Chapter 5: Secret Archives
Neal and Henry were already high-fiving each other by the time Peter entered the room. Dean stood back to let them enjoy the moment. This job was done. After they cleaned up the room, they'd hit the road.
"Did it seem weird for you to face Henry?" Sam said in a low voice. "From my perspective, it was like you'd split into two."
Dean rubbed his chin. "Yeah, I guess twins get used to it. Henry and I haven't spent enough time together for it to feel natural."
Eric raced into the small room with the Winslow relatives at his heels. There was no way they could have gotten downstairs from the lobby so quickly. They'd probably opted to stay just down the hallway, but it didn't matter now.
Henry appeared none the worse for wear from the ordeal except that he was famished. He looked a little perplexed but happy when Eric flung his arms around him and kissed him. Eric's action was quickly followed by bone-crunching hugs from the rest of the family.
"This is nice, guys, but could someone tell me what the hell went on?" Henry asked plaintively.
"What's the last thing you remember?" Neal asked.
"I bought some cupcakes, left the store. Then . . ." He hesitated, his brow furrowing. "A woman approached me for directions. That was Abaddon?"
Chloe nodded. "You were her prisoner for three days."
Henry's eyes widened in surprise. "I'll have to take your word for it. My first clear memory is seeing Neal in this room."
"Don't try to think about it, sweetie," Noelle advised. "We'll take you to a hospital for a check-up."
"Nothing doing," Henry protested. "I'm starving, and now I know why." He scanned the room. "Where are we?"
"Win-Win's basement," Mr. Winslow said.
Henry smiled. "I thought so. There's an Italian restaurant near the office. I don't care what hour it is. We'll open them up. Eric, just wait till you've had their chocolate tiramisu. You'll think you've died and gone to heaven."
Eric winced. "No mention of dying, please."
"Why don't you go on," Sam suggested. "We'll get rid of the devil's trap for you."
"Don't clean it off just yet," Julia urged who was studying it intently. "I'd like to photograph it for our records then we'll take care of it." She glanced at Peter. "Unlike you, we're able to document everything without fear of bureaucratic censure."
Noelle turned to Dean. "We can't thank you enough for your help. I hope you'll have dinner with us."
Dean shrugged. "Thanks, but we should be going." Family hug fests weren't for him, and he was already feeling a little claustrophobic from the number of people packed into the small room.
"We should check on Maia and Bobby," Sam added, slanting an understanding glance at Dean. "Make sure Crowley's not making a nuisance of himself."
Mr. Winslow approached and handed Dean his business card. "I wish you'd reconsider, but if you feel you have to leave, I insist on you making a return trip. I'll be glad to pick up your expenses. And be sure to send me your invoice for this job. Don't give me the friends-and-family rate. Win-Win can afford it. You not only saved Henry but, based on what I've learned about Abaddon, the company as well."
"That's not necessary," Sam said, looking uncomfortable.
"Your fee is non-negotiable," Mr. Winslow said, setting his jaw.
"Hey, Sam, who are we to argue?" Dean said. When was the last time anyone had ever paid them for a job? Like never?
"Good," Mr. Winslow said, nodding with satisfaction. "I knew you were smart. I'm looking forward to our next meeting."
#
"Anyone see Mozzie?" Neal asked.
Peter's gut did a nosedive to the floor. Had the shadow-lurker burrowed into Win-Win's files? Was he searching for evidence of the Tudor Crown? Planting bugs to discover Win-Win's secrets?
When Neal took off to find him, Peter and Graham joined in the hunt.
A door to an adjoining room was ajar. "That contains our historical records," Graham said, frowning.
Before he could investigate, Mozzie strolled out. "You really should upgrade your electronic locks. I'll be happy to advise you. For a suitable fee, of course." He turned to Neal. "Henry's all right, I gather?"
"Yes, and Abaddon has exited stage right. What's that you're holding?" he asked, eyeing the small three-by-four-inch cardboard box.
"It's too small to be the Tudor Crown," Peter joked.
"Don't jump to any conclusions," Mozzie chided. He removed the lid and pulled out a rusted key. "I found this stuffed inside a manila folder in a file cabinet. According to the note, Henry Winslow received this key in the mail on May 14, 1958. The accompanying note explains that it opens a crypt in a cemetery in New Haven. Winslow is requested to store it in a safe place."
"That Henry was your father, right?" Peter asked Graham.
He nodded. "There's a box of his memorabilia in the archive. I searched it when I was looking for information about Seth Winslow. I'm sure that key wasn't there."
"It wasn't," Mozzie agreed calmly. "I also investigated his collection and found nothing of significance. This box had been misfiled. I discovered it in the collection belonging to Martin Winston, the co-founder of Win-Win. What I found particularly relevant was that although there's no signature to the note, the sender didn't leave it unsigned."
"Let me see that," Graham said, reaching for the note.
Peter looked at it over his shoulder. "That's the Aquarian Star!" He turned to Neal. "There may be a connection to the Men of Letters, after all." Neal was ignoring him, staring at his phone with a puzzled look on his face.
"Everything okay?" Peter murmured.
"I received a text from Annina, the federal marshal who's been assisting us." Neal looked up. "She wants me to call her. I wonder what it's about."
Grove Street Cemetery, New Haven. Saturday afternoon.
Mozzie rode back to New Haven with Dean, Sam, and Chloe. He claimed the privilege based on his discovery of the key. Persuading Graham that the Winchesters should take possession of it had been child's play for a master negotiator such as himself. And as the hunters' key advisor—even Sam had chucked at that—Mozzie claimed the right to be present for the opening of the crypt.
He never slept more than a few hours at any one time, and he would have gladly driven the Impala through the night to get back to New Haven. In fact, he'd done his best to persuade Dean to take him up on the offer. It was a pity Dean was so possessive of the car.
But never mind. They were here now. Maia and Bobby had joined them for what Mozzie was convinced would be a discovery perhaps only second to Howard Carter breaking through the entrance to Tutankhamun's tomb.
The designated cemetery was an auspicious start. Grove Street Cemetery was over two hundred years old—the second oldest in the nation. Some of the graves dated back to 1796. Only two years later, George Washington wrote a letter warning of the Illuminati. A mere coincidence? Hah!
The crypt was only marked by a number, but on the trip up to New Haven, Mozzie had managed to procure a list of mausoleums at the cemetery. The number corresponded to William Townsend, a Yale-educated doctor who died in 1958. He was the last of his family to be buried in the mausoleum. Although there was no record of William having belonged to the Skull and Bones secret society at Yale, the possibilities were exhilarating. Robert Townsend was a member of the Culper Ring of Revolutionary spies. Was William a descendant? Mozzie was determined to find out. He felt in his bones that there was a link between the Men of Letters, the Culper Ring, and the Illuminati.
"This is the Townsend mausoleum," Sam said, studying the weathered stone structure. The size of a shed, with a simple vaulted roof, it was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence.
Mozzie's heart thrummed with excitement. What mysteries were inside? What had the Men of Letters discovered about Hitler clones? He inserted the key into the lock of the ancient wooden door, and as expected, it didn't open. "The lock's likely rusted," he informed his fellow adventurers.
Before he could whip out his case of lock picks, Dean had already stepped up. Mozzie didn't begrudge him the thrill. They were all seized by treasure-hunter fever.
Dean had the door open in short order. There were several recessed caskets in the inside space as well as urns in niches. Cobwebs hung heavy on the stone walls. Fortunately, Mozzie was equipped with an ample amount of hand sanitizer. A few spiders, no matter how large, wouldn't keep him away.
Mozzie carefully scrutinized the floor. There was no sign of a door or passage to a crypt, confound it. Could they have been wrong about the mausoleum? Perhaps the cemetery guide he'd obtained was incorrect.
"Well, look at this," Bobby said, breaking into a grin. "You may be onto something after all." He pointed to one of the niches containing an urn. Carved into the stone next to the urn was an Aquarian Star.
Chloe brushed the stone wall lightly with her fingertips.
"Do you sense anything?" Maia asked.
She nodded. "I think the tomb's been warded. See if you can break it."
Mozzie watched intently as Maia appeared to put herself into a trance-like state. Neal had told him about her hexbreaking ability. Was there any chance she could teach him? He'd been convinced his parents were spies, but what if they were witches instead? He might have inherited a natural ability for magic. That would help to explain some of his extraordinary abilities.
"Son of a bitch," Dean said softly, interrupted his musings. A wooden trapdoor was now visible on the floor.
Mozzie's heart was now beating so rapidly that only his superb physical condition kept him from fainting. Dean and Sam both drew their silver blades, motioning the rest of them to stand back. What were they expecting? A mummy? The ghost of Cromwell?
The trap door creaked open, causing a cloud of dust to erupt. Mozzie sneezed. He sneezed again. Maia passed him a tissue. Why hadn't he brought a face mask?
Sam shone a flashlight into the abyss.
"What do you see?" Mozzie demanded.
"Not much," Dean said. "Some old metal boxes, the kind meant to hold documents."
Mozzie swallowed back his disappointment at the small cubbyhole. Okay, so not as spectacular as Tutankhamun's tomb. The boxes weren't deep enough to hold the Tudor Crown. It was a heavy blow.
They emptied the hiding spot and took the boxes back to Maia's house. The documents revealed that New Haven was the site of a chapter house for the Men of Letters. It was closed in 1947. William Townsend was one of the members. He stored their papers in the mausoleum, hoping that they would prove useful to future hunters. Sam said the records are mainly of creatures that had been encountered in the region.
There was no mention of the Tudor Crown. Others might be discouraged, but Mozzie was undeterred. The quest would continue.
Blue Crescent Jazz Club, New Orleans. Sunday evening.
Crowley sank deeper into the midnight-blue velvet club chair and listened to the smoky strains of the saxophone trio. His glass of Glencraig was nestled in his hands. Drasko would join him shortly. All was right in his world once more. In fact, it was better than right. The future was a bright beacon on the horizon.
He'd considered lingering in New Haven but decided against it. This was simply the first of many forays. Even Dean had to admit his new bestie Crowley had been accommodating. He'd supplied the grimoire. He hadn't made any passes at the girls. He'd never gotten along with Astrena's cat, but Tatyana still loved him.
The time would inevitably come that Crowley would pay a return visit.
Meanwhile, the present situation was refreshingly pleasant. His spies in Hell reported that Abaddon was back in the inferno. The wall in her mind was holding strong. One of his demons had ventured to ask her about a possible resurgence of the Men of Letters, and she'd laughed it off. More importantly, she showed no interest in coming after Crowley.
When you think about it, he hadn't had to make any sacrifices. He couldn't read the grimoire anyway. If he played his cards right, he could continue to take advantage of Maia and Chloe's services. As for Cheekbones . . . Crowley smiled. Hagen had been right about the potential in both him and Mozzie. They were yet another resource he'd draw upon again.
#
Chloe found Maia in the grow room, studying the Eurydice's tears orchid. They only had one plant. It had never produced side shoots, but Chloe hoped to propagate it through division. They already knew of two spells that were reliant upon its blooms.
"The orchid's not sick, I hope?" she asked, taking a seat on the workbench next to Maia.
"No, at least I don't think so." Maia brushed back a lock of blonde hair. "While you were in New Haven, I studied Astrena's grimoire. That bloom we used for the potion? Astrena called it a soul-orchid. If I understand her text correctly, it contained the soul of a vampire."
Chloe stared at her, aghast. "How's that possible?"
"I don't know. She didn't explain how she was able to achieve it. I haven't told Sam and Dean, but it makes me wonder about the other orchids in here. Are they too dangerous to have around?"
Chloe took a slow breath. "We should tell the men."
"You know what their reaction will be."
"They already worry about us engaging in dark magic. Using a soul-orchid doesn't get much darker than that."
"The orchid is no longer blooming. It's probably safe . . ." Maia's words trailed off as she gazed around the room.
So many orchids. How many others had hidden secrets? If they told Dean and Sam, they'd likely order them to destroy all the plants. But without the soul-orchid, they wouldn't have been able to neutralize Abaddon.
"We could hold off letting them know," Chloe suggested. "The men are poring over the documents from the crypt, making notes about monsters and the methods used to kill them. They have more than enough on their plates without us adding another complication."
Maia smiled. "Since there are no more blooms, why make a hasty decision that we could later regret?"
Chloe nodded in agreement. "They've kept secrets from us, claiming it's to protect us. That used to bother me, but I'm starting to see the wisdom. We're simply playing by hunters' rules."
Notes: You're probably wondering about the text message Neal received in his final scene. It's the subject of Penna Nomen's story Roads Not Taken. My next Caffrey Conversation story is The Shark of SoHo. Following it is the next Crossed Lines adventure— Silver Giraffe.