Lester was washing the Cadillac CT6 when he saw Castiel's reflection in the windshield and jumped.

Castiel, smiling a little, put a finger over his lips and spoke very quietly. "I'm sorry to startle you, but I didn't want to send for you or have anyone see you coming into the office. I need you to do something with the utmost secrecy."

Lester dropped the wet cloth and started rolling down his sleeves. He spoke in the same quiet tone. "What do you need?"

"There is some danger involved in this. This time only, I am granting you permission to refuse."

Lester's eyes grew wide, and he nodded.

"The lack of a confession from Vulcan puts us in an untenable situation. I will not remain penned in this house indefinitely, playing defense. We're going on the offensive. We're going to kill Hex."

Lester gave Castiel a shaky smile. "You want me – "

Cas laughed. It sounded a little contemptuous, as though he thought Lester incapable of anything risky, and that was deliberate. "No, Lester, I don't want you to try to kill him. I said it was dangerous, not a suicide mission. The dangerous part is that I need you to leave the house tonight, evading both Hex's and Revard's watchers, and meet the hit man who will kill Hex."

"Who is it?"

"I don't know a name, only a phone number. Mr. Vincent used to use him for personal missions that required more discretion than Hex is capable of. I've set up a meeting for tonight. He will look in the car window and say, 'I've always wanted a Cadillac,' and you will respond, 'I used to have a great Continental.' He will then get in the car and negotiate terms with you. You may give him as much information as he requires – as I said, he is discreet, and often thought of things that even Mr. Vincent hadn't. You will bring one hundred thousand dollars with you as the up-front payment, but try to negotiate for less. Do you have any questions?"

Lester looked absorbed; perhaps he was thinking of questions. Then he said, "No. I'll get him lined up. Where's the meeting? What time?"

Castiel told him.

.

It was a sad, grim part of town with abandoned houses and broken-down cars. Dean left the Impala under one of the few working streetlights and murmured, "Be right back, baby," as he walked away.

A gaunt woman walked into the pried-open door of a house with notices posted on the windows; she didn't look at him. Dean turned the corner and headed for a car parked near, but not under, a streetlight down the block. "Oculi mortui caeci sunt," he mumbled as he approached, just in case.

He rested his hand on the open front passenger window and leaned over to say, "I've always wanted a Cadillac."

Lester, in the driver's seat, just stared for a moment. Then he erupted. "What the hell, you're a human!"

Dean shot his gaze to the side as if checking with a third party whether Lester had actually said something that stupid. Then he looked back into the car. "What the Earth, you're a demon. Gee, I've always wanted a Cadillac."

"Um – Yes. I used to, um, have a great. Continental."

"Oscar-worthy," Dean said, and got into the car.

"I just – no one told me you were human. I need to be sure, you know, that you can handle it."

"The consigliere choosing me didn't convince you enough?"

Lester smiled. "You play your cards right, you'll be working for someone more powerful than the consigliere. For a lot more money."

Dean thought fast, while staying in character. "The consigliere's new capo? Or is there a little double-cross going on?"

"You're looking at a quarter-million-dollar job. Do you care?"

"I don't care, but I don't like unexpected changes. You tell me that all of a sudden the client's changed and the job has changed, you're going to have to convince me that you're not some kind of – demonic undercover cop, or something."

"And you're going to have to convince me that you're capable of handling – aech!"

That was a rough approximation of the sound Lester made as Dean, in a move he'd practiced all day, swiftly slid the donkey jawbone from a sheath under his jacket.

"Convinced?"

"That's a tempered jawbone! Where did you get that?"

"Demon in Texas." Casually, Dean let it rest to his right on the seat. "Part payment for a job I did. Now do you want to do some damn business?"

"Well. Yes." Lester was just now noticing that Dean was wearing latex gloves. "So. There have been some status changes going on in the demonic realm."

"I know a lot of demons are getting killed. I guess that's a status change."

"Yes, well, we didn't start this. But we're going to finish it."

"Who's 'we'?"

"My partner and me. In a few weeks, we'll be the ones that the Loyalists answer to. If you want work, you'll give me your number."

"So you're going to be the new consigliere? Who's going to be the new capo?"

Lester smiled smugly. "A very powerful demon. That's all you need to know."

"Ye-eaahh." Dean drew it out. "See, Lester, here's the thing. I hear you're a damn good driver and a guy looking to move up in the world, both good things, but you're talking about killing high-placed demons to take control of an army, and let's be honest, your resume doesn't really include that kind of action. What happens with guys like you – just being honest here – is all of a sudden you realize you're over your head and in trouble, and you need to cut a deal with someone, and selling out guys like me is the way guys like you get out of trouble."

"I'm not over my head."

"I'm telling you, it's not an insult. L.A. could use more good drivers. But when it comes to – "

"I'm not just a driver! You know, I don't need you. I could hire – "

"Calm down. You don't want to alienate me when you just told me you're planning some kind of coup against your boss, do you? Look, you needed to be convinced that a human could handle a demon. I convinced you. Now I just want to be convinced that you can handle the kind of planning that moving up the ranks this way requires, you're not just useful in a car chase."

Lester glared at him for a moment. Then he said, "Well. You heard about the bomb that killed two high-ranking Loyalists day before yesterday?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "That was you?"

Lester nodded, looking pleased.

Dean beckoned with his fingers. "Well, come on. Convince me."

"I found Vulcan. I hired him to make it."

"Where'd you get that kind of money?"

"My partner. He's the money man."

"Best kind of partner. Who'd you get to plant the bomb?"

"I did it. Myself."

"Yeah, that makes sense, you had access to the place beforehand."

"Actually I didn't. I took the bomb in right under Castiel's nose. As soon as he told me we were going to check phones and weapons at the door, I put the bomb in an empty trunk and brought it in. I held onto it until Castiel went to search the meeting room, just to make sure he wouldn't open it for some reason. When he went upstairs to check security there, I blinded the security cameras and put the bomb in the meeting room."

"Cool under pressure, that's good."

"You don't know. Castiel has never understood my capabilities."

"Yeah, but of all the mayhem, the guy you wanted to get killed was the only one who walked away without a scratch."

"That wasn't a mistake." Lester smiled. "That was deliberate. Now everyone thinks he did it."

"Well, but if you're the one who pulled him away from the bomb, you look as guilty as he does."

"Not if his second aide called me and insisted that Castiel leave the house to listen to the call."

Dean laughed softly. "Did you fake him into calling? Or did you make the whole thing up?"

"Well." Lester was basking in Dean's approval. "A call was made."

"From your partner?"

"No, from me. I called my own phone from a second phone. I answered my own phone, let 'em both run a couple minutes, disconnected the second phone and put it in my pocket."

"And then – "

"Like I say, we wanted to make it look like his other aide called, so I hid the second phone in her office as soon as we got back to Castiel's house."

"His other aide's a girl?"

"You could say that. You could also say snippy self-important bitch. And now she and Castiel are both walking dead. Everyone thinks they did the bomb. Everyone's even starting to think that they killed Mr. Vincent and Malazir, and Hex didn't even do those!"

"Hex, that's your partner?"

For a moment Lester seemed to realize he'd made a mistake. Then he settled into a look reminiscent of a sixth-grader with a secret. "Maybe."

Dean nodded. "Now that's a guy with a resume."

"He's like me. Everyone underestimates him. Everyone thinks he's just a hothead and everyone thinks I'm just an errand boy."

"And how surprised are they going to be when the errand boy and the hothead are the consigliere and the capo?"

Lester chuckled. "Pretty damn surprised. There are going to be a lot of demons who are going to be a lot nicer to me from now on. Take my word for it."

"Sounds like it. So – you just agreed to meet me to keep up the front with Castiel? 'Cause that's not a problem, but I am going to charge you for my time."

"No. I have a job for you. Did Castiel tell you he was sick of being defensive and wanted to go on the offense when he called you?"

"No. Just said he had a job. Gave me the time and place of the meet, and the password."

"Well, that's what he told me. 'We're going on the offensive, we're going to kill Hex!'" Lester chuckled. "As though he could. But I'm pretty tired of sitting still myself. I want you to get rid of Castiel."

Dean looked thoughtful. "I can do that. Just to warn you, though: That way the bomb frame-up doesn't work."

"It does if you make it look like Hannah killed him."

"Hannah – that's Miss Snippy Self-Important? OK, yeah. Framing a third party costs extra, but I've had experience. Is Hex willing to pony up for that?"

"He will be."

"So the story is, they killed Vincent so Castiel could take over, but he had competition from other Loyalists. So he and Hannah killed the sorceress, what's-her-name, and then planted a bomb to get rid of the others. Hannah called Castiel to get him out of the house before the bomb went off. Then Castiel and Hannah had some kind of falling out, maybe over money, she killed him, and now she needs to get sent back for some infernal correction."

"Exactly. But her motive is better than money. She's in love with him."

Dean snorted. "Sorry, Les, no one will buy it. I've never known a demon to be in love with anyone."

"We can form attachments. We can get passionate. Maybe it's not the self-sacrificing thing humans like to talk about, but we can have desires." He met Dean's eyes. "You know. In the way that psychopathic humans can."

Dean drew a breath. "OK. Point taken. So the idea is, he cheated on her and she killed him?"

Lester grinned. "No. The idea is, she did all this so he'd love her, but he still preferred males, and she finally snapped."

Dean laughed softly. "Never knew that about the consigliere."

"He's quiet about his personal life, but it's known. And everyone also knows about the way Hannah feels."

"Why doesn't she just grab herself a good-looking male meatsuit?" Dean asked.

"Most of us have a gender we prefer. We can possess almost anyone, but most demons feel more comfortable in a meatsuit of one kind or another. Hannah wants to be female. And she wants Castiel to love her."

"Sucks to be her. All right. We pre-plant a little evidence, Castiel meets a sad fate, Hannah gets exorcised back to Hell screaming the whole time that she didn't do it, and no one's surprised by any of it. You and Hex take over the Loyalists."

"And you walk away with two hundred fifty thousand dollars."

"That's the best part. Almost the best part. Did you get all that?"

Lester looked confused. "The point is, did you get all that."

A car turned the corner, approaching behind the Cadillac, and flashed its lights.

"I wasn't talking to you, Lester." Dean gripped the handle of the tempered jawbone next to him and swung the point hard into Lester's gut.

He looked so surprised.

Then his eyes and skull flashed orange and he slumped, expressionless.

"Doin' you a favor," Dean said. "Revard would've sent you back to Hell."

The Impala pulled up next to the Cadillac. Dean pulled the blade out of Lester, put it back in the sheath, got out of the Cadillac and crossed over to the Impala, jumping in quickly. "What do you think?"

Sam, at the wheel of the Impala, pointed at Dean's chest. Dean nodded, pulled up his shirt, and disconnected the microphone wires as Sam drove away.

"Video's not great," Sam said. "Like we thought, you couldn't very well get in the car, grab a pin on your jacket, and then hold perfectly still. And it was dark. But you can see his face clearly often enough, his facial expressions. The way he grinned when he said Hex was 'maybe' his partner. And the audio's clear as a bell."

"Good. I love having a personal electronics expert. Did you have any trouble? I was worried about leaving my baby and my brother and a laptop sitting back there."

"I note the order of priority. No, actually, it was quiet."

"Good." Dean looked down at his left arm and leg. "I don't think I have any blood where it'll rub off in here, but I'm going to have to get rid of the shirt and jacket and sheath."

"My guess is, even if by some chance the police traced DNA to you, Castiel could whisk it away. Either in a mob-guy way or in a demon way."

"So how long until the video's ready for its world premiere?"

"A few hours. I want to go over it moment by moment, make sure there's no random reflection or anything that shows your face. Then I'm going to alter your voice. Then we'll send it to all those phone numbers Cas gave you."

"I oughta call him, tell him that if he can stay alive for a few more hours, he's off the hook."

Dean reached inside his jacket for his phone, then pulled out his hand. There was a smear of blood on it.

"Is there a chance I'm a psychopath?" he asked.

Sam shot an incredulous look at him, then looked back fast at the road. "Why would you even ask that?"

"Makin' idle conversation."

Sam, still looking incredulous, shook his head. "Well, let's see. You were a great son to Dad – "

"I fought with him a lot."

"Not as much as I did. And psychopaths don't get mad, they get even. Besides, Dean, let's face it. I miss Dad, I miss the good things about him, but he wasn't easy to live with. You're a great brother – Oh, and, by the way, you risked your own life for six months to get me free from a demon. Oh yeah, and you only stole from some of the deadliest people in the country because you felt guilty stealing from honest people. You told me about that scene at the hospital where Hex killed those people, the man sitting in the lobby crying. You acted all stoic and tough-guy, but I could tell it tore you up."

"Still tears me up," Dean said.

"When Cas got in trouble you could've said, 'Too bad, well, I did my part of the deal,' and taken off. You didn't because you care about him and you want him to be safe. So why the hell would you ask that? Because of what Lester said? You know, if you convince a demon that you're a psychopath, it doesn't make you a psychopath, it makes you a good actor."

"Yeah." Dean rubbed the blood on his hand onto his shirt, under the jacket. "It's just – This is getting easier."

There was a moment's silence.

Then, "Well, yeah. Normal people can get used to stuff. Guys who, normal guys who wind up working in concentration camps, things like that. They start out thinking, 'God, I can't stand this, I'm leaving even if my family starves,' and they wind up thinking, 'I wish that jerk would stop screaming, hurts my ears.'"

Sam got onto a freeway on-ramp, and they drove in silence for a few minutes.

"One more," Dean said. "I have to get Hex. He killed two humans, and it's not like the cops will be able to run him in and try him. Then – "

He thought for a moment more. Sam cast a glance at him, but didn't speak.

"I think we need to start working on our exit strategy, especially if we need to clear out fast. Decide what are the essentials we need to take, how to get stuff into the car fast, where the three of us meet, what route we take from there to get out of town."

"You're assuming Castiel will come with us."

"Yes. I am."

Sam nodded, but didn't say anything.

Then Dean said, "The car handles great, doesn't it?"

"Like a dream. It's a pleasure to drive."

"Yeah. Don't get used to it."

Sam grinned, and after a moment Dean did too.

.

Parcell didn't have a phone, but his new aide did, and he showed the video to Parcell as soon as it came over. Parcell watched it with a slight smile that broadened at Lester's murder. Hannah was one of the first to get it; she hurried to the monitor room to stare at video surveillance, her face actually red from embarrassment, but a savage satisfaction in her eyes. Mr. Sanchez, the new director of weaponry, called to tell Castiel that he'd never doubted Castiel's innocence, and to ask for the hit man's phone number. Mrs. Vincent called from Tahiti to say she'd never doubted Castiel's innocence. Sarah Hughes' attorney called to discuss the disposition of the controlling shares of Sucro from Hughes' estate, and to tell Castiel that he'd never doubted his innocence.

Castiel had just hung up from that call when Detectives Edwards and Torres came to tell him that Lester's body had been found in Castiel's car. Since Lester was Cas' driver, there was nothing inherently suspicious about that, but this time the detectives took Castiel in for hours of questioning, eventually releasing him with obvious frustration.

Cas didn't have a current number for Hex, not surprisingly, and probably wouldn't have sent him the video anyway. He did send it to Revard, and was most curious about what his response would be.

The day after the video hit and was passed around to almost every Loyalist in Southern California – none of whom, of course, would have deigned to show it to human police – Castiel quite deliberately drove by himself to lunch at a popular Italian restaurant. He sat in a window booth and took his time savoring a glass of merlot, talking for a moment with a Loyalist from San Francisco who was in town on business and who stopped by his table to tell him she'd never doubted his innocence.

He'd just finished using a pasta spoon to perfectly wrap spaghetti around his fork when a tall person bulked in his peripheral vision, and he looked up.

Revard was standing at the table across from Castiel. He was dressed in red and black. There was a patch over his missing eye. Thanks to demonic magic, the slashes to his face were no longer open wounds, but they were scars. He looked like the hero of a movie about vengeance.

"This is quite a show of confidence on your part, Castiel," he said, looking around.

"As someone whose innocence has been proven beyond question, I have nothing to fear."

Revard looked amused. "Innocence?"

Castiel returned the amusement. "In matters related to – our last Council meeting, at least. Would you like to sit down?"

Revard did, and Castiel ate his forkful of spaghetti.

"I dislike admitting when I'm wrong," Revard said. "But in this case, I'm forced to."

Castiel shrugged. "The frame was put together by someone with access to most aspects of my life. You had just sustained grievous injuries. I don't blame – Would you like something to drink?"

The waitress had suddenly appeared at their table, looking at Revard with frank fascination. "Green beer at a special price today," she said cheerfully, "or maybe a glass of wine?"

Revard was looking a shade horrified, and Castiel said, "A glass of this, perhaps," tapping the rim of his glass. "It's very good."

She left – reluctantly – and Revard said, "I understand that it's St. Patrick's Day. But why is their beer green? This is an Italian restaurant."

"I don't understand either."

Revard swung his head wide, glancing around with one eye. "At least we'll truly look like humans, sitting here glugging alcohol."

"I think a celebration is in order."

"Not until our mutual friend is dealt with."

Castiel nodded, breaking a breadstick. "Fortunately, we know exactly what his next move will be. He wants you dead. You're still alive."

"And you as well."

"Yes, but I lack charisma. Given the choice between following Hex and following me, there would be real division among most de – among most of us. Whereas you radiate an overt power that is a strong draw." He looked rueful. "Even to my own security staff. You're a far greater threat to him."

Revard nodded. "Then I think we know how to draw him out."

Castiel did another perfect twist of spaghetti onto his fork. "Carefully," he said. "Carefully."

.

In a little-hiked part of the Angeles National Forest near – but not very near – Mount Wilson Observatory, there was an unexpected clearing about 50 yards wide. One side of the clearing dropped suddenly down into a forested ravine; the rest was surrounded by pine trees climbing ridges, the nearest place anyone could hide. Anyone in the middle of the clearing would have 25 yards' warning even of an oncoming drone, which for demons was plenty.

It had been generally agreed that this clearing was neutral territory. Demons who were fighting would meet there under a temporary truce to make peace between themselves or to deal with matters not related to their disagreement. Demons being themselves, the truce conditions were violated fairly often. But since the war between the Loyalists and Terrestrials had erupted, both sides had found this neutral space useful, so the neutrality hadn't been violated for months.

Terrestrials, with their enjoyment of comfort, had placed a bench in the center of the clearing. Loyalists sneered at them for not being able to stand for a few hours, and then used the bench.

Castiel had hiked much of the way up from the overlook where the car was parked, but took the last quarter-mile in jumps, vanishing and reappearing ahead. The gift was a great time-saver, and not every demon had it – he, Hannah, Hex, Revard, a few of Cas' fellow Terrestrials, and the King of the Crossroads Demons were among those who did.

Cas sat on the bench, opened a leather folder with a tablet of paper inside, produced a pen and began writing. The bench's back, logically, faced the ravine, the least likely origin of an attack, but Castiel's gaze swept the area all around as he pretended to write. It was a warm sunny afternoon, even at this elevation, but Cas kept his coat on; it hid the angel blade.

He was aware of Revard's presence a few seconds before Revard appeared next to him. Revard also swept the clearing and the pine forest beyond with his gaze, murmuring, "So far so good."

"Indeed."

Revard raised his voice a bit. "Shall we discuss the terms of a cessation of hostilities?"

Castiel nodded, angling himself and the notebook toward Revard as the other demon sat down.

Revard looked over his shoulder, lowered his voice. "I have four guards hidden in the trees, all with angel-bullet guns. Those four, in addition to our own powers, should be adequate to meet whatever Hex brings. He's not popular since that video started being passed around."

"Really? I'd have thought it would appeal to power-seekers."

"Hex fell in their estimation when they realized he'd conspired with Lester. They feel that Hex must be desperate to have chosen such a – as they would say here – such a loser."

"Still, we need to be prepared for anything."

"Oh, yes." Revard looked across the ravine below as Castiel looked into the trees on the other side of the clearing. "Speaking of security guards, I brought Axel here today as one of mine. When this is over, I am willing to kill him as a good-faith gesture to you."

"You don't need to do that on my behalf. None of us can be trusted, but security personnel should have at least some degree of loyalty. I was glad to have disloyalty revealed in four of my guards. But you may want to take any measures necessary to guard your own safety."

"I think Axel will be all right. He wanted, and still wants, the glamor of working for the general. He was very pleased with his jacket lined with magically-reinforced Kevlar."

"Do all your guards have that?"

"All of the ones hidden in the trees here do," Revard said wryly. "Did you bring any security?"

"No. I knew you'd bring several guards, and I thought if we filled the woods it would be a giveaway to Hex's people."

Revard smiled. They continued to talk, each of them looking slightly over his right shoulder, so that between them they had a sweeping view of the area. "To make this look convincing, we should actually do some business," Revard said. "I know that Ms. Hughes' human cover was complete enough that she had a will, but I don't know its contents."

"I do. I've spoken to her attorney. Her home and personal property are to be sold, and the proceeds donated to an anti-war charity."

Revard chuckled. "I never realized she had a sense of humor."

"In a recently added codicil, she returns the controlling shares of Sucro to the company."

"Ah. Then I suggest that I buy those shares and name you as Chief Executive Officer, giving you the chance to buy them from me in installments, in exchange for your public acknowledgment of me as leader of the Loyalist cause and Loyalist forces. I would, of course, require the advice and assistance you gave to Mr. Vincent."

"That's a generous offer."

Revard shrugged. "To be honest, Castiel, the business side bores me. I'm glad to know – "

A gunshot resounded somewhere. It was hard to tell from where, but both of them leaped to their feet and looked toward the trees as Axel ran out of them. His gun dangled loosely from his right hand, which he held straight down; his left hand was clamped over a bloody wound on the back of his gun hand. "Run!" he yelled. "They're all dead! Go now!"

"Where's Hex?" Revard snapped, drawing his gun as Castiel drew his angel blade.

Axel stopped, gasping, raised his right hand and shot Revard in the forehead.

Revard dropped, orange light flashing in his eyes.

Castiel pointed at Axel and said, "Igne – " But a burst of force cut him off in mid-word, slamming him back onto the bench and knocking the blade away from him. It was Hex, leaping into the space behind Castiel. The demon in the surgeon's body drove an angel blade into Castiel's forearm, pinning it to the bench's back. Cas gestured at Hex, but Hex stayed planted where he was, grinning, as his other two guards came running out of the woods.

Castiel cried out in pain and tried to pull the angel blade out of his arm. Hex held him at gunpoint. "Don't do that, Castiel. If you so much as touch that blade I'll have to shoot you, and we'll both be worse off. I want to talk to you."

One of Hex's guards was standing behind Castiel, and extended something small and wiry over Cas' head at Hex. Hex touched it and its tip burst into flame; he blew out the flame and the tip glowed as the guard pulled it back, holding it by its handle. Castiel realized what it was just as the guard jerked his collars down and planted the brand on the back of Cas' shoulder near his neck.

He yelled again and tried to pull away, but Hex grabbed his head, and when he tried to wrench his right arm away, it slid more deeply onto the angel blade. The only thing he could do was strike up and back, hard, with his left fist.

The guard holding the brand released it immediately, staggering backward and swearing. "Little pissant broke my nose!"

"Stanch the blood and see me later, Guerin. I'm a doctor." Hex cackled, scooped up the branding device, and pushed Cas' head forward. "The brand's just fine. You're sealed in that body, Castiel. You can't escape and you're powerless, at the moment." He jiggled the blade cheerfully, and Cas gasped with pain. "Devil's trap etched onto the hilt. They found a bullet like that in Mr. Vincent. I wonder who thought of that? Edward wasn't clever enough."

Castiel looked at Axel. "Are all of Revard's other guards dead?"

Axel nodded. "Angel blade through the throat. Too bad they didn't have Kevlar ski masks."

"And the gunshot – "

"Just to make my dramatic entrance more convincing." Axel looked at his sticky red gun hand. "Did that with a blade. I'll be glad to get it cleaned off."

"Have you always been with Hex?"

"Actually, only for a few days," Hex said impatiently. He sat down beside Cas, and the three security guards gathered around them, looking in all directions. "During that incident in your hallway, I thought I saw something in Axel, a willingness to do anything to be on the winning side. I simply convinced him that I was going to win. You'll talk to me, Castiel, or you'll die here with your arm still impaled."

"I don't think we have anything to say to each other."

He took Cas' chin and moved his head so that they were looking directly at each other. "Not even if I offered you twice what Mr. Vincent was paying you for doing the same work?"

"You don't have that kind of money."

"But I will. And very soon. I'll be the head of Sucro and the general of our army." He chuckled. "Maybe I'll even take over the project of raising Lord Lucifer. I've never liked Parcell."

Castiel thought for a moment. Her jerked his chin out of Hex's grip. "If you accomplish – "

Hex grabbed Cas' chin and forced his head around again. He really wanted to look into Castiel's eyes.

Castiel's right arm moved slightly, and he gasped in pain. Then he said, "If you accomplish one of those tasks – obtaining the controlling shares of Sucro, gathering loyalty oaths from our military officers, or making a significant step toward raising Lord Lucifer – I will swear my loyalty to you, in exchange for the money you just promised."

Hex looked steadily at Castiel with a little smile, and Castiel looked back.

Then Hex released Cas' chin with a laugh. "Should've known better. There's not a chance that he'd work with us, fellows. He thinks he's too good."

He leaned back on the bench, relaxed. "The problem, Castiel, is that you've cost me a lot of money. I know Vulcan was bundled out of LAX by your guards, and I know he hasn't been seen since. Do you have any idea how rare someone with his gifts is? The next best demonic armorer is in Japan. To get him exclusively on my payroll, I have to pay his costs of moving, buy him an adequately splendid house, and then pay him a huge salary. That's because you killed Vulcan, and I'm going to take it out of your hide."

He looked up and around at the guards. "Who do you think would pay most if we put Castiel on the auction block?"

"The Terrestrials," said Guerin. "He knows as much as anyone about Loyalist strengths and weaknesses."

"Hannah," Axel said, and they all laughed.

"I think not," Hex said. "But you remind me that there's a demon in Virginia who doesn't take rejection well. I think he'd pay a lot to see Castiel again."

"There's an auctioneer in Kazakhstan," said another guard. "He'd be able to find interested buyers we don't even know about."

"Really? You think someone overseas would be interested in buying a demonic bureaucrat?" Hex looked back at Castiel. "Granted, one with intelligence. And remarkable blue eyes. Maybe we'll go that route."

He stood and gestured to Guerin, the demon behind him. "Pull the knife out of the bench, but be sure to keep it in his arm." And as Guerin moved to Cas' side of the bench, "We'll take him out through the trees – "

Hex slapped at his arm, looking startled, as a pop sounded. Hex looked around at the man with a gun ducking back in among the trees.

"A human?" Hex roared. He vanished and reappeared near where the man had disappeared. Axel began running after him; the other two stared for a moment, not sure what to do, and in that moment Castiel wrenched the angel blade out of his arm.

With a yell of pain and rage, he sank the blade into the gut of the demon standing next to him. Guerin drew his gun as the other guard died. Cas spun on the bench and waved. Guerin flew eight feet away; his gun flew twelve. He scrambled to his feet as Castiel pointed at him, and ran for the trees.

Cas' knees buckled and he clutched his forearm. Blood was saturating the sleeve of his coat. The dead guard had fallen on top of his gun; watching Axel run, Castiel didn't think he had time to turn the dead guard over, especially with a hand that was shaky and sticky. He grabbed his own angel blade with his left hand, looked to see where Axel was headed, and vanished.

"You're an idiot!" Hex bellowed at a clump of trees. "A human idiot. Do you think you can hide from demonic perception among trees?"

He turned slowly, stopped with a grin on his face.

Dean wasn't going to wait for Hex to take action. He half-emerged to fire at Hex, but the gun was wrenched from his hand and he was driven, hovering six inches above the ground, over to another tree, and his back was pinned against it.