Chapter Twelve: Abyssus Abyssum Invocat
(One Misstep Leads to Another)
Victoria Martel, alpha to the crescent moon pack was furious. Her normal chestnut brown eyes were glowing an unnatural yellow as she struggled to control her temper. The meeting with The Faction, the group that had a representative of every being: witch, vampire, werewolf, and human that called New Orleans home, was long overdue. St. Claudine's served as neutral ground. Victoria slammed into the church with a bang, finding she was the last Faction member to arrive.
"Vix," Drusilla Deveraux greeted warmly.
Normally the witch and werewolf leaders were allies, maybe even friends. Right now, however, Victoria was ready to tear the witch limb from limb. Drusilla's smile fell from her face when she saw the glowing yellow eyes. Normally the werewolf alpha was composed, a woman who didn't look a day over thirty, despite having passed that milestone ages ago, had been a werewolf for decades. Flashing yellow eyes was a sign of a new werewolf, one who couldn't control themselves. It was a testament to how furious the alpha was.
"You brought hunters down on us?" Victoria's voice was barely human, a deep growl that would've sent people running. The Faction, however, was not so easily cowed. "I would've expected this stunt from you, Father Declan."
"Because that worked so well for the humans the last time," Declan O'Connell scoffed.
It had been nearly thirty years from the last time hunters had darkened New Orleans doorstep. That had been the last human faction leader's error. An error that had cost them not only their lives but the lives of many innocent people.
Victoria barely spared the human a look as she glared at the regent of the nine covens of New Orleans.
"It was necessary, Vix," Drusilla stated. "The Winchesters are under my coven's protection, they will not be harmed."
"Then you're responsible for their actions," The Vampire leader, Marcel Gerard stated.
Marcel Gerard was a founding member of The Faction. He was turned sometime in the early 1800s. He was directly turned by one of the Originals, the name for the first vampires in history. Marcel was an attractive man. His skin a rich brown with shockingly green eyes. He also didn't look a day over thirty. It was something both the werewolves and vampires had in common, immortality, to a point. They could be killed but they didn't age. Witches aged far slower than humans, but they did age.
"Seriously, Victoria, you're not scared of some hunters, are you?" Marcel scoffed.
"Have you heard of the Winchester family?" Victoria retorted. "I wouldn't underestimate them."
"I'll take that under consideration," Marcel said. "Now on to why I called this meeting."
"Besides the power trip?" Father Declan sneered.
"Trust me, Father, there are many more fun ways to get play King of the Mountain, without calling The Faction," Marcel grinned.
"I'll take your confession at any time."
"You don't have enough time to hear my sins," Marcel scoffed, a smile complete with fangs. "Now a few of my little birdies tell me that we have new witches in town."
"I don't see how that is any of your business," Drusilla reprimanded.
"Everything that happens in this town is my business, Dru," Marcel replied lightly.
"You can think what you like," Drusilla granted. "But I control the Witches and our business isn't yours. If you must know our ancestors would like these witches to join our coven. Nothing changes within this city."
"I sure hope not," Marcel said. Though his tone seemed pleasant there was a threat at the edges. One that said the vampire would not hesitate to put things back to rights. "After the hunters were dealt with the last time, this town has had lasting peace. I would hate for that to change."
"Wouldn't we all," Drusilla said, primly.
True to their word, the Winchesters rolled into New Orleans exactly two days later. They found a motel in just outside the French Quarter. They bought two rooms, one for John and Mary, while the siblings shared the other. The Winchesters were in the process of protecting the two rooms, adding charms, salt and sigils when there was a sudden knock on the door.
Exchanging glances with his brothers and sister, Dean walked toward the door. With a gesture of his hand, Sam approached on the other side of the door, a gun at the ready. Once everyone was standing by, Dean opened the door.
"The gun isn't necessary," Cassandra Deveraux said lightly. "After all, you're invited, guests."
"Who're you?" Dean questioned.
"My name is Cassandra Deveraux," Cassandra introduced. "I'm the regent's daughter. I've come to take you and your parents to The Lycée."
"And we'd come with you, why?" Sam scoffed.
"What choice do you have?" Cassandra replied.
"Are you threatening us?" Dean growled.
Cassandra raised a brow with a smirk. She was about to reply when a pale hand touched her shoulder.
"Howdy, Cassie-girl," Reid exclaimed. "I see you've already met my cousins."
"Yeah, your friend made quite the impression," Aiden scoffed.
"I think we'll take it from here, Cass," Reid said, turning to the woman "When were you expecting us?"
"By sunset," Cassandra said. "We draw the power from the moon and the ancestors."
"We'll be there," Reid stated. "Now, if you'll excuse me. This is family business."
Cassandra set her jaw, her hazel eyes narrowed in irritation. Before turning on her heel and walking away. She noted the other members of the Covenant were a few paces back from Reid. She spared them a nod. As long as the Covenant agreed to merge their powers with the covens of New Orleans, that's all that mattered.
"Reid!" Hailey exclaimed, she slipped from behind her brothers and launched herself into her cousin's arms.
"Whoa," Reid laughed as he caught Hails around the waist and spun her around. "You do look completely different."
"Celestial makeover," Hailey replied swinging back down to her feet as she did a spin. "You like?"
"It's weird," Reid said.
"And, this would be why you have no game, Garwin," Pogue teased. "You look as great as ever, Hails."
"Thank you, Pogo," Hailey grinned.
It was a quick reunion with the rest of the Covenant members as Reid greeted the rest of his cousins.
"Well, my body swap isn't even the weirdest thing we got up our sleeve," Hailey said.
At this Reid looked a little unsure, it was one thing to hear that both his Aunt and his Uncle were alive, but about to see it was another. Dean gave his little cousin a pat on the back as he took control of the situation, walking the group of them to his parent's door. Dean knocked once, paused knocked thrice paused once more before one more hard knock.
"Come on in," John called.
That knock had been a message that the Winchester family has been using for decades. While the Winchester Patriarch was always one to be on his guard, especially in enemy territory, their rooms were already heavily warded and it was unlikely that anyone but his children knew the coded knock.
It took a moment for all eight people to get into the room. Once each person passed over the salt and iron without a problem the mood lightened.
"Hi Reid," John whispered.
"Uncle John," Reid smiled. "It's good to see you."
"You too, kiddo," John said, pulling his nephew into a hug. "There's someone I'd like you to meet, your Aunt Mary. Mare, this is Danielle's boy, Reid."
"Hello, Reid," Mary smiled.
There may have been an undercurrent of weirdness as the family adjusted to the newness of everything. But adjusting wasn't a luxury that they had at the moment.
"So, what can you boys tell me about this coven?" John asked.
"They want our covens to merge," Caleb sighed.
"What does that involve?" John wondered.
"It's not something our coven has ever done," Caleb shrugged. "I'm not sure how that works or what exactly they want."
"They want power," Reid said. "Something in this town has spooked the witches. They want us united and they want you in the loop."
"I thought hunters were persona non grata?" Sam said.
"I think whatever they're scared of overrules their hatred of you," Tyler shrugged. "I mean that in the general 'you'. Though you guys have to admit that you have a reputation."
"They're aware," Reid scoffed at his brother.
"They said that they wanted us at the cemetery by sunset," Caleb said.
"What are we going to do?" Pogue wondered. "Are we really considering merging?"
"They don't seem like the witches who take no for an answer," Caleb mused. "I was reading the Book of Damnation, it mentioned the French Quarter Coven, our ancestors knew them."
"They were wary of everyone," Reid dismissed. "The lot of them were paranoid."
"People were randomly accusing others of witchcraft," Hailey pointed out. "I'd be paranoid too."
"There are only four of us," Tyler stated. "Versus the nine covens of New Orleans. Even with our back up, that can't be a fight we can win."
"How can you know?" John wondered.
"Right, you guys are human," Caleb mumbled quietly. "Witches have been in New Orleans since the beginning. You can feel the magic in the ground, the air. It's all around us."
"And it's not like that elsewhere?" Dean asked.
"No," Reid replied. "Not this strong."
"Is it bad?" Hailey questioned.
"There is no good or bad," Pogue said. "It just is."
For the witches of the French quarter, the feeling of magic never really left them. The most powerful concentration of power, however, was in Layfette Cemetery. Thousands of concentrated witches were laid to rest, fueling the community, making the witches stronger.
Strength was a funny thing in New Orleans. Each faction: human, werewolf, vampire, and witch were constantly trying to get one over the other groups. Whenever peace reigned in the quarter, there were those who were always ready for things to fall apart. Now that Lucifer is free, every supernatural being was twitchy, bracing for whatever Satan would unleash, and when.
Astrid, Greta, Delphine, and Maddie sat on a bench, watching their regent work on the altar. It was a ritual that had never been done in the nine covens history, which is why they needed support. As the five women connected directly to the ancestors they knew what was needed. It was a hand of glory, a seriously dark object that could be used to commune with the ghosts in the afterlife. The hand of glory was a mummified human forearm, holding a candle. As long as the candle burns, there would be a connection to the spirit world.
George Garwin appeared in the circle, dressed in the clothing of the 17th century. He turned around the binding circle looking around his surroundings.
"What's the meaning of this witch?" George demanded.
"You are speaking with the regent of the nine covens of New Orleans," Drusilla snarled. "These are the end of times."
"What year is it?"
"It's 2009," Drusilla replied. "Lucifer broke free of his cage six months ago. Your covenant has to merge with us."
"The covenant operates independently," George sneered.
"According to my ancestors and yours, we will merge. Unless you want to doom us all?" Drusilla questioned. "Your Covenant does not remember how it got it's abilities, correct?"
"Do you have a point, witch?" George responded.
"It was a gift," Drusilla stated. "You and your coven came over from England to escape the Witch Trials, only to go straight into the American ones. The abilities you were born with weren't strong enough. To survive your coven made a deal with mine. Does the name Celeste Dubois, ring a bell?"
"She was the witch who helped us," George replied.
"She was also the Regent of the nine covens at that time," Drusilla replied. "Unfortunately, that spell that amplified your magic is linked with our coven, as such, it must be revived. Similar to our harvest."
"And, if we refuse?" George sneered.
"Then that toll your natural magic takes? Where it drains your life bit by bit? Then it comes back. And probably with a vengeance, that kind of dark magic doesn't like getting buried."
"That a threat?"
"No, George, that's what happens when you and your family make a deal with the literal devil. There are strings attached, we made it so any magic you practiced drew from the earth instead of your life. If we don't redo that spell Lucifer will take what he's owed, with interest."
"Madame," Vincent exclaimed, announcing his presence with a knock on the threshold of the door. "The Covenant and the Winchesters have arrived."
"Excellent," Drusilla smiled, "bring them in."
Vincent nodded before going back the way he came. Moments later he reappeared with both the Winchesters as well as the Covenant, the latter of which stopped short.
"Holy shit," Reid gaped.
"Your ancestor," Caleb blinked.
"How is that possible?" Reid demanded, glaring at Drusilla.
"A hand of glory, it acts as a veil between worlds," Drusilla explained. "I was catching up with George Garwin, who led your covenant in the 17th century. He met our regent at that time, who made him a deal. Do you know what your abilities originally came from?"
"The Book of Damnation does not tell us," Caleb replied stiffly.
"Your original powers are tied to Lucifer," Drusilla explained. "Whenever you, as your lot says, 'used' it came from your soul. Until there was nothing left. When the witch-hunting was happening, you all weren't strong enough, so George here made a deal with Celeste Dubois, our regent at the time."
"This true?" Reid demanded, looking towards his ancestor.
"Unfortunately," George growled.
"That deal had strings," Drusilla stated. "In order to keep your abilities from returning to what they once were, you must merge with my coven."
"Or what?"
"Or Lucifer will take your souls, as recompense for your ancestors welching their original deal," Drusilla said.
Caleb, Pogue, Reid, and Tyler exchanged glances before looking towards the Winchesters. After a series of looks shared between the two groups, Caleb set his shoulders and took a step forward.
"What do you need from us?" Caleb said.
"Your blood," Drusilla stated, "All four of yours. The four members of the covenant, along with my blood, and the channeling of your ancestor should do it."
The harvest girls handed a small bowl and a knife to the members of the covenant. With one last meeting of their eyes, with surprising synchronicity they cut open their palms, dripping blood into their bowls. A moment later and flaring of their eyes, their palms were healed.
"Place each one of your bowls on the north, south, east, and west sides of the circle surrounding George."
Once the Covenant had done so, Drusilla sliced her own palm, dripping blood around the circle as Astrid, Greta, Delphine, and Maddie clasped hands. The five women being chanting in French, a haunting melody as the room grew windy. The bowls of blood began to quake, as the contents inside began to bubble and boil. One by one the bowls went up in smoke as the witches' voices grew louder. Then with a sudden deafening crack, the member of the Covenant fell to their knees, breathing labored and eyes glowing black before slowly going back to their natural color.
"The hell was that?" Reid demanded, weakly.
"Feels like I got punched in the chest," Pogue groaned.
"Try a spell," Astrid suggested. "Something simple,"
The Covenant once again exchanged looks before Reid stepped forward lifting his hand towards a candle. One zoomed into his hand, without his eyes changing a shade.
"Oh, my god," Tyler gasped. "Your eyes didn't turn black."
Caleb turned to Drusilla for an explanation.
"You are one of us now," Drusilla proclaimed. New Orleans is your home. Your friends are our friends. Your enemies, ours. We are one coven. We have the same magic now."
The Whitman family had been hunting for generations. They had journals dating back to the eighteen hundreds, filled with tidbits of lore and things that went bump in the night. Out of all those journals, none mentioned angels. Or at least the twenty journals that Darren had been reading. The whole family has divided up the family library and was slowly going through it. While their library wasn't as impressive as Bobby Singer's, it did have a few things he didn't have. Bobby collected old hunter's journals, finding them in the weirdest of places, the Whitman's were passed down.
"What are we looking for?" Alex complained, not for the first time.
"Boy, if you don't quit your belly aching," Meredith scolded her oldest. "We know legwork ain't your favorite, but complaining ain't gonna make it go any faster."
"You could always make us something," Theo teased from her chair, her legs thrown over one of the arms and her back resting against the other.
"Not if you want anything edible," Darren scoffed.
"Fuck you, kid," Alex growled.
Both Darren and Theo laughed at the scowl their brother leveled at them, even their parents seemed amused. They had been combing through their archives for weeks and had yet to stumble upon anything useful, tempers were beginning to fray.
"Holy shit," Theo gasped. "I got something: HP Lovecraft held a dinner party on March 10, 1937. Lovecraft had a fascination with opening doors and apparently attempted to open one between dimensions. All the guests either died or went missing within the year."
"Something got through," Charles mused.
"What door were they trying to open?" Alex asked.
"The door to purgatory," Theo stated.
"Purgatory?" Darren scoffed. "It's real?"
"Heaven and hell apparently are, why not?" Theo shrugged.
"We're looking for info on purgatory and archangels now?" Alex groaned. "Where do we even begin to find that?"
"There has to be something," Darren shrugged.
"Or we're going in blind," Charles grunted.
"Oh, no I'm not having that," Meredith said, springing to her feet. "Everyone get their go-bags ready, pack up the books, and then we're heading to Singers. He may not be from a hunting family but that man has a book collection that'd make the library of Alexandria weep."
"We're just going to show up?" Theo wondered.
"It's the apocalypse, darlin'," Meredith stated. "The time for pleasantries is over. Now, time's a'wastin'. Let's go."
Bobby Singer wasn't exactly sure when his home had become an open door for hunters, but it was clear that there must be a sign on his door, or something because more and more people were coming every day. Even the Harvelle's had shuttered the Roadhouse and made the trek to Sioux Falls, with their trailers in tow. Now the Whitman family was about an hour out. Bobby fought back a sigh as he moved through his house. While it wasn't exactly small, it felt that way with all the people that had made themselves at home. Missouri and Natasha were staying inside the house. It was a lucky thing that his house had four bedrooms and plenty of airbeds and sleeping bags. It was also built on a huge lot, for his salvage business, but that had been years ago. Still, the cars were in the yard and afforded him privacy from his neighbors. Most gave him a wide berth, especially after Karen died.
He walked into the study, finding an Ouija board on the ground, with the Bennett siblings sitting around it.
"No Ouija boards in the house!" Bobby snapped. "You want to do that, take it outside, and make sure you take precautions."
"This is not our first séance, Bobby," Fiona retorted.
"Not in my house," Bobby growled. "Take it to the barn."
All three Bennetts rose to their feet without responding. Rowan had crouched down to grab the board when a sudden shriek rang through the house, startling all it's inhabitants and sending Bobby running to the second floor, where Natasha lay prone on the floor, her hand was in Missouri's as the older psychic attempted to soothe the younger.
"What is it?" Bobby asked.
"A prophet," Natasha whimpered, her voice barely a whisper. "There's a prophet."
"A prophet?" Bobby gasped. "Like god's messenger?"
"Yes," Natasha said. "The word of god has been unearthed. It's in New York."
"Where in New York?"
"Trump Tower."