Chapter 8: The Ties That Bind

Thursday, August 4, 2005.

Berkeley Medical Center was in the town of Martinsburg, a twenty minute drive from Shepherdstown. When Neal arrived at Angela's floor, he found Michael standing outside her room. He'd been texting Neal updates throughout the afternoon. The last bulletin Neal had received, he was still waiting for test results. By the smile on his face, it was plain he'd gotten his answer.

"They're negative!" he said, his voice a rough whisper. He looked like he wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

With that, the blackest of the dark clouds hanging over Neal vanished. Sexual molestation could be crossed off.

"The doctor assured me she hadn't had sex in at least twenty-four hours." Michael chuckled sheepishly. "With the fight we had last night, there was no chance of that between us. I guess I should be grateful. It simplified the diagnosis."

"How much does Angela remember?"

"She recalls wanting to go see Lutar, but she can't figure out why. As for the days before . . . she remembers everything. How she acted. What she said." Michael lowered his voice still further. "She feels wretched about what happened. I've been telling her it was the drug's fault."

Neal promised to do the same.

A white-haired doctor came out of her room. He had a comforting, grandfatherly air about him which was exactly what Angela needed. Dr. Masius explained that the effects of the barbiturate she'd been given had worn off. They wanted to keep her overnight for observation, but she should be able to go home tomorrow morning.

When Neal and Michael entered the room, she was sitting upright in bed. Neal gave bonus points to the hospital for providing her with a hospital gown in pistachio green with tropical flowers.

Her smile was as bright as the colors in her gown when she saw them. "My heroes!" she exclaimed.

After a flurry of hugs, Angela ordered Neal to sit next to her for what she called her interrogation. Michael perched on the edge of the bed next to her, keeping his arm around her.

"Have you spoken with Mom?" was the question on the top of her list.

"Not yet," Neal admitted. "Peter had advised holding off for a few hours before ringing the panic alarm. We planned to call her this evening."

"Thank you, Peter," she said, letting out her breath in a whoosh of ir. "I don't think there's any reason for her to know about this, do you?"

"That's your call," he said. After all the times Neal had hidden injuries from his relatives, he was the last one to give her advice.

She nodded gratefully. "I don't want Mom or any of my other relatives to know."

Spoken like a true Caffrey.

"Mom was worried about my safety in New York City. If she knew what happened here, she'd want me to move back in with her."

Michael squeezed her shoulder. "You got me as your protector. I'll make sure Paige gets the message you're in safe hands."

Angela pulled his face toward her for a kiss which left no doubts about her current state of bliss. Neal could report to Mozzie that his love guru services wouldn't be required.

"The police came by a half-hour ago," Michael said after they came up for air. "They questioned me about those bottles you found in Lutar's room."

"Angela, had you ever seen them?" Neal asked.

"Only once. It was during a dulcimer workshop. I saw him take a small purple bottle out of his pocket, but I didn't notice what he did with it." Her face grew anxious. "I wish I knew how long he'd been drugging me."

"It couldn't have been very long," Neal assured her. "When you called me a week ago you sounded like your usual Funny Bunny self."

She smiled gratefully. "Don't worry, I'll be back. I wish I had a magic potion to make me forget how I treated Michael . . . How I behaved toward you." She looked up at Michael. "The words I used—"

He kissed her. "That magic potion must have worked. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Did Lutar ask you to go to him?" Neal asked, even as he hated having to bring it up.

"I don't think so," she admitted in a small voice. "It just popped into my head. Last night, Michael and I were watching Lost in Translation on TV." She turned to face Michael. "You looked so miserable. I thought moving in with Lutar would be the perfect solution. When I think back, I'm appalled. How could I have possibly considered—"

"Shush," Michael quieted her. "That was the drug talking."

She nodded. "I left around four o'clock in the morning after lying awake most of the night. I went into the bathroom to give Lutar a call. I remember being surprised he wasn't asleep. He came and picked me up." She turned to Neal. "As I told the doctor, Lutar didn't come on to me. We kissed but it went no further. We had a drink—that must have been when he gave me the barbiturate. I became so sleepy, I barely remember him taking me to the guest bedroom."

Angela was worried about her class but the kids hadn't suffered from her lack of attention. Michael planned to stay in Shepherdstown with her the following week and would help finish the props. After the performance they'd return to New York together.

Neal and Michael steered the conversation onto the musical production. Angela was happy to discuss the plans she had to bring her teaching experience to the kids in New York City. She wanted to create similar programs in disadvantaged neighborhoods. Her ambition was to write children's musicals featuring animal characters as a way of bridging cultural differences. Angela could dream big. She was already coaxing them to help, and had her eyes on Henry's boyfriend Eric who was a skilled carpenter.

How could they refuse her anything? Angela had no idea how close she'd come to being cast as Mina, and Neal vowed she'd never find out.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Neal called Peter from the hospital with the good news about Angela and that he'd fill him in when he was back in the inn. He suggested Peter's room where they could speak in privacy.

It wasn't a conversation Neal was looking forward to. Most of the time he could predict Peter's reaction, but this wasn't one of them. Neal grabbed a couple of coffees from the courtesy bar on the way up, although Peter might require something stiffer once he heard.

Peter's room was equipped with a small couch. No need for a fire in the fireplace, but it was a cozy place to chat. The quilted counterpane and Early American furnishings made the room seem inviting, especially after the Gothic horror they'd experienced. It was the kind of atmosphere Angela needed. Neal was glad Michael had booked a room for them to stay at the inn over the weekend.

After asking him about Angela, Peter updated him on the case. As expected, Max Ganesh would be in charge of the operation. Peter's account to Max of what had occurred was somewhat incomplete but there were no lies. Peter and Neal had gone to the castle to question Lutar about Angela. Lutar had left and his whereabouts were unknown.

"Sam's made a full recovery," Neal said. "We came back to find him making up for lost meals. We're going to celebrate tonight at the Town Run Brewing Company. It's your kind of place—brews, comfort food."

"—but not yours."

"They have a pool table. Dean may challenge me to a grudge match. Or we could take 'em on at poker." Neal's words trailed off as he reconsidered. This might not be the best time. Better to wait till Peter had several beers under his belt. There'd be less chance of him freaking out.

They were heading back to New York for the most complicated con Neal had ever run. Would Peter slam the brakes on it? But there was that annoying conscience tapping him on the shoulder, reminding him of the promise he'd made. No more secrets. Not for anything work related. And he had to be honest. This could have an impact.

"You said Angela's fine, so you can't be worried about her," Peter prompted. "How about you? Anything I should know?"

"Yeah, I had a second . . . I don't know what to call it. Attack? Vision? Flashback?" Neal described what had occurred in the Winchesters' room. "I haven't had a recurrence. Those red splotches I saw haven't returned."

He studied Peter for his reaction, and as expected, he looked like he needed an antacid. Peter already had so much stuff to deal with, and now Neal was adding to his stack.

Peter set down his coffee cup carefully and exhaled, his lips tightening into a hard line. "Dean thinks Lutar might have been the conduit for Astrena to target you. Has Angela had any visions?"

"I asked her about any hallucinations or weird dreams when I questioned her about the side effects of the drug. She hasn't had any. How about you? Did you have any visions when Lutar attacked you?"

He nodded. "Perhaps his personal version of Hell. I felt like I was being scorched on the surface of the sun."

"Similar to my experience."

"With one big difference. There was no blue figure, no ice queen in mine. The second event could have been a flashback—"

"Exactly," Neal said, pouncing on his words. "If it happens again, I could discuss it with Doc Jacob."

Peter frowned. "You didn't let me finish. Your therapist won't be much help if it's Astrena, and a flashback wouldn't cause those red splotches you saw."

"Taking the worst case scenario, if Astrena is interested in me, I could play the optimist that she realizes my art isn't up to her standard, and she'll give up on me."

"That's one possibility. She could also decide you're the artist of her dreams."

Neal winced. "It took months for the Connecticut artist to show symptoms. I feel exceptionally healthy. So even if she has linked to me, it could be years before anything happens. I can't live my life sitting around waiting for another vision. Let's not blow this out of proportion." Neal knew he was talking as much to himself as to Peter. He couldn't let himself relive the terror of that encounter with Lutar. It was just a nightmare. It hadn't really happened. Right.

That evening at the Town Run Brewing Company.

Neal appeared determined to not let thoughts about Astrena cast a damper on what was supposed to be a celebration party. Peter was hardly in a party mood after hearing his report. But for Neal's sake, he did his best to comply. He could have easily hidden that second vision or dismissed it as a random fluke. The old Neal would have. That alone should be worth a toast.

The hangout Neal had found for their final night was a lively place even on a Thursday night. It defied labels. Bar didn't feel right. Perhaps frat house basement. Their innkeeper had confirmed it had a good kitchen. The decor might best be called industrial grunge. Video machines. Pool tables. A small stage indicated they must have live performances.

"I noticed a karaoke machine," Neal said with a nod to the stage. "Peter, I'm informed by highly reputable witnesses that you and Dean put on a mean performance in South Jersey. Sam and I missed out last time. Any chance of a do-over?"

"Not when there are chorizo sliders in front of me," Peter protested, keeping his tone light. If Neal could bury his fears, for one evening he was determined to do the same. They both needed a timeout.

As if to prove he wasn't wasting away, Neal loaded the table with wings and ribs. Even the salad came with grilled chicken. Sam was especially appreciative. His appetite had returned with a vengeance.

"How about if I order a round of waffle fries?" Neal offered, checking the menu. "They come loaded with Cheddar, sour cream, and bacon."

"Hell, I'll sing for that," Dean said. "Where's my guitar?"

Sam snorted. "Since when have you needed one?" He turned to them. "Dean can rock an air guitar, sometimes even in our car." He went on to explain that Dean liked to belt out songs when they were driving along the highway. Peter noticed how the corner of Neal's mouth twitched at the news. Sam's words were being stored in Neal's memory vault for future use.

After a few brews and sliders, Peter was able to get more into the mood. They toasted Angela's return to sanity, Michael's return to blissful happiness, and even tossed in one for Lutar being out of the picture.

"Where are you off to next?" Neal asked Sam.

"We're heading back your way. Chloe wants us to stop off in New York."

"A day or two of R&R will do us both good before heading for the next job," Dean said and added with a grin, "Particularly since Maia's coming down."

Sam's face brightened. "She is? I haven't heard anything about it."

"Chloe told me this evening when I called her. Maia may have wanted to surprise you. But this shouldn't come as a shock. The way she's been calling you, I expected her to put on a nurse uniform and come down to hold your hand. Peony—that's the woman who owns the townhouse—is extending the friends and family discount to Maia, too, so I guess you won't have to sleep in the car."

Peter hadn't heard of Peony, but the others clued him in. She ran a B&B in a brownstone near Columbia and was also head of a Wicca coven. Her sister Wisteria was in Chloe's New Haven coven. It made Peter wonder if covens had become the new sororities. Even more surprising was that Neal intended to ask Chloe about potions to protect him from Astrena.

At first Peter thought Neal was joking, but Neal insisted he wasn't. And Peter had to concede he had a good reason to give her a second chance. Thanks to Chloe's anti-vamp essence, Lutar hadn't smelled Neal in the house. Peter might need to reappraise how much of a menace Chloe was to society. If Neal was being haunted by Astrena, he didn't have a lot of good options.

Billiards was a hot discussion topic over dinner. Dean wanted to even the score after Neal beat him in Buttonwood and Peter had pool on his bucket list. Neal had become an expert in trick shots during the years of his misguided youth and offered to give a demonstration.

After the food was devastated, everyone joined in for a master class. Concerns about Astrena didn't appear to hamper Neal's game. He reeled off one joke after another while displaying the dexterity of a virtuoso with the cue stick. But all that indicated was that his con artist skills were once more fully operational. Peter supposed he should be happy. Their trip to Shepherdstown was originally intended to test Neal's readiness. By that standard it was a success.

When Peter headed to the bar to get another beer, Dean followed him.

"It's gonna take Sam a while to learn the machine gun shot," Dean said, taking a seat at the counter, "and there's something I've wanted to ask you."

"What's on your mind?" Peter asked, pulling over a bar stool. "Astrena?"

"Not so much her as Sam. Neal reminds me a little of him. They have this secret side they don't show to others. Neal hides it under a smartass exterior. Sam buries himself underneath the shell of a quiet nerd. Neither one lets walls down easily. I figured Neal simply liked giving off a man of mystery vibe. Now I know he was a thief. How'd he wind up working at the FBI?"

"There are very few who know about Neal's former life," Peter cautioned. "It's a mark of his trust in you that he revealed it. Neal turned over a new leaf. He's putting his expertise to good use, and the team he works with values his contributions. But it wasn't easy to make the change. Those walls you mentioned took a long time to be dismantled. We've had our ups and downs in learning to trust each other."

"Not the way I see it," Dean countered. "He told you straight off about that second whacked-out vision he had." He snorted. "No way would Sam have told me. What's your secret, man?"

Neal a role model for being open? That was a new one. If Dean only knew a fraction of the issues they'd had over Neal's secrets . . . "We've both had to put sweat into the game. Recently we made a breakthrough, but only after some difficult moments."

"Then you understand where I'm coming from." Dean huffed his frustration. "Sam and me . . ." He paused to glance at his brother. Sam was laughing with Neal about something while racking the balls. "We're constantly working jobs, taking care of things. We spend far too much time together than can be healthy. But can I get him to confide in me? No way. If something's troubling him, I'm the last person he'll talk to."

"Are you sure you're not overstating the problem?"

"Not possible. Last year he started having premonitions, but it took months before I could drag it out of him what was going on. The worst part is I know straight off when something's not right." He locked eyes on Peter, a frown on his face. "You got any tips? 'Cause what I'm doing isn't working."

"I think what's helped us over the past month is that Neal recognized how destructive keeping secrets can be. If Sam's like Neal, he's doing it to protect you, and that makes it even tougher to fight. You have to prove to him that by not telling you he's harming both himself and you."

Dean didn't look convinced.

"Sam will come around. It's up to you to be patient and keep chipping away. I know it's tough. I feel like ramming my head against the wall sometimes and say why do I have to be the grown-up? You were forced to assume that role when you were still a kid yourself. That's a helluva long time to build up resentment and frustration."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Sam senses that which makes it worse. He feels guilty for all the responsibility that's been shoved on your shoulders. It doesn't make your job any easier but knowing the source of the problem may help."

Dean nodded, his eyes focused on his beer. Peter shuddered when he thought of the kind of lives they must have led as kids with their dad off hunting monsters. How young had Dean been when he first went hunting? A lot of dark memories to be burdened with.

Was this a good time? Dean didn't have that chip on his shoulder that he so often displayed. Peter felt more in the zone with him than ever before. If he didn't speak up now, he might not have another chance.

"I'd like your help on something," Peter ventured, treading carefully.

Dean turned to eye him curiously. "On what? You got wind of another demon?"

"God, no. I've got too many already. Is Sam still having the premonitions?"

"Yeah. Now when he gets them, they—at least the ones I hear about—are for upcoming attacks. Sam tells me 'cause he knows we need to haul ass to save someone."

"And do you know why he's getting them?"

"No," Dean admitted, "and it worries the hell out of me."

"But you continue to do your jobs, even with this hanging over your heads."

He shrugged. "We have no choice. That's the way it is. We work one demon at a time, knowing there's always more out there."

That wasn't a comforting thought. "Now Neal may have this Astrena—I don't know what to call it—link, curse? I don't have a clue on how to keep him safe. If we were dealing with ordinary criminals, I'd put the team on the case, and we'd work to catch them. Any suggestions on how to fight a goddess?"

He tightened his lips for a moment. "You fight fire with fire. It's the same with magic. That's where we come in, and you may not like hearing it, but Chloe too. Sometimes it's a special weapon, or a potion, or a spell, but there's always something."

"Every dragon has a weak spot?"

Dean chuckled. "That's one monster we haven't had to confront yet, but it's a good way to look at it."

Federal Building. August 5, 2005. Friday afternoon.

"You're telling me Lutar poofed away like one of the ghasts in my Arkham Files stories?" Diana stood back, staring incredulously at him as Neal described Lutar's last moments. Neal knew in advance that would be her reaction.

When he and Peter arrived back in New York, they went straight to the office. The team hadn't been idle while they were away. Travis had discovered that Lutar's past had been a fabrication. There were no records of him at the university he'd supposedly attended. As for Nesarat Holdings, the company which had purchased Lutar's estate, they'd been provided the funds through an agent acting on behalf of a client in Italy. It would take time to follow the money trail, but so far Jones had found nothing suspicious in the transaction.

The flash enclosure which had been left in the castle provided confirmation of identity fraud for over two hundred names. The attacks appeared to have started three weeks ago, tying in with Lutar's arrival in Shepherdstown. Crowley's link to the frauds had given Jones a new mission. He'd been the agent to initially report the Dutchman they later identified as Hagen. He was now taking aim on Crowley's fraud operation.

When Hagen had been an art forger, it had taken over a decade to bring him to justice. Realistically what were their odds of success with a demon? Should Jones apprentice himself out to the Winchesters? Would the brothers need to conduct hunter boot camp for the team?

And then there was the gigantic problem that was Astrena. Dean freely admitted he knew of no way to capture a Greek goddess. Crowley's involvement with identify fraud implied she could be linked to the operation as well.

During the briefing Neal and Peter discussed what happened to Lutar and the other vampires. At Peter's insistence, Neal described the image he'd seen in his head. The events of that day sounded so incredible, he was surprised Diana didn't tease him about it. Instead, after the briefing she cornered him in the breakroom for a detailed description of the gory details, as she put it. Was she taking notes to use the ideas in her stories? Plot bunnies she called them. Would Angela enjoy being thought of as a plot bunny? Neal had warned everyone not to ever tell her the truth about the Gothic horror tale she'd starred in.

"You realize that when I had the ghast disintegrate into a column of smoke, I never expected that something like that would actually happen," Diana admitted.

"Dean's seen it happen before with certain types of demons." Neal poured himself a cup of coffee from White Collar's ancient coffeemaker. At the inn they'd had freshly roasted coffee from the Lost Dog Coffee Bar. He could still taste the dense aromatic aroma of the Papua New Guinea blend they'd had this morning—

Diana snapped her fingers. "Focus, Caffrey. Tell me more about this Van Helsing character."

He stared at her. "Is that what you call Dean?"

"Sure. Did you see the movie Van Helsing with Hugh Jackman? The way you described Dean makes him sound like a modern version of Van Helsing."

Neal plastered a smile he didn't feel on his face. This was one conversation he'd never repeat to Dean. The man already thought he was God's gift to women.

"I was thinking, I should take a break from Arkham Files," she continued. "I could write the White Collar version of Dracula instead. We're short on women, though—a lamentable oversight. Tricia could play Lucy. I guess you'd have to be Mina."

"Not happening," Neal insisted, shaking his head. "Jones would be much better."

She snorted. "I'll tell him it was your idea."

"Who'll be Dracula?"

"That's obvious, isn't it? White Collar's resident Vulcan, Travis."

"He'd probably love the part. Will you play one of Dracula's sisters?"

"Not me," she scoffed. "I'm claiming the role of Van Helsing."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

On Saturday mornings, Neal took training in kung fu from the owner of the Aloha Emporium, Billy Feng. Billy had started teaching him as therapy to counteract the Mansfelds' brainwashing. Now Neal hoped Billy would help exorcise any lingering traces of Astrena.

Billy was instructing Neal in the Way of the Orchid, a personal style of fighting he'd developed with his daughter Maggie. Martial arts and orchids appeared a mismatch to most people but not to Billy. In addition to being Mozzie's business partner in the Hawaiian organic honey business, he was also an expert on orchids.

Maggie was teaching a variant of the technique to a women's group. Among the participants were Sara and Mozzie's girlfriend Janet. For the upcoming con, Sara would play a key role where she'd pretend to fall for Neal in order to spy on his activities while he'd also try to take advantage of her. The Way of the Orchid, which was all about the art of deception and concealment, could prove useful for both of them.

No one knew that he and Sara planned to test the actual dating waters. To foil the would-be matchmakers in their lives, they'd decided to keep their interest in each other a secret. Only a couple of weeks ago, Neal had disclosed his criminal past to Sara. What would she say when she heard about vampires and witches? Or Astrena? Sara knew he had secrets, but nothing like this.

The bamboo door chimes made a soft wooden tinkle as Neal opened the door to the emporium. In the back of the store, space had been carved out for a small café and that's where Neal immediately looked. Saturday meant that waffles with lilikoi butter were on the menu and Mozzie would undoubtedly be acquiring sustenance for the upcoming session.

He'd called the previous night that he'd returned home. His friend in Rome, Luchino, had searched the Vatican archives for accounts of Astrena. Mozzie was convinced Vatican authorities had expurgated many of the reports as blasphemy. But then, Mozzie saw conspiracies everywhere.

Neal found his conspiracy expert as expected with a plate of waffles in front of him, but Mozzie wasn't having breakfast alone. That Billy was there too wasn't a surprise but Chloe?

When Billy spotted Neal, he stood up and waved him over. "I just made a fresh pot of Kona coffee. Come and join us." Billy called out to his assistant Steve to fetch Neal a mug. "Our lesson may be delayed. I've been having a fascinating conversation with Chloe."

"I called her last night and suggested she join us," Mozzie explained.

"Peony hadn't heard of Astrena," Chloe said, "but she'd read about the ancient Greeks' belief in the magical properties of wildflowers. Supposedly orchids are particularly potent. Peony reasoned that if Astrena has a connection to orchids, then orchids could be key to breaking any psychic link she establishes."

Neal looked at Billy warily. "Do you know about Astrena?"

A smile crossed Billy's face. "I do now. Mozzie's brought me up to speed."

"Luchino told me about a report from a Jesuit priest writing in the seventeenth century. He believed the goddess could bewitch flowers. Even more relevant is one account that she could place someone's soul into an orchid bloom."

"What are you saying, Mozz? That I'll turn into a flower?" Neal asked incredulously.

"Of course not. Although, with Astrena, who knows? Now pay attention. You remember those fire orchids we found last month in Jenny Jump State Forest. They could have contained pure-blood vampires who emerged from them like butterflies from their chrysalis."

"And we have other evidence of orchids being used," Chloe added. "An orchid was found in the hex bag which was used to free Curtis Hagen from prison."

Neal took a large glug of coffee. This was heady stuff for first thing in the morning. Had Lutar's essence been placed back into an orchid from where he could once more emerge?

"When I asked Peony for help with orchids, she referred me to Billy," Chloe said.

"Peony's a dear," Billy said. "She's also prone to exaggeration." His broad face expressed gentle amusement. "I've never researched the magical properties of orchids, although I've heard about the legends. In Greece there are tales of how orchids can be used to determine the sex of your child, increase your fertility—"

"—and strengthen your sexual prowess," Mozzie pointed out, interrupting. "I've heard the legends as well. So far, I must admit the jury is out."

Neal eyed his friend warily. Mozzie was constantly tempted to experiment with drugs. Had he embarked on a new line of research with his girlfriend Janet? Should Neal worry that Mozzie could now be an orchid-eater? Compared with some of his other experiments, this one seemed fairly innocuous. But on the other hand, those fire orchids which appeared to be linked to the pure-bloods . . . What would happen if he ingested one of those?

"When you came in, I was telling them I may be able to provide some assistance," Billy said, wisely refraining from any comments on Mozzie's experiment. "When I lived in Macao, I studied under a master orchidologist. He told me about a Japanese botanist of the late eighteenth century named Ono Ranzan."

"Ah yes," Mozzie said. "The Japanese Linnaeus."

Billy nodded. "The very same. Ono traveled throughout Asia and reportedly had access to botanical works which have now disappeared. He wrote a book on the occult uses of orchids."

Chloe was scribbling notes at a furious pace. "Do you know of any copies?"

Billy shook his head. "The book my teacher had seen was destroyed during the bombing of Tokyo in the Second World War."

At Chloe's look of dismay, Mozzie patted her arm. "Don't lose hope. Some of Ono's works exist in translations."

"It's possible I may have more about the book in my notes," Billy said. "They're upstairs in my library."

When Billy and Mozzie left to check, Neal thanked Chloe for her vampire-masking oil. "Angela and I are both in your debt."

"Dean and Sam arrived yesterday and filled me in on what went on." She lowered her voice. "Dean asked me if there was a way to detect a psychic connection to Astrena."

"I never thought I'd need to consult a psychic but if I had faith one actually knew what she was talking about . . ."

She smiled sympathetically. "I know what you mean. When I began writing urban fantasies, I didn't believe for a minute that any of the magic I was describing could actually exist. But now, after what Dean and Sam have told me, and what I'm learning from the covens, I sometimes feel like I'm writing documentaries rather than fiction. Peony has the reputation for being a psychic with a remarkable success ratio. If you'd like to try her out, I'm sure something could be arranged."

Neal hesitated. Had he sunk that low? "Have Dean and Sam had a chance to evaluate her?"

"Not yet. Why don't you come over this afternoon? Bobby's coming to town. He has some news to report."

Neal didn't have any other plans. If Peony pronounced him curse-free, it might not be that significant but Peter wouldn't worry so much.

"Dean told me about those bottles you found in Lutar's room. Have they discovered anything more about them?" Chloe asked.

"The lab's never seen that particular formula before and frankly doesn't even know how to classify it. Perfume? Flavor extract? Drug? I told Angela that it was a new designer drug, and that may be true."

Chloe nodded, looking wistful. "I wish I could have had a chance to test it."

Neal smiled at her. "Then I'll make your day. I didn't give the lab all the bottles I'd discovered. I held a couple back, hoping I could coax you." He assumed a stern expression, cutting short her delighted thanks. "But you have to promise me to keep them out of Mozzie's hand. He'd likely want to test the drug on himself."

"But we may need a volunteer," she pleaded. "Under controlled conditions?"

From out of nowhere Mozzie appeared behind them. "Controlled conditions?" His nose was twitching like a mouse sniffing the aroma of Camembert. He pulled up a chair next to Chloe, and before Neal could say Roquefort, the two were deep into herbs, potions, and infusion techniques.

The fact that Billy had found the name of the book, The Magical Properties of Orchids, only added to their enthusiasm. Mozzie promised to scour the planet in his quest to find a copy.

Billy and Neal headed to the back of the café to refill their coffees. "Mozzie told me about the fire orchids you encountered," Billy said. "I've heard some amazing tales, but his account of vampires being spawned from orchids will take me a while to digest."

"Vampires weren't so much a stretch for me," Neal confessed. "I've seen my share of horror movies, but that flowers could transform to supernatural beings?"

"It's not as well-known, but there are legends about it. Are you familiar with the tale of Orchis in Greek mythology?"

"The satyr who was turned into an orchid by the gods? Mozzie told me about him."

Billy nodded. "There are similar legends in Asia. There can be much wisdom in those old stories." Billy was called away to wait on a customer, leaving Neal to ponder his words. Souls trapped within flowers. Could it actually happen? He bet if he asked Bobby, he would have heard of a case.

When Neal returned to the table, Mozzie and Chloe were deep into a discussion of flower ingredients and potions. Once they began describing the effects they wanted to achieve, Mozzie's eyes took on the rapturous glitter of the newly converted.

Was this the start of a new passion for his effervescent friend? Mozzie had been fixated on all things honey-related since December— a long era in Mozzie's warped space-time continuum. He was overdue. Potions would have a natural appeal for a man who'd been fascinated by the effects of drugs for as long as Neal had known him. If it wasn't for the threat of a curse hanging over him, Neal would have gladly kept Mozzie at arm's length from anything associated with alchemy and the occult. Why couldn't this continue to be Mozzie's Golden Age of Bees and Honey? Would Chloe's arrival in town act like a devastating asteroid, crushing bees in its wake and ushering in the Age of Potions?

Neal wouldn't be able to rely on Janet for help. Like Chloe, she was a wildflower enthusiast. Originally Chloe had researched herbs to provide authenticity to her novels. That was the same reason she'd joined a Wiccan coven in New Haven. But what had been a side interest was rapidly turning into a passion.

More than likely Janet had joined Peony's coven along with Chloe. They were both interested in wildflowers. Could Mozzie be next? Were men even allowed in covens or did warlocks have their separate man covens? Although alchemy might serve to dampen Mozzie's enthusiasm for cave slime and space aliens, Neal doubted it. Mozzie would simply merge the interests.

But that was a problem for another day. Chloe had volunteered to investigate the contents of Lutar's bottles. The professionals had provided nothing enlightening. She was their best hope. Chloe had lent a sympathetic ear to his concerns about Astrena. If she could figure out a way to banish her from ever reappearing, she'd earn his undying gratitude. He could put up with Mozzie being a warlock.

"If Janet and I didn't have tickets to a matinée, I'd join you at Peony's," Mozzie said. "She got us tickets for Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, an intriguing take on reality and illusion." He glanced at Neal. "It could be instructive for what's to come."

Neal caught the reference. The con was about to begin. All they were waiting for was Peter's permission to offer the Braque for sale.

Chloe looked at them curiously but didn't pry. Neal liked that about her and suspected Dean appreciated it even more. She respected boundaries. "Maia's arriving this afternoon," she said, switching topics as if to prove she knew theirs was off limits. "We thought it would be fun to go somewhere together. Dean's into rock music. Any suggestions?"

"There's a new club in the Village, called Riffs. I've played there some."

Chloe's eyes widened. "I didn't realize you play too. Does Dean know?"

"I don't think so. Riffs has open mic night on Saturdays. You could give Dean a chance to redeem himself after that rather disastrous karaoke performance in Buttonwood."

"He does have a good voice," she said with a grin, "even if he refuses to ever sing 'Happy Trails' again."

"There's a music shop next door. The owner's a friend of mine. I could supply Dean with a loaner guitar if he needs one."

Could Dean be coaxed to perform? Neal intended to make sure of it. Everyone else would have a date. Sara was out of town. Bianka had been too sick to go to the concert last weekend. This could make up for it. They'd never discussed rock music. What would she think if she knew he used to perform professionally as a member of Urban Legend?


Notes: Neal ventures into unfamiliar territory next week when he attends his first séance. Dean and Sam have had experience with psychics and would tell Neal that, just like with witches, their abilities can be powerful mysterious world of the occult could be considered another shadow world. Like Mozzie's life as a con man, it's little understood by outsiders. I wrote about "Shadow Worlds" this week for our blog.

The Town Run is an actual establishment in Shepherdstown. There's a photo of it on the Pinterest board. Ono Ranzan is indeed the Japanese Linnaeus but only Billy knows of his interest in the occult.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! Dark Rabbit reaches its conclusion next week in Chapter 9: Open Mic.

Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Dark Rabbit board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website