Chapter 1: Demon in Shining Armor
A Resort in Thailand. Friday morning, November 24, 2006.
"How was your Thanksgiving?" Peter asked.
Neal winked at Sara. "How would you describe it?"
She sighed softly into the phone. "We spent the evening on a bioluminescent beach. Just us, the ocean, and the stars."
"I hope the other guests didn't cramp your style," Elizabeth teased.
Neal grinned. "That wasn't a problem. We could walk from our pavilion to a private area on the beach." He and Sara were relaxing after breakfast on their outside terrace overlooking the ocean. It was the morning after Thanksgiving for them, but in New York it was Thanksgiving evening. He and Sara had spent the morning calling their relatives. Henry and Eric were spending the holiday with Eric's family. Noelle and Joe were hosting Thanksgiving dinner for her parents in Baltimore. Peter and Elizabeth were in Albany with his parents.
"Last year you were in France," Peter noted. "This year Thailand. How will you top it next year?"
"We're already planning next year's event," Neal revealed and nodded at Sara.
"We'd like to host Thanksgiving in New York for everyone who wishes to attend," she said. "The more the better, since I'm secure in the knowledge I won't be the chef."
"And we both love big parties," Neal added. "We already know Noelle and Joe will drive up with her parents. If you're not going to Albany, we'd love to have you as well. Betty and Luke are very welcome too."
"We're counting on the renovations being complete well before then," Sara added. "And there is hope on that front. Mozzie hasn't mentioned making any last-minute additions recently."
"We wouldn't miss the event," El said. "I'm already putting it on our calendar. When will you return to New York?"
"We'll fly back on Saturday," Neal said. "Later today, we're relocating to Bangkok where we'll spend our last night. After our return, we have only one trip on the horizon, and that barely counts."
"Chloe is having a book-signing reception in New Haven next Wednesday evening," Sara explained. "Her new novel Monkshood by Moonlight was just published and we promised we'd attend."
"I wish I didn't have an event that evening," Elizabeth said. "I'd love to go too."
"You'll have a chance in early December," Neal said. "Chloe's publisher has arranged for a book signing at a bookstore in lower Manhattan."
Dean and Sam Winchester had attended the wedding with their girlfriends Chloe and Maia. Bobby had been there as well. Even Crowley was present in disguise. Maia had confided that she considered Neal and Sara to be members of her clan. She'd even adopted Peter and El. Neal sympathized with Maia. She'd never known her real parents. Her only sister had been possessed by the ancient Greek goddess Astrena. But last year Maia discovered that her best friend Chloe was a distant cousin. Since then she'd forged new connections with her friends.
Like Maia, Sara had very few relatives, but now she was a member of the Burke and Caffrey families. Until a few years ago, Neal had been estranged from most of his blood relations. Those family ties were now tugging at him and Sara to return home.
The Mystery Mansion, New Haven. Thanksgiving Day.
Sam stares horrified at the inferno. The mansion is engulfed in flames. He can hear Maia's screams. In his mind, he pictures her cowering under a blanket with Tatyana, encircled by a wall of fire.
He struggles to break free from Dean's grip. "I know they're still alive! I have to go to them!"
Dean tightens his hold. "Listen to me, Sam. The house is already imploding. It's too late to save anyone." He drags Sam further down the sidewalk and backs him against a tree. "I can't lose you too."
"Maia!" Sam's silent scream leaves him gasping for air.
"Are you waiting for inspiration?" Maia asked.
Sam blinked. He was back in the stillroom—what used to be the mansion's dining room. He looked down at his hands. The block of wood he'd meant to whittle into a Christmas tree stared back at him. He was gripping the knife so hard his fingernails had dug into his palm.
Maia dropped the holiday wreath she'd been working on. "Sam, what's the matter? Did you have another vision?"
When he didn't answer, she jumped up and went over to the counter built into one wall. His thoughts muddled, he watched her scatter a few leaves of dried mugwort onto a stoneware dish. She used a match to light them. The smoke cleared his head a little.
He had never wanted Maia to know about the Yellow-Eyed Demon. But lately his nightmares had become so vivid, he had no choice. Yesterday morning when he'd awakened shaken from the vision of seeing her being burned alive, he'd blurted out far more than he should have.
Why did it have to happen today? This was Thanksgiving, their first in the Mystery Mansion. Maia and Chloe had spent the past couple of weeks on preparations—planning the menu and decorating the house with wreaths and dried flower arrangements.
Maia looked at him with big eyes. "Do you want to talk about it? It might make you feel better."
He summoned a smile. "I can't remember any of the details. I'm feeling much better already. Sorry to have scared you."
"Don't worry about me. Your hands are shaking. If you don't want to talk to me about it, let me get Dean."
"NO!" The word came out much more forcefully than he'd intended, and he took a hasty glug of water. How could he tell her that the only solution was for him to leave? He could feel the Yellow-Eyed Demon calling to him. The longer he stayed here, the more he was putting her, Dean, Chloe, Bobby—everyone he cared about—at risk. "We'll talk about it later, I promise. But this is Thanksgiving. I don't want to ruin it."
She took a seat beside him. "This is precisely the day we should discuss it. Thanksgiving is for families, and everyone here is our family. Whatever affects you concerns us all, and together we'll find a solution. You can't tell me that between the witches and hunters in this house—not to mention a friendly demon—we won't be able to fight whatever comes our way."
"Friendly demon?" Maia's characterization of Crowley made Sam smile despite the lingering terror of the vision.
She smiled back at him. "He's our family's version of Uncle Fester, although he'd hate the comparison."
Maia's insistence on Crowley being a member of their family was odd, but lately even Bobby had grown to accept him. Crowley had provided significant help on several of their cases. He claimed with some justification that he was responsible for saving Sam's life when he was held captive by swamp creatures last month.
But if the Yellow-Eyed Demon was around, Sam was better off distancing himself from all family members, even Dean. He didn't want to give Maia a hard time, but this was one subject that had no place at the Thanksgiving table.
#
Dean retrieved a spoon from a kitchen drawer to dip into the sweet potatoes, making sure he got plenty of the Bourbon pecan crumble. At his groan of pleasure, Chloe gave him a friendly nudge.
"I told you it'd be better with Bourbon," she said.
"We need to make sure everyone gets a helping before Bobby does. He'll want it all to himself. Are you sure this is one of your mom's recipes?"
"Hey, they have Bourbon in Nebraska," Chloe protested and then smiled mischievously. "But Mom doesn't normally include it. I'll tell her the recipe got your seal of approval."
Chloe was their expert on Thanksgiving traditions. She was the only one in the household who'd experienced traditional Thanksgivings when she was growing up. Dean dropped his spoon to draw her close. Who cares about the flour on her apron? His was liberally dusted too. "You should also tell Linda that her pumpkin monkey bread is the best bread I've ever tasted. I could eat it every day of the week. In fact, how about making it a weekend tradition?"
"But then you'd miss out on so many other treats," Chloe said, giving him a kiss tasting of cinnamon. "Mom's digitizing her recipes. She promised to send me a copy."
"Another family grimoire for the collection. I already know I'll like it the best."
"I wish I could tell Mom that. She doesn't even know what a grimoire is." Chloe glanced around this kitchen. "This is the first time since I left home that I've had a proper kitchen to cook in, and I'm loving it."
"I am too. That cornbread stuffing is so good, I wanted to eat it before we stuffed the bird."
"It was my great-aunt's recipe," Chloe said, a wistful look crossing her face. "She's no longer around but her recipe makes me think her spirit's moved into the house. I think she'd approve of the herbs I added. Dad told me I inherited my love of herbs and flowers from her."
"Was she on your father's side?"
Chloe nodded, her face growing thoughtful. "She was a Bishop . . . and that makes her a descendant of Airmid."
"You've got that look in your eyes," Dean said. "I know what you're thinking, and don't. Just because you've been able to conjure up a few spirits doesn't mean you should add your great-aunt to the list."
She took a breath. "You're right, of course. Today the only grimoire I'm using is the family cookbook."
Dean didn't mention she was only giving herself a one-day reprieve. But he could hardly complain since he'd be back working jobs tomorrow. Last Thanksgiving, he and Sam munched burgers from a fast-food place on the way to a job. The restaurants they passed were all closed for the holiday. Not that Dean complained. Once Dad was killed, his only family was Sam and Bobby. He'd never felt lonely, but lately, almost without realizing it, he and Sam began viewing Chloe and Maia as members of their family too. And the Mystery Mansion felt like home to all of them.
Life was funny. Only a couple of months ago. Sam urged him and Bobby to accept Maia's offer to move in. When Dean toyed with the idea of tinkering with miniature trains, Sam said they could make special trains for the holidays. Now Dean was the one who was more comfortable with their newly expanded family than Sam. And he only needed one guess as to why that was—the Yellow-Eyed Demon.
Dean stopped himself. Not on Thanksgiving Day.
"You don't like the Swiss vegetables?" Chloe asked anxiously. "I knew I shouldn't have included broccoli."
Dean gave himself a mental kick in the butt. "Are you kidding? They're fantastic. Of course, you realize Crowley will probably insist on calling them Scotch vegetables."
"Where is he?"
"In the living room with Bobby. They're playing chess. The Thanksgiving Express is chugging along the tracks. Crowley perched his figure on the locomotive. I bet we're probably the only family in the world who has a demon celebrating Thanksgiving with us."
She chuckled. "Maia insists he's family too. Speaking of which . . ." She paused as she lowered the fire under the gravy. "Yesterday when I talked with Mom, she invited us to visit them next spring. The prairie should be filled with wildflowers. You might be able to spot some baby jackrabbits."
"You temptress!" Last summer he'd accompanied Chloe to Scottsbluff for her high school reunion. It was his first time to meet her parents. What would a return visit indicate, if anything? "Spring's a long way off, but I like the sound of it."
Her face lit up. "That's enough of a commitment for me."
Hunters never planned very far in advance but Chloe was giving him ideas.
A few minutes later, Maia and Sam arrived to set the table. Maia used gourds, dried corn, and grasses to make a long centerpiece interspersed with candles. Sam had whittled figures of all of them, including Tatyana the wolfhound, Daphne the cat—even Crowley. Dean could hardly object since Crowley had painted them all to make realistic likenesses. The demon had also purchased three pies from Wisteria's Inn—pumpkin, pecan, and raisin. So for one day, Dean was cooling the snarky comments about him.
Bobby had intended to be their turkey carver, but he'd broken his arm earlier in the week when a malignant spirit didn't want to play nice. Dean had offered to carve, but Crowley offered to instead. He claimed one of his previous meatsuits had been a gourmet, and when the time came, he wielded the knife like a pro.
By rights, Maia should sit at the head of the table, but she insisted on Bobby having the honor. That meant Crowley was at the other end. Dean got to sit next to Chloe and across from Maia and Sam. There was enough food to last for several days. Chloe had supplied a couple of different kinds of lager from a craft brewery in New Haven. Yep, this was a holiday Dean wouldn't mind celebrating every year.
#
After dinner, Crowley stayed around to help clean up. His jazz club in New Orleans was closed. The vampire manager Jeremy was no doubt spending the day—and night—composing music. The bloke had ice water in his veins. You wouldn't find him indulging in a family get-together.
Crowley stopped short. Was that what this was to him?
Inside his head, Hagen snorted. "Of course, we're family. Relax and enjoy it. I know I am. I can't remember when I ate so well."
Crowley heaved the sigh of a demon cursed with an independent meatsuit. This wasn't the way it was supposed to work. The personality of whatever hapless victim he picked to be his vessel should be locked within a soundproof vault.
"You can't fool me. You know you secretly like having a mate around to exchange confidences with and laugh at your stupid jokes. Honestly, didn't you enjoy painting Sam's wood carvings? You two have become regular chums. And wasn't I the one who pointed out how you could checkmate Bobby? I'd say it was your lucky day when Astrena cast a spell on you."
WHAT? The outrageousness of the idea cast a red glow over the kitchen. Crowley quickly returned his eyes to their normal hazel color before anyone spotted them. When the bloody hell did that happen?
"Didn't I mention it? Oh, that's right. You were asleep at the time." Hagen snickered. "But I wasn't. Astrena liked the thought of my creativity being added to the mix. For an evil seductress, she's unusually perceptive. It's no doubt thanks to me that you feel so close to Maia, and now she's welcomed us to the family. You really should let her know about me."
Are you out of your friggin' mind? No one will ever know about us being . . .
"Pals?" Hagen suggested when he stumbled over the correct term. "A couple? Soulmates?"
"Ball and chain more likely."
"Someday you'll let me out of the closet," Hagen said confidently. "So, what's up with our pal Sam?"
Good question. The moose was chewing on something, and it wasn't turkey. Whatever it was, Maia was in the thick of it. No one else might have noticed the anxious glances she gave her beau—they'd all been too busy stuffing themselves—but he did.
Crowley stooped to stroke Tatyana's head. The wolfhound rubbed against his legs, coating his immaculate black trousers with white fur.
"Don't be such a grouch. You love it."
Shut your trap, Crowley thought absently. He could teleport out of here, go back to his cushy life in the Big Easy.
"But you know you won't. They're family."
Crowley exhaled slowly. Yeah, they were. And for better or worse, so was Hagen.
"Awww, you care."
Don't get twisted about it. This was the time for subtlety. Sure, he could zing Sam with sarcasm but his heart wasn't in it, not with Maia looking so worried. Crowley had caught her flicking him a glance. Was she hoping he'd be her bloody knight?
"Why shouldn't she? How many times have we rescued members of her so-called clan?"
He had a point. Crowley scratched behind Tatyana's ears. Time to seed the well. "I'm counting on you to keep the household running smoothly in my absence," he told the pooch. "I know better than to trust the Mouseketeers with that responsibility. I may not be back for months."
Maia nudged Sam. "We need to say something now," she murmured. "Who knows when we'll see him again?"
Finally. "Are you referring to me?" Crowley asked. "Please don't make me play Twenty Questions."
The moose gulped. Didn't he realize demons had acute hearing? Maia was looking pleadingly at her beau as the worry lines popped out on his forehead. Sam turned to Crowley, his demon in shining armor. "I'd like to consult with you about something . . . that concerns the whole family."
Dean gave a slight nod of approval. So he knew what Sam was going to bring up, and he welcomed Crowley's perspective. Interesting.
"Can I get anyone something to drink?" Maia offered.
Bobby scanned the kids. "By the looks of things, we better all have one." Did he know too? Crowley was getting the feeling he was the only one who was still in the dark. If nothing else, that was an excellent reason to stay.
"Let's move into the living room," Bobby suggested and picked up the bottle of Craig. "Crowley, you want one?"
"From the long faces you have, I might as well. Never fear, Mouseketeers, Uncle Crowley is here to save the day."
Most everyone made a face as he knew they would, but Maia mouthed a silent thank you. Bloody hell, what had he gotten himself into? He hoped she hadn't taken that literally.
"This concerns the Yellow-Eyed Demon," Sam said when they'd all found a place to plop. Crowley chose to sit on the piano bench. The cat Daphne was sprawled on top of the piano. The Siamese eyed him warily, but tolerated his presence. Apparently even she'd finally accepted him, or was that a sign of how desperate they were? Crowley had often wondered if Daphne had special abilities. Perhaps she'd been given a potion too.
"Chloe, you and Crowley are the only ones who don't know about our connection to him," Sam continued. Maia was sitting next to him on the settee and was keeping a tight grip on his hand.
"That's not quite true," Chloe said. "Dean told me he caused the death of your mom, your former girlfriend, and later your dad."
"The Yellow-Eyed Demon is no stranger," Crowley divulged. But he hadn't realized the Winchesters had been on his radar. "Has something new cropped up?"
"Good. Don't ramble on, or he'll never spit it out."
Sam nodded. "Most of you know that the first year after my former girlfriend Jessica died, I had a few premonitions—more like visions—of upcoming attacks. Dean and I were able to stop some of them from occurring. Then, after Dad died, the visions stopped. I never knew why I had them in the first place. We wondered if they were somehow connected to the Yellow-Eyed Demon since he'd killed Dad too." He paused and took a swig of beer. "Recently they've started up again . . . and they're getting worse. Dean knows about them. Maia does too—I could hardly keep them from her."
"I also know about them, son," Bobby said. "Dean filled me in."
Sam flushed. "I'm sorry. I should have told you."
"Yeah, you should have, but why are you now?" Bobby demanded.
"Because they're starting to come not just at night, but during the day as well." Sam looked at the miniature train chugging along the track, but he didn't appear to see it. He had a haunted expression that Crowley was very familiar with. He'd seen it on countless victims.
After a moment, Sam added, "This morning I was in the stillroom with Maia. Without warning, the mansion was in flames before my eyes. I knew Maia was inside. Dean was holding me back . . ." He stopped and cleared his throat. "I feel it in my gut. This is what will happen if I don't obey the Yellow-Eyed Demon." He scanned the others. "What is the hold he has on me? Am I the only one who gets nightmares about him?"
Bobby frowned. "You want to know why the demon picked your family. I wish I could tell you. Your dad didn't understand either."
Maia approached Crowley and sat next to him on the piano bench. "Can you shed any light on this?"
"Poor saps. We gotta help them out," Hagen murmured.
For once, you and I agree.
Crowley surveyed the group. "I assume you know who you're talking about when you use the quaint term of Yellow-Eyed Demon." He paused. Were they truly that ignorant? "Bobby, are you clueless too?"
"We don't know much more than squat about him," Bobby admitted. "The boys' dad found out the demon had killed some others the same way he killed their mom. They also know he has yellow eyes. Going through the records, we were able to piece together a few signs that could indicate he's in a particular region."
Crowley could ladle on the sarcasm but not with Maia clutching his hand as if he could provide the answer to her prayers. And bloody hell, he wished he could. But the truth wouldn't provide any comfort. "His name is Azazel. He's a Prince of Hell. You do know what the significance of that is, don't you?"
"I don't," Chloe said. "But you were King of Hell. Doesn't that make you more powerful?"
"Alas, no. The Princes of Hell—yes, there are more than one—were created by the archangel Lucifer. They're the first generation of demons, a level above Abaddon who's a Knight of Hell. Lucifer created the princes to command armies of demons."
"What was the goal?" Dean asked. "Simply to slaughter us mortals?"
"Nothing so straightforward. Their primary purpose was to overthrow Heaven itself. God, as you can imagine, was none too pleased when he found out about it. He cast Lucifer into a cage where he's been languishing ever since."
"What happened to the princes?" Sam asked.
"Most grew bored with waiting for Lucifer to free himself and have dispersed to parts unknown. But Azazel was the exception. He's been working tirelessly to rescue Lucifer. Personally, I despise the twit. Lucifer's obsessed with bringing about the Apocalypse, and I don't think I need to explain why that would be a very bad thing."
"I don't understand," Maia said. "If Azazel wants to free Lucifer, why did he kill Mary Winchester?"
Bollocks, there wasn't a kind way of phrasing it. "Azazel is trying to raise an army of demons to free Lucifer and launch the Apocalypse. Even a Prince of Hell needs a little help. I've heard rumors that about twenty-five years ago Azazel selected what he called special children. These were infants he fed his blood to and who are now linked to him. At some point in the future, he plans to call them forth to lead demon armies out of Hell. Sam, I'm sorry, but I suspect you're one of those children." You have more in common with me than you realize. Crowley was sorely tempted to razz him about being a kindred spirit, but how could he? Sam's face had turned gray at the revelation.
"I don't know why he chose your family," Crowley said, turning to Dean. "But probably your mum entered the room while he was feeding his blood to Sam. That's why he incinerated her. If Sam is starting to have more visions about this, it's likely because Azazel is preparing to strike."
Crowley turned away from their stricken faces. Why did he have to be the Grinch who wrecked Thanksgiving?
"This is Azazel's fault, not yours," Hagen said. "We need to lock him in the same cage as Lucifer so the two can torture each other for all eternity."
Any suggestions on how to accomplish that?
"Thank you, Crowley," Bobby said. "And I mean it. You gave us a heads up. Now we just need to figure out a way to fight back. I don't suppose you have any suggestions?"
"Kill Azazel is my recommendation, but I don't know what would work against a Prince of Hell."
Dean's expression was grim. "Then we better figure something out fast."
Notes: Thanks for reading! Next week, Neal and Sara will be back from their honeymoon. They'll find out about the trouble in New Haven from an unexpected source. I'll post the 12 chapters of The Family Business weekly on Wednesday.
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