Hunter of the Shadows Book 3
Enemy at the Door.
Chapter 13
NB: A final thank you goes out to ASH48 for all her hard work. Here's wishing her luck in all her future endeavours.
Now…
The fish has long since been demolished. Wolves, humans, and bears alike sit round the boys, listening quietly, sipping mead and occasionally nodding in sympathy.
The fire is crackling away. Bobby Singer carefully places another log on top and everyone watches it catch and flare. The gruff hunter stares into the flames, eyes narrowed and his face, illuminated by the fire, appears drawn and angry.
Pastor Jim places a hand on his shoulder and when Bobby turns to him, one eyebrow raised, questioningly, the priest offers him a look of comfort that seems to say I know. I'm angry for them, too.
Tobius and Lucas are back, both in human form this time. While Lucas rejoins Bobby in staring at the fire, Tobius has fixed his solemn gaze on the boys, watching and waiting patiently.
The atmosphere is calm with an underlying sadness, and no one says a word to interrupt. All present seem to understand that this is more than just some (very) entertaining story telling.
This is also some much needed therapeutic release.
Sam stares down at his hands, seemingly lost in the past. "I kind of understood how it must feel to wait on Death Row," he shrugs while Dean watches him, eyes soft with worry and concern. "It was terrifying, not knowing what was going to happen, if they'd find me guilty, or if you guys" he glances up at Dean, briefly "were going to be in a position to break me out of there if the worst came to the worst."
Dean nods. "And it almost did," he replies, softly.
Then…
The world seemed to fall silent in our wake as we passed through the double doors of the Council Chambers. A long hallway stretched ahead of us, lined with oil paintings of some stern and grumpy looking wolves, presumably the Council elders. Candles, shielded behind glass and wrought iron carriage lanterns lit the way, revealing a few statues here and there. I'm no expert on mythology anymore than I am on astronomy, but these looked like some kind of ancient Greek deities.
Under any other circumstances, Sam would no doubt have spent some time browsing and enjoying himself considerably. The big girly geek.
The prison guard came to a halt on Sergeant Fisher's command, their boots striking the marble floor in accompaniment to the rattle of Sam's chains.
I looked up and noticed the large oak doors, with a wrought iron doorknocker in the shape of a wolf's head holding a ring in its mouth.
The Sergeant about faced and motioned for Sire and I to step forward.
"You'd best get yourselves seated," he whispered, staring straight ahead as though he wasn't even talking to us. "The sooner the better." His gaze flickered to Tobius' who gave a barely perceptible nod.
So. That confirmed my suspicions. Whatever Sire and Castiel had planned, along with Missouri, Sergeant Fisher was in on the game. That actually made me feel a little more relaxed, and not so anxious about leaving Sammy out here without me, and under armed guard.
Sam wasn't watching. His eyes were darting back and forth, up and down, and I could see how he struggled to keep his breathing under control. Kid was either on the verge of a panic attack, or losing his temper. Probably both, and I can't say as I blamed him.
Easy, Sam. I waited until I caught his eye and stared right at him. Just stay calm, ok? And don't speak unless you're asked to.
Sam scowled, petulantly. I'm not a child, Dean.
Yeah, definitely a temper issue. Not something I wanted to provoke with a smartassed comment.
No, you're not a child. I answered, sternly. You're an adult who can look after himself and knows when to keep his mouth shut. Right?
The scowl softened a little.
RIGHT? I insisted on an answer, one way or another. I mean it Sam! Your life depends on it!
Eventually, he nodded and some of the anger drained out of him, leaving his shoulders slumped in defeat. That was more the look I was going for. Self righteous anger wasn't going to work on a non-lunar jury – if anything, it would only convince them all the more of Sam's so-called guilt - but a forlorn vulnerability just might sway the balance.
It also might fool them into thinking Sam was beaten and broken, giving them all a false sense of security.
Yeah. Ok. And back came the scared, little-boy-lost routine.
I winked back at him, conveying my approval. Sam just gave a kind of nervous half-smile, but he got the message alright. Technically, he was the lawyer in our pack since he went to college for a little while but, I guess, when your own life is quite literally on the line it ain't always so easy to keep a straight head.
Sire nudged me with an elbow. "Time to go."
Instead of going through the double doors, Tobius herded me over to a much less impressive looking door off to the left. Just before we disappeared through, I sent Sam another quick, reassuring smile.
The door closed behind us with a quiet snick, and we turned to face a grand circle of graduated marble pillars and steps. It was like a Roman forum or cathedral. Down on the main floor were a series of marble pews with soft red velvet cushions, thank God! I wasn't sure how long this trial was going to take, if indeed it was going to be a proper trial, but my ass was clenching at the mere thought of sitting on that hard marble for hours on end.
The pews were divided by three aisles, each aisle leading off towards a door. The centre door was obviously the one Sam would be marched through, and I wondered where he would be seated. Then I spied the velvet cushion lying on a small marble base right at the front and centre of the pews. There were two metal loops embedded in either end of the marble base, and I had my answer.
It was a black cushion…
Something broke a little inside of me.
Sire grasped my arm, holding me back, and giving me silent warning not to erupt. After all, I'd just given Sam a lecture about keeping his temper under control. I'd hardly be doing him any favours if I lost my cool on his behalf.
"That's the defendant's stand," Sire whispered, inconsequentially. "Though Sam will be allowed to sit should he wish to, it is considered traditional to kneel and it will go down better with the elders."
Tobius was still holding out for a peaceful ending to all this, but we both knew the truth when we saw the cushion.
Seated or kneeling, I guess that decision was Sam's. But that black cushion was sending icy shivers up and down my spine, reminding me that this was all a fix, a kind of race. It confirmed that it was a set up on both sides, so not a real trial after all. It was just a question of who would finish first, because the outcome had already been decided.
On the highest steps above us, dressed in the rich, red robes of the pack, were around forty non-lunars staring back at us. Each wore a broach made of black iron, the shape of the motif indecipherable from this distance, but I guessed – correctly, I found out when we got closer – that they were of the pack emblem seen on the gates at the front entrance; three wolves, howling at the moon.
The elders sat silent and watchful, as though waiting to see what we'd do next. They looked to be in their early thirties, but I knew for a fact they were much, much older. Older than Tobius, in fact.
Even if Sire hadn't told me, I think I would have felt it the minute I walked in the room.
Some of these guys dated back to before the ancient vampire vs werewolf wars when humans were being caught and slaughtered in the crossfire. So, we're talking at least several millennia ago. Pretty staggering, huh?
"Come on," said Tobius, not so easily intimidated. He waved and smiled at Missouri, who was seated near the front, behind Castiel. Cook waved back, grinning from ear to ear.
Castiel rolled his eyes and appeared a little disgruntled.
"This is not a social event," he hissed to his older brother when we were within earshot. "Will you at least try to take this seriously?"
Apparently, it was considered rude to thought project when inside the Council Chambers. So Sire took the letter to the extreme, as it were…
Tobius grinned wolfishly. "You know me!" he loud and jovial. "I like to make an entrance!"
He turned and bowed to the elders, some of whom smothered their snorts and grins, and respectfully bowed their heads right back.
They were obviously supporters of Marcus as Pack Alpha.
One of the she-wolves, however, didn't seem nearly so amused. She regarded me coldly, as though I were nothing more than a piece of dirt caught on the bottom of her shoe.
"Who's Ms Pleasant up there?" I asked, without taking my eyes off her.
"That's Bela, Crowley's mistress," Tobius murmured back. "And don't go confusing that with 'life mate'. She's well and truly his bitch."
Hmm. Now that I was closer to the elders I could see she was attractive enough; cat like, green eyes glowing with a bold intelligence, and long, silky, dark brown hair. I held her gaze, my head up, shoulders back, eyes narrowed.
But she had me beat hands down. As we faced off, she cultivated a faintly amused half-smile, as though she had just promoted me from floor dirt to pet gerbil.
I could see why Crowley kept her around. Though young in appearance – by far the youngest looking of the elders – I could feel the years on her. It was there in her eyes; timeless, ageless, sin in a robe.
Shit. I had a crush on my uncle's ho.
Speaking of which…
"Where is that slimy worm anyways?" I asked, breaking eye contact with the sexy elder.
"If you're referring to Crowley," said Tobius, gesturing with his head towards the other small door on the opposite side of the room to where we came in. "The pompous little turd will no doubt arrive later rather than sooner." Sire's smile was grim. "He has to make an even bigger entrance than me, it seems."
Indeed, I tried hard to act with dignity but the smirk escaped just as the right side door opened to reveal Crowley, resplendent in his red robe and matching… well, not sure what it was supposed to be, but it looked a little like a one of those hats the Musketeers would wear, complete with large feather.
Yeah. That was definitely an entrance alright, 'cos Crowley is just one big entrance, if you get my meaning.
"Oh dear God," Tobius muttered, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What on earth are you wearing, brother?"
Crowley glanced over at us and smiled widely.
"Good day to you brothers and sisters," he said, just this side of cheeky, and tilted his head, indicating the hat. "I thought it rather dashing, myself."
And he'd obviously practiced majestic sweeping, possibly in front of his bedroom mirror, because there was no denying his majestic sweep down the aisle towards the front of the court. He bowed deeply, and I wondered if his tongue was long enough to reach from that distance. I'm sure he could have licked the boots of the elders if he'd tried hard enough.
Then I caught the look on Crowley's face and realised something.
He wasn't sucking up to the elders. Not at all.
He was treating them with utter contempt, and they all knew it.
Well, some of them did. Most were just staring down at us, eyes a little blank and intense. It was masked well, but it was just possible to tell who was infected by Sleepworm, and I estimated at least two thirds had been got at by Crowley.
Some of the unaffected elders scowled down at him, others just looked nonchalant. Bela hadn't taken her eyes off me, however, and I wondered how long it would take dear Uncle Crowley to notice that his woman was openly flirting with his nephew…
"I wouldn't bother if I were you, pup" said Crowley, leaning towards me as though offering me the benefit of his wisdom, and whispering loudly out the corner of his mouth. "She'd chew you up and spit you out. Believe me."
"Oh, I believe you," I sneered at him. "And you two deserve each other for that reason alone."
Crowley batted his eyelashes at me, and placed one hand on his chest.
"You wound me, young pup, your own uncle," he sniffed and shook his head, feigning hurt. "How could you?"
"Quite easily, you murdering bastard, and don't call me that!" I fumed, angrily. "I am not your pup!"
"That's enough!" One of the elders snapped before Crowley could get another word in. "Let's just get on with this, shall we? We have important Pack decisions to discuss with the Alpha."
"Yes, indeed," Bela spoke up, sounding bored, but her eyes gleamed with excitement. "Assuming the Alpha is fit for office, of course."
The large, double doors at the back swung open with a loud creek of aged hinges, and we all turned instinctively to watch the slow procession of the prison guards towards the marble stand.
Sam managed to keep pace, head neither up nor down, but eyes lowered. I knew the moment he spotted the black velvet cushion, because his steps faltered ever so slightly. Unless you knew the kid like I did, you wouldn't have thought anything of it.
But Sam had recognised the significance of the cushion.
Black. Colour of the condemned.
He did me proud, kept his cool and didn't freak out. Keeping those wide, frightened puppy dog eyes in place, Sam trudged along with his guard unit, and stood passively by while Sergeant Fisher chained him to the defendant's stand.
The Sergeant whispered something to the kid that none of us could hear, but Sam just shook his head. Fisher paused and eyed his charge for a moment, then nodded and gently helped Sam to kneel.
Sam stared ahead of him, eyes still lowered and gazing at nothing in particular.
"Sergeant?" Bela suddenly called out. "Tighten those chains!"
Castiel leapt to his feet.
"That's hardly necessary, my Lords and Ladies," he protested, and indeed some of the elders seemed to agree, judging by the sound of disapproving gasps echoing around us. "Sam has shown complete cooperation throughout the process, and moreover given his word, as grandson of the Duke himself, that he will not…"
"Castiel," Bela snapped out, angry yet somehow smug all at once. "He is charged with attempted murder by violence. We hardly want a repeat should he get free somehow."
I nearly stood up to yell at the bitch but Tobius and Missouri kept a firm grip on my arms from both sides.
"Dean, calm down and wait for the signal," Sire muttered in my ear.
We didn't need a scene, not with most of the council hopped up on Sleepworm. It could easily turn into a blood bath way too soon.
"Sergeant Fisher," Bela repeated, this time with emphasis when the guy looked distinctly uneasy at the break in protocol. "You will tighten that boy's chains. Now."
"My Lady," Fisher nodded, stiffly, and complied as gently as he could. This time I did managed to catch what he muttered to my son, and I silently thanked him.
"I'm sorry, child."
"It's ok," Sam whispered back. "You've done nothing wrong, Sergeant."
Bela leaned back on her cushion and turned that smug, superior gaze on me, as if to say 'what are you going to do now, hmm?'
What I wanted to do was wipe that smile off her face, and I had several painful NC17 ways in mind I could choose from. But Crowley was probably right about the chewing up and spitting out part.
"Now that we're all sitting comfortably," the little bitch continued, as though she were chairing the proceedings. "Well, some of us anyway," she giggled when Sam blushed and ducked his head. "Shall we decide on a verdict?"
"Wait a minute!" I couldn't hold back any longer. This was my son they were all about to pass judgment on. "You haven't heard the evidence!"
Bela laughed, high and loud, a nice sounding feminine laugh, a sexy bedroom laugh. And it made me cringe.
"What on earth for, dear boy?" she said, smiling and looking genuinely perplexed.
It was that look that set me off. Damn the signal.
Stupid bitch!
The entire council gasped like a bunch of nuns seeing a hard core porn movie for the first time.
Yeah that's right, you heard me! And the same goes for all of you! I raged and stalked out to the front of the court room, ignoring Castiel, Tobius and Missouri, who were frantically signalling me to shut up. Call yourselves elders? So wise and noble, but it's beneath you to hear the evidence? You rank, arrogant assholes! You call that 'looking after your pack interests'? Yet, you'd happily and knowingly send a young innocent to his death just to preserve some ancient fucking lore that no longer has any place in the modern world? Well, fuck you! Time has moved on and you either move with it or get left behind!
I caught Tobius' exasperated nod, lunged forward, knocked Sam to the marble floor, and shielded his body with my own.
"Now Missouri!" Sire yelled out.
At the same time, Sergeant Fisher changed and leapt at Crowley, knocking him down.
Castiel and Tobius changed and sprung forward, snarling and snapping at the panicking elders. Some of them had the presence of mind to change, but others were either too shocked to think straight or were so screwed up by the Sleepworm they couldn't even managed it.
Missouri lowered her head and raised both hands.
Around thirty sets of eyes glowed purple and the elders snarled, bucking and writhing, trying to get down from their perches to attack Cook. But Castiel and Tobius howled and snapped viciously, holding them back.
Bela, I noticed, wasn't affected at all by Sleepworm, but she sat on her cushion watching the ensuing chaos with borderline amusement. She tilted her head, stood up, lifted her cushion and gave it a thorough examination.
"Hmm," she said loudly, clearly heard over the roar of angry spirits being forcibly removed from their werewolf meat suits. "Very clever, Missouri. Devil's traps sewn into the cushions along with a little of your mojo dirt."
She actually sounded genuinely impressed.
Missouri ignored her with a snort of disgust and carried on with the exorcism.
Unfortunately, Bela's eyes narrowed and I knew she had spotted the weak link in our plan.
Before the Council had filed into the court some time before, a few adjustments had been made to the room. While Missouri had replaced the velvet cushions with her 'spike' versions, Tobius and Castiel had strategically placed small glass phials nearby, hidden behind various pillars and plant pots.
But they were glass, and therefore fragile.
Bela had the advantage of not being caught in a devil's trap, so she stalked towards the nearest phial, robes hitched up to reveal long, luscious, shapely legs, stiletto heeled boot raised and ready to kick. But she never made it.
Marcus seemed to materialise from nowhere right behind her. He grabbed Bela by the shoulders and whipped her around to face him.
She didn't even get time to scream before her throat was a torn and bloodied mess.
The Alpha stared at her, stern but sad, her blood dripping from his snout.
When his face morphed back from the partial change, he looked even more devastated.
I knew it was you, Bela. And I'm sorry you had to let us all down.
When she had gasped her last breath, he gently laid her body out on the floor, sent me a quick nod, and then, changing fully in mid-flight, leapt headfirst into the battle to assist his brothers.
Crowley was holding off the Sergeant and his guards successfully. After all, he helped train them, so he knew all their strengths and weaknesses, not to mention Crowley had lots more years of warrior experience under his belt.
That, and he was one dirty fighter. He had everything to lose, because the minute the elders were free of the spirits, he was well and truly in the shit. Many of the elders were on Marcus' side still, and the rest would be quickly hunted down and apprehended.
Crowley would be outnumbered and backed into a corner. If I were him, I would choose a moment real soon to bolt and run like hell.
Sam was squirming under me.
Dean, what's going on? Is it working?
I stared at the scene in amazement. Pretty sure I've never witness anything quite so surreal before, and that's saying something.
Y-yeah, Sammy. I think so.
Each infected elder was pinned to their cushion, with the black Sleepworm goo struggling out of their mouths.
I shifted so that Sam could see.
He wrinkled his nose in disgust. Geez. Tell me I didn't look like that!
Sammy? I deadpanned, not missing a trick in spite of the drama going on around us. You looked like that.
Aw man, he whined. That's just gross.
Crowley let out a snarl, threw off the Sergeant and three of his men, knocking them into the other guards, changed and made a dash for the exit.
Shit, Sire he's getting away.
Crowley looked back at me, very briefly, grinning widely, beady eyes flashing at me.
I went rigid with shock.
No way. It couldn't be…Sire!
But Tobius was already busy trying to hold back the newly freed up elders, some of whom were also trying to pick their moment to escape, whereas others were just plain fighting their way out. It became confusing after that, because the Alpha supporters began to turn on the Crowley supporters, and it was hard to tell who were the good guys. Castiel, Marcus and Tobius were still in the thick of it, unaware that their traitorous brother had escaped.
Unaware of what he'd become.
Dean, go. Sam ordered, but I hesitated too long. I couldn't just leave him there, trussed up and helpless when there were still hostile werewolves around. If one slipped the clutches of Sire and the others, anything could happen to him.
Now! He all but yelled at me.
Sergeant Fisher limped over to us, blood pouring from his snout and staining his fur. Go on. I'll look after the boy. He puffed and panted. My men are wounded, so you'll be faster than any of us. And you're gonna need to be fast to catch that wiley bastard.
Huh? I blinked stupidly.
The Sergeant pushed at me with his dark muzzle. Crowley is the fastest thing on four legs in the entire pack. He's been clocked at speeds way above the Cheetah.
Aw shit.
Figures, huh?
What else had that smug bastard got up his sleeve?
It seemed a lot more, because when I got outside the chambers and raced along to the front gates, he'd already managed to con his way off pack territory. The duty guards wouldn't have known any better; no one in the chambers would have had the time or opportunity to call the guard house and have Crowley arrested. So, when approached by their superior officer and co-head of the NLSU, they wouldn't have had any reason to detain him.
They just let him go.
Wish like hell I'd thought of that earlier.
Dammnit!
Dean, let's go. Sam called out. Fisher called ahead but it was too late. He told the guards to let us go after Crowley.
He appeared at my side, eyes glowing blue-green, paws pounding the cobblestones.
Together, we raced after our uncle, out the huge iron and oak doors and disappeared into the wilderness, following Crowley's scent. Leaving the pack grounds behind, I cast one last glance at the emblem on the gate.
Now I understood about that third wolf under the moon.
Marcus, Crowley and Castiel.
Except it was never really Crowley.
It could never be him.
Sam bumped his shoulder with mine. He could see what I was thinking.
It was hellish clever, Dean. You couldn't have known.
No. Because, though he'd hid it successfully for the most part, he still gave himself away.
And let's face it, we should've guessed right from the outset that something was wrong.
Crowley had somehow turned himself into a Type One.
TBC...
So Crowley's on the loose, and obviously has plans of his own.
Can Sam and Dean track him down before things get out of hand?
Hmm. Gimme some love and I might just tell you...
Cheers everyone.
Love ST.