, who had at this point imbibed more alcohol than would have been humanly possible. Dean. All this trouble and work over the past year to get to this point: to a new and (in Crowley's opinion) improved Dean Winchester. And yet now Crowley was not sure of his control over his new Knight of Hell.
"Don't you think you've had enough?" Crowley stirred as Dean raised his finger for another round.
Dean shot him a scornful look. "Shut up," he said, raising the glass.
"No, but really." Crowley laid a persuasive hand on Dean's arm as he set the glass down with a thud. "Aren't you getting a bit tired of all this? There are so many bigger and better things for us both."
Dean shrugged. "I like it here." He looked around the room, his eyes hard and steady, then back at Crowley. "For the first time in—forever—I'm actually enjoying myself."
Crowley sighed. This news about Lisa Braeden had shaken his complacency a little. He needed to get Dean out of this place, make sure his demonic spirit was fully hardened. At the same time, he wanted to test him a little, see if his human passions still flickered in the ashes of his soul. Looking for an opening, he nodded at the pretty waitress Dean had been flirting with all evening.
"Bit young and silly for you, isn't she?" he asked, making his voice contemptuous. "You had better taste when you were human. Remember that one yoga teacher? Lisa? Much more your type, I thought."
Dean's expression did not change. He stared straight ahead, again signaling for a drink. Draining the glass, and still facing straight ahead, he spoke in a low voice, and the King of Hell felt as if the temperature had dropped below freezing in a second.
"You mention her name again, Crowley, and I'll put my blade through your filthy black heart."
