Chapter Twenty-Five

He spotted them in the darkness.

Night had fallen hard and fast over Penworth, and it was hard to tell how many there were when the shapes kept merging and separating, merging and separating again with the shadows. There were at least five, and Shawn was one of them. Dean knew that because Shawn wasn't trying all that hard to keep quiet. Adam was another, identified only by the sound of his voice. The others were silent.

Dean was lucky to come out of the dorm on their heels rather than in front of them. He trailed along in their wake, staying far in the distance since long stretches of campus were barren of trees or anything else with which to conceal himself. They were going in the direction of the admin building.

If this situation got out of control . . . he would grab Sam and get the hell out of here, hitchhike away from the school and find a pay phone to call Bobby. Then they could come back at this thing with a full arsenal, prepared for whatever they found. Creeping along past a quiet building, he thought, dammit, Sammy.

He stepped on some fallen leaves, which crackled. One of the figures turned around as Dean ducked down beneath a window. There was no moon, and only thin yellow shafts coming from lights around the school. Shawn passed through one, walking backwards for a moment to look out into the night. Another figure separated from the shadows, a girl. Dean thought it might be Amber Irving. If it was, he guessed one of the others was her brother Corey.

The group of them made the administration building and circled to the back. Dean waited for them to vanish around the corner. It seriously needed to be raked here and he could hardly see where he was going. When more dry leaves crackled under his shoe, he hunkered down behind a bush and held his breath. No one came back to look. Faintly, he heard creaking. They were going down to the basement.

"Aw, come on," a guy complained moments later. The doors to the basement were squeaking. The voice belonged to Mr. Bug Up The Nose, Travis Lane. The guy was a real whiner. Dean peered around and then slunk along to the doors once they had closed. When he guessed that enough time had elapsed for them to be off the stairs and going through the tables, he opened one door with excruciating slowness.

Once inside, he closed it the same way. It was dim in here. He wished that it were even dimmer. Carefully, he picked his way down the stairs and listened to the scuffling of people going at a crawl into the secret room. Adam chanted, "I see London, I see France-" and then he howled with pain at a thud. It sounded like someone had kicked him, and presumably a girl since he said, "Bitch! You almost broke my nose!"

Dean stole around the corner. Boxes, boxes everywhere, and not a head in sight. He might have a blade, yet he was seriously outnumbered. From the secret room, voices were coming loud and clear. Adam was overriding everyone. "What the hell? Dude, she hit me in the face for no reason!"

"I had a reason," Amber retorted. "Calm down. It's not like I could make you any uglier."

"I'm bleeding!"

"Yeah? Well, so is Hilary, and she's not being a big baby about it."

"Shut up," Hilary said lazily. "We've got bigger problems."

"Oooh," said an adult male voice that Dean didn't know. "Hilary Warwick, lovelier and lovelier with each summoning. What have you done to your hair?"

"I gave it what it deserves," Hilary replied. It had to be the Kronoan demon. Dean came around the last set of tables and got down to his hands and knees. He crawled to the gap in the wall and looked through. The blade was in his fist.

The room was crammed full of people. Shawn was lifting Sam from a sofa and setting him on a chair. His arms were bent behind his back like they were tied. With his shirt hiked up over his nose, Adam was muttering on an armchair that he wouldn't be able to play his trumpet with his face screwed up. Corey and Amber were on opposite ends of the room, neither looking very interested in the proceedings. She was checking her nails, which were painted purple and flecked with something that made them sparkle in the flickering light from the doorway.

Lucy had been behind Sam on the sofa. Her hands were tied in front. Shawn picked her up and set her in another chair. She kicked at his legs and he staggered while walking away.

Hilary was standing upon the whole red dot of the scrolled circle. Her bloody hand was pressed to the invisible boundary, but it wasn't throwing her. A black-eyed demon was inside. In a dapper pair of pants and vest with a garish purple shirt, the sleeves were rolled up. His black hair was so oiled that it glinted. A trim figure and not overly muscled, Dean thought that he looked like a card shark. A successful one, since his clothes were top of the line. With an arrogant and calculating face, he smiled to see a slight shimmer in the air of the boundary coming down. Then he clasped Hilary's unwounded hand and kissed the back of it. A bloody blade was on the floor by her feet.

"A problem so soon, my lady?" the Kronoan said. "It feels like I was just here."

"Three problems," Hilary said ruefully. "The first-"

"Just a moment!" The Kronoan dropped her hand, lifted his head, and breathed deeply. Then his eyes settled on Lucy. She shivered to see the full blackness of them. "What have we here? The latest expression of good old Charlie! Oh, and you're the one I sensed since the very first day of school. Out with the old, in with the new!" Laughing uproariously, he waved a hand in dismissal at Hilary and beamed with utmost fondness upon the younger Warwick.

Irritated, Hilary said, "Sadly, she's one of the pro-"

Just as it occurred to Dean that one person was missing from the room, hands closed over his ankles and jerked him back. He crash landed on his abdomen and was dragged out from under the table to the narrow aisle. A hand closed over the back of his head, intending to bash him face-first into the floor, and he thrashed to break free.

The voices stopped within the secret room as he rolled over. Boxes fell over Dean and Travis as they struggled, receipts sifting around them everywhere and the blade knocked away. Travis threw a punch and Dean jerked to the side, letting the kid punch the floor and shout in pain. As he fell back, clutching his hand, Dean thrust under the mess of boxes and receipts in search of his blade.

Then it was there, pressed to his neck. And pressed hard. Dean said, "Okay, okay!" as Travis dug it in.

"I say when it's okay," hissed Travis hatefully. Nodding to the flickering crawlspace, he ordered, "Crawl."