SPN

(Atlanta, Georgia … Sunday, November 1, 2005)

Paige Fontaine did not consider herself a victim. She had known when she married Arthur that his allegiance would always be first and foremost to the Stynes. They were both originally from Shreveport; they traveled in the same circles and enjoyed the same luxuries. When Arthur followed in his father's footsteps to become the Stynes' attorney, Paige knew it meant a lifetime of servitude—no one ever left the family's employment—but it also meant a lifetime of wealth and status. She could have chosen a different path, but she didn't, and now she had to suffer the consequences.

Caroline Styne was a monster. Well, so were the rest of them, with their harvests, and their zombies, and their magic. Paige had an English professor in college who described Dr. Frankenstein as an irresponsible false god—if only he knew!—and every time she had to genuflect herself to them, a piece of her died. But she was not a victim. She chose this.

Caroline, however, was in a league of her own when it came to cruelty and wickedness. The way she treated her own daughter—not to mention Sam and Jessica—was utterly deplorable, and Paige wanted nothing to do with it. If only she was braver… Perhaps she could have helped them. But as a wise man said, "If you can't help them, at least don't hurt them."

Paige couldn't help anyone. She was just a normal human, past her prime, with no means of defending herself. Her husband was a greedy, power-hungry sycophant who cared more about the Stynes' opinion than he did about her happiness. But thus far, at the very least, she had done nothing to hurt anyone, and was therefore able to sleep at night. Until now.

The day of the wedding had finally arrived, and witches from the Coven were rolling in as contracted to perform any number of essential duties. Florists were in every room, displaying remarkable arrangements of red and black variegated roses—the archways in the grand foyer were dramatic and beautiful. Decorators were on hand to complement the flowers with levitating candles, ceiling tulle, and other expensive embellishments. Musicians were spacing themselves out to warm up their instruments, and a dozen chefs went straight to work in the kitchen. Thanks to Caroline's thorough and detailed planning, the chaos was controlled, and the atmosphere was festive. No one seemed to share Paige's anxiety.

"Arthur!" she called when she managed to track him down to the assembly room where he would be officiating the ceremony. He stood chatting with Olivette, the high priestess, while their servants dexterously set up countless rows of chairs. "May I speak with you?" She pulled him away from Olivette, and when they found a discreet corner, she whispered, "Do you know what Caroline asked of me?"

His eyes softened, and he gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. "I do, and it's a great privilege. Once in a lifetime. They are pleased with your service, and I could not be prouder."

Paige had been raised in the art of social graces, which was the only reason she could maintain a suitably reverential attitude under these circumstances. "I'm worried. I don't have the confidence…" Or the inclination.

Arthur pulled her into his arms. "You have nothing to fear, my love. Caroline trusts you, and I know you'll meet her expectations. You always do."

SPN

From the privacy of their suite in the Four Seasons, Bela Talbot carefully inspected her work. Thanks to the magic of movie make-up, facial prosthetics, contacts, and shrewd hairstyling, the man across from her bore no resemblance whatsoever to John Winchester. Not even his own children would recognize him. "Incredible. I may have outdone myself. How do you feel?"

He glanced uncertainly at his reflection in the wall mirror. "Like Mr. T minus the mohawk."

"Would you like a mohawk?"

"Hell no."

"Good," Bela said, smiling. "The whole idea is to blend in." They were both dressed in formal evening wear. He had a double-breasted suit with peak lapels, a solid tie, and black Oxfords. She had a dark green column gown with a single strap over her left shoulder and diamonds on her wrists and neck. As long as they behaved themselves, they were sufficiently fashionable without making too bold a statement, and no one would pay them much attention.

"Here," she said, handing him two small mojo bags and an antique compass. "Just so we're clear, I'm going to need these returned as soon as possible. The bags ward off evil and should protect you and your son from witchcraft. The compass will lead you straight to him. At that point, you're on your own. Don't forget, I have my own agenda, and if you end up in trouble, I won't save you."

"Of course not," he replied, expecting no less. But then he frowned, regarding her gifts in perplexity. "Bela, what do you hope to find in that house that's worth more than these?"

"Good question," she said secretively. "You'll just have to wait and see. The wedding starts at eight-thirty tonight. Guests will be arriving as early as seven. We'll shoot for seven-forty-five; that will be the most inconspicuous. In the meantime, there will be dancing at the reception, and it might be prudent to cover the basics, just in case."

John rolled his eyes. "I know how to dance, Bela."

"Why don't I be the judge of that?"

SPN

As more and more witches entered the safe house, Sam's mind and body became increasingly sensitive and overwhelmed. Jacob promised to give him a crystal later in the evening to help 'manage the noise,' but he would never learn to filter out extraneous psychic input if he didn't give his brain opportunities to adapt. The trick was to stay calm.

Unfortunately, Sam was beleaguered with thoughts of Jessica's impending death—if his nightmares really were premonitions, then Elizabeth would stab her in the next few hours, while wearing her wedding gown. He couldn't let that happen! But his head was throbbing with the excitement and sadism, laughter and hatred, respect and contempt, agitation and energy, fear, desire, intoxication, and all the other emotions exuding from their contractors. How much worse would it be when their guests arrived? Sam could barely see straight, much less remain calm.

Doubled over in a chair with his face buried in his arms, he didn't notice Jacob stride into the dressing room until he felt a hand on his shoulder—the sudden contact made him wince, and he nearly retched on the floor. "Jacob?"

His would-be brother crouched down in front of him with a look of concern. "How you holding up, Sam?"

"There's no way I'm getting through the ceremony," he weakly replied. "I'm going to pass out."

"No you're not," Jacob said with gentle firmness while affectionately stroking Sam's hair. "I've been talking with Olivette, high priestess of the Grand Coven. She owed me a favor, and she was more than willing to pay up. Here." He showed Sam two matching bracelets made from woven leather with silver trinkets braided into them. "These charms are magically linked, so whoever possesses them are likewise linked. I might not be able to shelter you from the noise, little brother, but I can bear some of the pain, and lend you my strength."

Sam wasn't sure whether he should accept such help, but Jacob didn't wait for his consent. He promptly extracted Sam's left arm and pushed up his sleeve. After petting his tattoo, he fastened the first bracelet around his wrist. Sam sighed, staring at the floor, while Jacob proceeded to tie the second bracelet around his own, with the aid of his teeth.

The physiological relief was instantaneous. It didn't reduce the disorienting swirl of countless sensations, but it settled Sam's stomach and tempered his migraine. At the same time, it had the opposite effect on Jacob, who grimaced from the startling intensity of Sam's suffering. "Damn, that stings. You must be tougher than people realize, kiddo, to endure all this."

"Thank you," Sam whispered.

Jacob patted his knee. "Anything for you. Just don't tell our aunt. I doubt she'd approve." Standing back up, Jacob rubbed his head, blinked twice, and shuddered. A moment later, his enhanced body adapted to the pain, and he smiled. "It's going to be a long day, Sammy. Keep your head down, and stay close to me."

SPN

(Purgatory)

The sun had risen, but the forest remained bleak and sinister. After hours of slowly and methodically scraping the silky threads from his hands to his sleeves—at the expense of his skin—Dean managed to get most of the crap stuck to his clothes, which allowed him to slide out of his top layer and escape—at least for the moment. He still had to make it out of Malka's territory without further entanglements, and given the number of webs surrounding him, that was easier said than done. But on the bright side, it wasn't night anymore. He could see again.

Breathing heavily, Dean took a moment to collect himself and glanced at his red, blistered hands. They were definitely tender, but he couldn't complain. Considering the spider's prolonged absence, he was getting off lucky, and his skin would heal. Now, he had to focus on finding the others and making up for lost time. I'm coming, Sammy!

"You know, most humans would have panicked at the sight of these webs," a voice to his left casually observed. Dean tensed, turning to face the rogue reaper as she admired an intricate mesh of silk draping two separate trees. "And in their panic, they would carelessly trip or crash into one, get all tangled up, and thoroughly exhaust themselves. But not you. I believe that's why Malka spared you. She has learned not to underestimate the inhabitants of Purgatory, and since you treated her trap as an inconvenience more than a death sentence, she doesn't know if you're worth the effort. Personally, I think you are." She smiled in approval.

"Where's Bobby?" Dean growled. "Did you kill him?"

"Now why would you assume that?" Bianca asked with a hurt expression. "I might be a reaper, Dean, but I'm not a murderer. I'm not going to kill your friend. True, I can't let him leave this place alive, but that's different. "

"The hell it is!" He brazenly loomed over her. "So what, you stand back and watch some monster do your dirty work for you? That makes you just as guilty!"

She shrugged, apathetic. "I suppose that depends on your perspective. But the fact is, Mr. Singer not only conjured but enslaved a spirit against its will, overstepping his bounds as a human, and I won't tolerate it. I'm sorry, Dean, but this is justice, and if he is consumed by a leviathan, he has no one to blame but himself."

He glowered at her, furious, but powerless. He couldn't exactly shoot her—weapons were useless against reapers. "Just so you know, I will kill myself before I let the Stynes sacrifice me in their damn ritual. If it's my soul you want, you're not getting it."

She laughed. "You're under my protection, Dean. You could try offing yourself, but I won't let any reaper close enough to take you. And trust me, you don't want to spend whatever time you have left suffering the consequences of a failed suicide attempt. Do yourself a favor, and accept your fate." She raised her hand as if to brush his cheek, and he fell back a step, suddenly conscious of his vulnerability. Surrounded by spider webs, running would be a mistake. He was at her mercy, and she was far from merciful.

But then, a new voice caught their attention. "Bianca! What the hell?"

Dean hesitated long enough to spot the bitch's alarm before tracking the voice to find Jim Murphy standing with a short, indignant brunette. Another reaper? She had deep, no-nonsense eyes, full lips, and crossed arms. "I couldn't believe it when he told me, but it's true. You're the Stynes' reaper? This whole time?"

"Tessa!" Bianca feigned pleasure at the sight of her colleague. "Just hear me out; it's not as bad as you think."

"No?" Tessa scoffed. "Cause I think it's pretty damn awful."

Dean's gaze shifted from the women over to the pastor. Something wasn't right. How did Jim manage to summon a second reaper? It shouldn't be possible. Unless… No… When Jim returned his gaze, the sorrow on his face spoke volumes. He carried no weapons; he carried no talismans; his shirt was soaked in blood. Before Dean could fully process the implications, tears welled up in his eyes.

"That boy is a legacy!" Bianca exclaimed. "Do you have any idea what a properly cooked legacy tastes like? Take it from me, Tess, you have to try one before they go extinct."

"I would, but then again, I'm a reaper, not a monster. No wonder you spend so much time in Purgatory; you must feel at home among your own kind!"

Bianca flushed and barely contained a shriek of outrage. "You think you're so much better than the rest of us! The boss' favorite! Well, guess what? He's not here anymore!"

"What difference does that make?" Tessa rejoined. "We can still do our jobs! Properly!"

Under normal circumstances, Dean would find two gorgeous and combative women a major turn-on, but these were reapers! Jim was either dead or dying, Sam was a prisoner, Bobby was running for his life, and the others could be up to their eyeballs in crap. Dean's chest tightened, and at that moment, he'd give anything for his dad to be there with him.

"You're not going to get away with this," Tessa said ominously.

Bianca tilted her head. "And you think you can stop me?"

"Let's find out."

The next thing Dean knew, Bianca and Tessa were stalking towards each other. They began scuffling, but before either gained the upper hand, they both disappeared in a burst of silver light. Dean flinched, temporarily blinded, and when the dust settled, he was alone with Pastor Jim.

Neither said a word. They just stared at each other—Jim in regret, Dean in shock. How did it come to this?

A heartbeat later, Jim's spirit blinked out of existence, and Dean was on his own.

SPN

(Atlanta, Georgia … Sunday, November 1, 2005)

Sitting at her vanity table, Elizabeth viewed her reflection in contempt. She always considered herself beautiful—she had all the standard features—golden curls, azure eyes, a doll face, ideal proportions… She was the quintessential southern belle, and she knew women who would sell their souls to resemble her. But they didn't know what it cost. If it meant escaping Victor, Elizabeth would happily spend the rest of her life as hideous as a crone. Thomas wouldn't mind—he might even love her more for it, considering his own appearance.

Oh, Thomas. Where was he now? Would she ever see him again?

It was nearing the hour of her nuptials, but Elizabeth remained in her baby blue tea-length dress. She would be damned before she willingly donned a wedding gown. How could her family expect her to cooperate? She had nothing left to lose and could not be coerced. William would have to drag her kicking and screaming to the altar, and how would that look to their guests? The Stynes would be disgraced, and Elizabeth would finally have satisfaction. And then she would kill herself. Before Victor could touch her. She would die without the promise of reincarnation, and if Thomas still lived—being immortal—they would be separated for eternity.

It wasn't fair, and the thought made her sick, but she would not falter. Better to die quickly and faithfully than to languish for a lifetime as her cousin's bitch. "I know you can't hear me, Thomas," she whispered to herself. "But I love you. Please don't forget me."

Eventually, her bedroom door opened and Caroline stepped inside. Elizabeth saw her reflection in the mirror, but offered no acknowledgment. She had nothing to say to the wretched woman.

"I know you're upset," Caroline said gently, easing the door shut behind her. She crossed over to the vanity and stood at Elizabeth's side. "I wish things were different, my dear. I only want the best for you, and in the long run…"

"Oh, spare me," Elizabeth sighed. "We're Stynes, mother. You don't care about me. Only the family's reputation. Compared to that, I'm expendable, aren't I?"

Caroline took a vintage comb from the table and tenderly brushed her daughter's hair. "I am not entirely without affection for you. Please understand, discipline is part of good parenting. That's why we're so hard on you." As she spoke, her reflection seemed to ripple, slowly changing from Mary Winchester back to her true form.

The original Caroline Styne had auburn hair, upturned eyes, and a round face—deceptively gentle. Caught off guard, Elizabeth's aching heart filled with longing, and she blinked back tears, like a child desperate for a mother's protection. And yet, at the same time, she knew better than to trust this mistress of manipulation. "Mama?"

"It's your wedding night," Caroline said graciously. "You deserve to see the mother you remember. If only you loved her as you once did, this would be so much easier."

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth whispered. "But I can't marry Victor. I won't. I refuse."

Caroline squeezed her shoulder. "I know. You've made yourself quite clear on the subject, and we can't risk you embarrassing us in front of our guests. So if you won't behave yourself, we have no choice. You will remain here for the evening, and no one will be the wiser."

Confused, Elizabeth furrowed her brow. "What—?" She couldn't believe her mother would be so lenient, and sure enough, at that moment, Caroline abruptly transformed into her daughter. Elizabeth blanched; they looked exactly alike, as if they were twins. "No," she said in dawning realization. "You can't!"

"Oh, I can," Caroline replied. "Paige will be filling in for me, so if all goes well, no one will even notice. As far as the world is concerned, you will be wed by the end of the night. And in the morning, your husband will come to claim you. There's nothing you can do to stop it."

Out of all the emotions Elizabeth could have felt at such a scheme—anger, bitterness, hatred—she found herself weighed down with dread. "Oh my God… It wasn't me in Sam's premonitions. I told him I wouldn't betray him; I have no reason to. But you! You're the one! You're going to murder his girlfriend!"

Caroline shrugged. "If it comes to that. I must admit, I'm not particularly fond of Little Miss Jessica, but we'll just have to wait and see."

Elizabeth jumped to her feet, but before she could do anything, Caroline waved her hand and telekinetically sent her careening to the floor.

"Uh, uh, uh," she objected playfully. "Don't tell me you've come to care for someone other than yourself?"

Groaning, Elizabeth pushed herself up to her hands and knees. She met her doppelganger's gaze and scowled. "It's bad enough you're sacrificing me to a fate worse than death. Must you also frame me for a crime I won't commit?"

"It would be a strategic victory," Caroline said. "It would permanently sever any allegiance you and Sam might foster. It would obviously devastate him, and he might even seek his mother's comfort. I see nothing wrong with it."

"I hate you!"

"Oh, my dear. Tell me something I don't know." Pleased with her new identity, Caroline made her way over to the bedroom door. "Now if you'd kindly excuse me, I have to get in character. It's almost time, and everyone must believe I'm really you. Wish me luck."

"Break a leg, you bitch!"

Caroline laughed. "Sleep well, my pet. Once you're married, I doubt your husband will give you much rest." Before Elizabeth could respond, Caroline waved her hand a second time. "Dormite."

And everything went dark.

SPN

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