Chapter 2: Demon in the Details
Mystery Mansion. Saturday, October 21, 2006.
Although Crowley always enjoyed hearing from the little mouse, Saturday night wasn't the most convenient time. Then again, it shouldn't be for her either. Weren't she and the moose supposed to be in the library, shagging or reading together? What else did a couple of bookworms do? The fact she called him meant that someone was causing mischief, and he was curious to find out who.
When he materialized in the living room, he was greeted by an unusual sight. Quilted bats dangled overhead. Cheesecloth ghosts hovered in the windows and doorways. Fuzzy black crochet kittens with iridescent eyes peeked out from flower pots, and jack-o'-lanterns were clustered around the fireplace. Did Maia want his assistance for a Halloween party? He'd never attended one, but he could rustle up a cuddly demon for the occasion. Cute and demon were two words that normally didn't go together. But hey, he could be a party animal.
Tatyana tore into the room and began circling him, beating a frantic welcome with her tail. "Miss me, sweetheart?" he murmured, scratching behind her ears. She was the only one he'd ever call sweetheart. Or let coat his immaculate suit with dog hair. "Are you the greeting committee?" He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "What would you like your costume to be?"
He heard voices coming from the kitchen. Had they expected him to enter there? A natural assumption since that was the domain of pie and Scotch. Maia may have wanted to surprise him with the decorations. He'd feign not having seen them.
When he stepped into the kitchen, Maia and Chloe were sitting at the table with Cheekbones, having dinner. Daphne was perched on top of the microwave. The Siamese flattened her ears when she saw him but mercifully didn't arch her back and hiss at him like she normally did. If he could make inroads with her, he was better than he realized.
Everyone seemed happy to see him. Crowley paused to savor that feeling for a moment.
"Am I late to dinner?" he asked. "I don't see settings for the moose and squirrel. Let me guess. They ran off with Scarlet and now you need my help."
Cheekbones grimaced. "Sara is fine. It's Sam that needs rescuing," he added somberly.
One look at the little mouse's face and Crowley realized something was seriously wrong. Her eyes welled up with tears when the moose was mentioned. He reached for his burgundy handkerchief and handed it to her. "Don't worry. Crowley is here. Tell me what happened. Oh, and while you're at it, I haven't had dinner yet. I assume you have extra portions of that delicious-smelling stew?"
He helped himself to a glass of Scotch from the bottle on the counter that they'd thoughtfully provided while Chloe dished out a generous portion for him as well as a plate of what appeared to be homemade scones. A raisin pie was sitting next to the Glencraig. He'd trained them well.
As he listened to the tale of woe, Crowley wasn't surprised to hear Hockomock Swamp was at the center of the mystery. It was one of the few areas even vampires feared to tread.
"What do you know about the supernatural sightings in the region?" Cheekbones asked. "Are the creatures real?"
Crowley shrugged. "I've never ventured into the triangle. Why stir up unnecessary trouble? Vampires avoid the region as well. The way the squirrel described the abduction, it's hard to believe a flimsy mortal could have achieved the effect."
"Does Bigfoot exist?" Chloe asked.
"I haven't encountered him, but I've never wanted to seek him out. Tramping in the backwoods has never been high on my list of enjoyable experiences."
"No matter who or what took Sam, we need to find him," Maia said, placing her hand on top of his. "Is there any way you know of to locate him?" she beseeched, her eyes threatening to overflow once more. Even Tatyana was giving him the soulful look. And what would a Halloween party be without the moose around? Bollocks, he was becoming a sodding marshmallow.
Sometimes he wondered if Maia had cast a spell on him in the days before Astrena blocked her memories. Argue as he might that no demon had family ties, he was in danger of being wrapped up in a Celtic knot.
"You're witches. You should be able to determine Sam's location by scrying," he said and arched an eyebrow. "You do understand what that means, I hope."
"I think so," Chloe said. "If the spell is performed correctly, something from Sam like a lock of hair will enable us to pinpoint his location, but we've never done it and wouldn't know where to start."
"Doesn't Astrena's cookbook tell you?" he said.
Maia shook her head despondently. "I looked there first, and there's nothing in her grimoire about it."
Scrying used to be one of your many talents, little mouse. In fact, Astrena was a tad envious of Maia's expertise. And now he was faced with a dilemma. How helpful should he be? In other words, what was in it for him and could it wind up exploding in his face? He had zero desire for a repeat of the Abaddon debacle.
The wild card was the Queen of Hearts. Would Astrena reveal the dirty secret about Maia? If she did, could Crowley somehow rectify any damage? It was a gamble, but the payoff could be enormous.
Cheekbones eyed him speculatively. He was tuned into Crowley's wavelength more than anyone else he'd known in a bloody long time. "You know of a way," Cheekbones said, not making a question of it.
"Yes, but you probably won't like it. Astrena used to boast of her ability to find people. Since she didn't write it down, you'll have to give her a long-distance call." When they stared at him bug-eyed, he added, "Through the crystal ball. You do recall my mentioning that you could use Astrena's ball to contact her?"
Chloe took a ragged breath. "Even if we could establish a connection, why would she want to help us?"
"You could frame it as a backscratch," Crowley suggested. When the girls look confused, he added, "Cheekbones knows what I'm talking about. If you want to have her extend you a favor, you'll need to offer her something in exchange. Possibly just stroking her ego will do the trick. I'm willing to bet her current solitude is about the worst torture she's ever endured." He stood up to replenish his drink, feeling better about his scheme by the minute. "Like all Greek gods, Astrena craves adulation, and she's not getting any."
"Dean would kill us if he found out," Chloe muttered.
"No, he won't," Cheekbones said. "Sam's life could depend on it. We know Astrena values your and Maia's talents. She told you as much when she showed you her crystal ball." He frowned. "But I don't like what she might exact in return."
"I don't see how she could influence us," Maia said. "But to be safe, we could apply spell repellent before communicating with her."
"If we don't like her demands, we don't have to agree," Choe said and turned to Cheekbones. "But given your history with her, Astrena shouldn't know about your involvement."
"Chloe's right," Crowley said, giving his blessing to a scheme that sounded more delicious by the moment. "Astrena's infatuation should not be resuscitated." If the goddess had never met Neal, she'd probably still be enjoying the good life on Earth. Crowley had been forced to endure months of her mooning over the artist. No one wanted a repeat of that.
#
"Hey, Neal, you got a minute?" Peter asked. Normally he wouldn't call on a Saturday evening, but Neal had mentioned Sara would be in Chicago till sometime next week. He was probably painting in his studio and could use a break.
Peter could too. El was away at a community theater rehearsal, and he'd be able to talk freely. He was sure El had simply misunderstood.
"Sure. Need help with a crossword clue?" Neal asked. Peter heard the murmur of voices in the background. Was that Chloe?
"No," he said absently. "I thought you'd probably be at your studio."
"I'm in New Haven. The art reception was yesterday."
Peter winced. "I forgot it was this weekend. You're staying at Maia's house?"
"Yeah, my paintings will be displayed at the bookstore through Sunday. I'll probably head home tomorrow evening. I'm teaching a workshop on Goya midweek but otherwise my schedule is flexible. Has something come up?"
"It's about next Saturday."
"The speakeasy party?"
Peter smiled at Satchmo who was flopped at his feet. See, I knew calling him was a good idea. Satch cocked his head as if the Lab was still mulling it over. "Exactly. Because that's what it is, right? A speakeasy party."
"Mozzie and June first suggested it. Those speakeasy parties we held to launch Diana's Arkham Files stories were popular with everyone, and where else are we going to use Mozzie's immense collection of lava lamps? If folks want to think it's a Halloween party, fine, and there will be plenty of Halloween decorations. We're open to however people want to view it. The members of the Silver Cauldron Wicca coven are calling it a Samhain celebration."
"And costumes are strictly optional, right?"
Neal chuckled. "So that's why you're calling. Is El listening in?"
"No, she's away. She insists that everyone will wear costumes and we should too."
"From what I've heard, she's right on the first point, but Sara and I will be delighted to see you no matter what you wear even if it's your suit or an old Cornell t-shirt and sweat pants."
"You may be okay with it but El won't be thrilled."
"I figured she'd wear a costume. What did she select?"
"She won't tell me even though she got something matching for me. The last time she surprised me with a costume, I wound up looking like Jerry Garcia in the '70s. Who knows what it will be this time." Peter sighed heavily.
"I've never understood why you're so opposed to costumes. Were you the same way as a kid?"
Peter wasn't about to go down memory lane, especially over the phone, and he'd already finished his beer. If he hadn't drunk it, he probably wouldn't have called. "It's not that I'm opposed to all costumes."
"I didn't think so because you seemed to like your warrior clothes for the Renaissance Festival. You know, you could wear a non-costume. For instance, if you wore a tropical shirt and chinos, you could claim you were Danno from Hawaii Five-0."
"Not Steve? He was the commander," Peter said, playing along for the moment. He was already feeling better.
"Nah. McGarrett was the shoot first, ask questions later type. Danno was the guy with the ethics."
"Danno was also a slob." Peter looked at the clutter on the coffee table. "That fits." He paused as a male voice said something about a radiant one getting off her high-and-mighty. "Is that Crowley?"
"Yeah, he dropped in for a chat."
"Neal, what's going on? Is someone in trouble?"
"By the time we're done, Bigfoot more than likely."
"Hey, I thought I exacted your promise to abstain from any Bigfoot teases." In a weak moment, Peter had related how as a kid he'd been tricked by a Bigfoot prank. In exchange for an equally embarrassing tale from Neal, they'd agreed to spare each other future mentions. This conversation was going downhill fast. Any minute now Neal would suggest he wear a Bigfoot costume.
"I wasn't teasing you about Bigfoot," Neal protested, "Although it would make an awesome—"
"—I hear El at the door," Peter said, interrupting. "We didn't speak, right?"
"Right, Danno. You'll be at the party?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Peter assured him. And he wouldn't. Exchanging quips with Neal was a rare treat these days.
#
That was an odd phone call from Peter. Neal had assumed Peter liked to exaggerate his dislike of costumes. He'd been at his new job for three weeks. The transition might be difficult or perhaps he was experiencing new-job jitters. For Neal, it was different. Working at Win-Win with Henry was a dream they'd discussed for years. He'd hoped to meet Peter for lunch more often, but their schedules weren't cooperating.
El had unwittingly tossed her husband a lifeline by arriving when she did. Peter didn't need any additional worries, and this was a big one. Crowley was convinced there wouldn't be any repercussions if they contacted Astrena, but relying on the word of a demon was a risk Neal didn't enjoy taking.
Chloe and Maia were resolved to make the attempt. They knew many of the orchids in Astrena's grow room were magical but they'd only scratched the surface on understanding their properties. Any potential fallout would have to be dealt with afterward.
Normally Neal would share their attitude, but with Bobby not here, he found himself in the uncomfortable role of being the grownup in the room. The women meanwhile were seemingly much more concerned about him than themselves. Although they wanted his help, they worried about how Astrena would react to him. Neal didn't feel it was an issue. How much damage could she inflict through a crystal ball?
Astrena was possibly still smitten with him after the events last February. He'd conned her into thinking he adored her. A few minutes later, Dean and Sam charged in to rescue him. Sara had used a special sword treated with a potion to banish the goddess back to the stars, but Astrena probably hadn't seen her. She likely didn't suspect that Neal had deceived her.
That was also true of Chloe and Maia. Neither was in the room during the attack. Conceivably Astrena could place the entire blame on the Winchesters. Under the circumstances, she'd hardly be feeling charitable toward the brothers. Was there a way to make her view them in a more favorable light?
"Is Peter okay?" Chloe asked.
"He's fine," Neal said. "He was hoping to avoid wearing a costume to our party and I gave him an out."
Crowley picked up a stack of dishes and carried them to a cabinet. He appeared familiar with where everything was stored and seemed to enjoy the domesticity of the moment.
"The G-Minnow is envious he can't go after Bigfoot," Crowley declared. "Being a cog in a bureaucratic machine is the kind of torture I liked to dream up in the glory years when I was King of Hell."
Neal listened to his snarky commentary with half an ear as he mulled over the con from different angles. An idea was coalescing but would the women be able to pull it off?
"Out with it, Cheekbones," Crowley ordered. "You're planning something devious. Deal me in."
"And us," Maia said, stripping off her rubber gloves.
"I warn you, nothing will change my mind about using the crystal ball," Chloe warned.
"I realize that, but there's a way to provide an extra layer of security," Neal said. "Astrena doesn't know that Maia helped Dean and Sam on the night she was banished. You told us she was happily fantasizing about you and Maia joining her in a private coven or whatever she called it. I propose we con a goddess."
He tossed them a confident smile at their looks of astonishment. He could already tell he'd need to hold an emergency con boot camp. Peter, you're missing out. "You'll make her believe you still admire and respect her. Your fondest desire is to practice witchcraft with her. You can claim that Dean and Sam are providing protection not only to you but to the house. By staying close to them, you're acting on her behalf."
"Not bad," Crowley said. "It's the kind of duplicity I enjoy. Astrena could be persuaded that Dean and Sam simply charged into the mansion to defend their girlfriends. She might give them points for gallantry."
"And neither one of them banished her," Maia added, her face looking more hopeful. "Astrena wanted Neal to be her champion. Chloe and I want the same for Dean and Sam."
Chloe frowned. "Is she that gullible?"
"If she's like the other Greek gods, she is," Maia said. "And by playing up to her, we can acquire more of her secrets. Let's do it!"
Neal sympathized with her enthusiasm. Sitting around feeling helpless when someone you care about is in danger can eat away at you till you're unable to act.
Chloe said they'd need an hour to prepare the conjuring potion. When the cleanup was done, Neal called Sara. Unlike Peter, she didn't think he was teasing when he mentioned Bigfoot. She was also familiar with Pukwudgies from the Arkham Files story, and just like Arkham Sara, she was despondent over not being there. When she heard Crowley had asked about her, she reacted with laughter.
Sara hadn't seen Crowley at his worst but Neal remembered vividly how he'd behaved in West Virginia. They were allies for the moment but how long would it last?
The women didn't need Neal's assistance with the potion so he withdrew to the library. He was scheduled to give a master's workshop on Goya the following week, and he remembered Astrena had a book about the artist in her library. It was in Spanish. The publication date was a few years after the death of the artist in 1828. Neal had given a similar workshop shortly before Halloween last year, and it had been so popular his advisor requested an encore performance.
Reading about Goya in Astrena's library—for so he considered it even though it now served as Maia and Chloe's office—was distinctly creepy. A couple of weeks ago, he and Sam had studied a copy of Eugene Onegin by Pushkin. An inscription led them to believe that Pushkin could have been one of Astrena's victims. The book was now in a curse box. Goya had also been victimized. Neal had dreamed he was Goya. He'd even painted Astrena as the Marquesa in one of Goya's famous portraits.
At the time, Neal had identified so much with the artist, he started speaking Spanish. It was as if his personality had merged with Goya's. Crowley's current vessel, the forger Curtis Hagen, had experienced a similar sensation. He said he felt like Goya was in his head.
How about Crowley? Did he feel as if Hagen had merged with him? Neal had asked Dean about it, and he didn't think so. He said that although the possessed sometimes could perceive what was happening to them, they couldn't exert an influence on the demon.
Dean ought to know, but Neal couldn't help but wonder. The way Crowley talked just now about backscratches and the exchange of favors . . . Did he realize he was using thief jargon? If Hagen was influencing Crowley, that could account for why the demon was on such friendly terms with them. Bobby had often remarked that the demon was unlike any others he'd encountered. If pressed, he even reluctantly admitted that he enjoyed having Crowley as a chess partner.
"I thought I'd find you here," Crowley said, stepping into the room.
Speak of the devil.
"What's piqued your interest?" Crowley continued, his eyes fixed on the book in front of Neal.
"Francisco Goya. I'm giving a workshop on him next week. It's becoming a Halloween tradition. This year I plan to focus on a couple of his paintings on witches, including Witches' Sabbath. I assume you're familiar with the work?"
Crowley took a seat at the library table and reached for the book. "Why would you think that, Cheekbones?"
"Because Hagen forged it several years ago." Neal watched carefully for his reaction.
Crowley grunted acknowledgment, his face unusually reflective. The book was open to a plate of Goya's painting.
"Can you access Hagen's memories?" Neal asked.
He nodded absently.
"Then you know he was haunted by dreams of Goya. So was I." He was taking a calculated risk to admit it to Crowley. "Astrena entered my dreams. I became Goya. I painted her portrait not only in my dreams but in real life while still asleep. Hagen admitted to something similar."
"So what do you want from me, a bloody medal?"
Neal gave a brief chuckle. "I'd hate to see what it'd look like. Do you have similar memories?"
Crowley scowled and glanced down at the book once more. Neal thought he might not answer. "Yeah, I do," he said bitterly after a moment. "Not at first, but lately Hagen's become more chatty. He can be a real pain in the arse."
Neal grinned. "That sounds like him. Have you ever tried to paint?"
"Me, a paint pusher? Have you become delusional?"
Neal ignored the jab. "You should try it sometime. Hagen was a skilled artist."
"Why would I want to? It sounds too much like work to me. That's what I have minions for."
"Did Astrena ever discuss the artists and writers she'd linked to?" Neal asked, trying a different tack.
"A few," he admitted. "You've seen their mementos around the house—Rossetti, Goya, Beethoven." He fell silent.
Neal noticed Crowley had only mentioned artists Neal already knew about. Were there others he was keeping a secret? But what Crowley had already admitted to was sufficient for the moment. Neal didn't know how much of a difference it would make. But Mozzie's favorite Sun Tzu axiom of knowing your enemy reverberated in his skull. What would Sun Tzu make of someone who'd merged with his enemy?
Hagen wasn't a poster child for model behavior, but Neal hadn't known him to be cruel. He was just out for himself. He was also lonely. Crowley probably was as well. Was his seeming attachment to Maia and the other Scoobies the result of a super-sized craving? Was he even aware of Hagen's influence?
Notes: The incident with Crowley in West Virginia took place in the story Dark Rabbit. Neal discussed Goya with Curtis Hagen in Witches Sabbath. Neal's issues with Goya occurred in Night Howls on the Hudson.