Chapter 3: Cat and Mouse

When Neal left Peter's office, he headed to his art niche in the lab. On the way, he spotted Tricia waiting for an elevator. Tricia used to be Peter's second-in-command. She now worked as a profiler and was advising them on the Mansfelds.

"Were you here to see Diana?" Neal asked. Tricia met with her regularly to consult on Arkham Files plots. The Lovecraft-inspired fanfics were designed to influence Klaus and Rolf's behavior.

She nodded. "Peter wants the first chapter to be posted next week. Mozzie sent Diana a stack of rewrites this morning and she made an emergency call to me about them."

"What's he want now?"

"The appearance of Native American pottery at the sports complex site sparked a resonant chord. Diana hasn't decided how much to include."

"She may change his ideas so much, they'll be unrecognizable. That happens to my suggestions all the time."

Tricia smiled in sympathy. "Did you know Mozzie called Mitch about the artifacts?"

"I'm not surprised." Since Tricia's husband was a professor of anthropology, Mozzie must have counted on a receptive audience.

"Mitch talked with the team who researched the site. They're confident they found all the artifacts. There aren't many—only a few potshards. But Mitch told me they're quite valuable. They've been dated to the thirteenth century."

"There were Native American settlements on the island that far back?"

"Even further. The Manhattan tribe was a branch of the Lenape people, the indigenous inhabitants of the northeastern states. Archaeological sites have been found going back ten thousand years. Columbia intends to build a display and incorporate it into the center."

"But they won't stop construction."

Tricia nodded. "I'm afraid this evidence won't be enough. I sympathize with the marsh supporters. It's a shame to lose the wetlands. The habitat is excellent for waterfowl." She winced. "I'm afraid Mitch may have given Mozzie the wrong idea."

Neal braced himself. Mitch didn't know Mozzie well. The only time they'd met was at an Arkham Files party. Had Tricia warned him about some of Mozzie's more interesting theories?

"Mitch joked that the Wiccans might have to rely on a wrathful spirit to stop the project. The Lenape have a rich mythology of gods and elemental spirits."

Neal groaned. "I can see it now. Mozzie will lead the Wiccans in prayer. They're already planning to hold a ritual for the autumnal equinox."

"Mitch told me Mozzie mentioned it."

"This can't end well," Neal predicted gloomily.

"Not necessarily. Many of the spirits were benevolent. The university might benefit from one. Did you hear about the missing student?"

"I saw the news reports." The previous evening an undergrad had failed to appear at his dorm. The last time anyone saw him was in the computer science lab that afternoon.

"I'm meeting with the police later today about it," Tricia said. "They're collecting statements of students and want me to review them. Did you happen to see anything?"

"No, and I was on campus around that time. Unless . . ." Should he mention it? It was hard to see how it could be relevant.

"What is it?" she asked.

"When I walked home Sunday evening, I heard faint howls in Riverside Park. Probably just a fraternity prank."

"Not wolves?" Her smile indicated she didn't seriously think wolves were on the loose in New York City.

"Or werewolves?" He chuckled. "There wasn't a full moon. I'm placing my money on the human variety."

#

Crowley coalesced in the living room of Maia's small cottage in New Haven. He'd flipped a coin, and the mouse won. No sign of her in the front rooms but faint thumps coming from the bedroom invited speculation. Had he caught her with the moose?

Maia had scattered soft wool rugs on her hardwood floors. Crowley could sneak up without anyone hearing. He peered around the corner to see her trying to close a zipper on a suitcase lying on the bed. Her long blond hair was tied back into a ponytail. One strand had escaped and dangled in front of her eyes. Her attempts to blow it off her face weren't successful. Her puppy Tatyana was standing on the bed with her head cocked as if trying to figure out how she could join in the game.

In jeans, barefoot, with an oversized flannel man's shirt big enough to be Sam's, Maia hardly looked like the demigoddess she supposedly was.

Crowley was shocked to feel an avuncular smile spread over his face. Was he growing soft? Ever since he and Maia had made their mutual defense pact, he found himself in the odd situation of viewing her as his favorite niece.

Maia had approached him to help safeguard her precious Sam. That was bad enough but she'd also embraced Chloe as her new best friend forever, which meant Chloe and Sam's brother needed to be protected as well. In a convoluted logic understood only to herself, Maia seemed to think Cheekbones Caffrey and his boss Dick Tracy Burke belonged in her orbit of protection. It was enough to give any demon a migraine.

But since Maia offered to help him with Electra, Crowley was willing to go along—when it suited him. It was time for her to repay him for the assistance he'd provided.

Crowley stepped into the room. "Need some help?"

"Please! I should have bought a bigger suitcase, but this one was on sale and lavender's my favorite color."

Did Electra keep her on a limited stipend? He filed that tidbit away for future reflection and obligingly squashed the suitcase flat with a flick of his hand. "Where are you going? Two-month safari to Africa?"

"Not quite. A week to New York. The rare book room at Columbia University has some manuscripts I want to consult for my thesis."

"And?"

She removed the clasp holding her ponytail and corralled the errant strand. "Chloe's coven is celebrating Mabon. I told her I'd help."

"And?"

Her face lit up with a mischievous smile, making her look even more like a teenager. "And Sam's coming to town. Chloe says he'll be there for at least a week. Next weekend there's a Renaissance festival. I've never attended one."

He crossed his arms. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but since you experienced the era first hand, that must count. Didn't Electra mention something about you having a thing for Christopher Marlowe?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Let's keep that our secret." She glanced at her watch." My train doesn't leave for a few hours. Would you like some tea?"

"Surely you jest. Where's your Scotch?"

"Sorry, I don't have any. There may be some beer left over from Sam's last visit. I'm drinking Irish Breakfast tea. It's quite good. Are you sure you don't want any?"

When in Rome or a mouse's cottage. "Add plenty of milk. You don't happen to have any biscuits?"

"Scottish shortbread. I'll be right back."

Crowley sighed resignedly. So much for being King of Hell, a crossroads demon, and a tormentor of more humans and demons than he could remember. If word got out he was sitting down for tea and biscuits—in a rocking chair, no less—his reputation would be shot.

He glared at Tatyana and ordered sternly, "No blabbing to your pals."

She raised her ears and whined a response. The next thing he knew she leaped off the bed and nudged his legs to be petted. This was bad. Not even a puppy was afraid of him.

As Crowley sat and rocked, and yes, petted the pooch, he scanned Maia's room inquisitively. A mug of tea was on the nightstand. Not a sign of blood anywhere. Had Electra sucked out all the evil in Maia to feed her own insatiable desire? For, just as Maia appeared to be rejecting her dark ways, Electra had gone nuclear.

"Not that I don't appreciate the help, but was there a reason you dropped in?" Maia asked when she returned with the tea and plate of biscuits.

"It's your sister," Crowley confessed. "She baffles me."

He'd never worked for a Greek goddess before. Up to now, the most powerful beings he'd associated with were a few archangels who were too big for their wings in his not-so-humble opinion. Electra fascinated and befuddled him as no woman had in centuries. Maia was his best chance of getting a handle on her.

Maia sat cross-legged on the bed and looked at him worriedly. "What's she done now?"

"I'd been acting on the assumption she'd agreed to the Crowley Doctrine. You were there at the time. We were in her bedroom. She appeared to be paying attention."

Maia nodded. "You and she agreed to keep a low profile by eliminating the vampires who were not up to your standards. You planned to enhance her public front as a benefactor to cultural groups through her foundation while deepening your penetration of the identity fraud market. I thought you were making progress on both fronts."

Crowley noted her use of you rather than we. Just how much had Maia separated herself from her sister's activities? He hardly ever saw her at Electra's house anymore. And he should know. Now that Electra had finally agreed to partake of his considerable physical delights, he was there for extended periods. He'd at first considered that Maia was staying away to give them privacy. But was there something more to it? This would require careful study.

"I thought so as well," he agreed, preferring for the moment not to comment on her change in attitude. "But Electra's grown reckless and demanding—"

"—She's always been demanding," Maia muttered.

"It's gotten worse. She's . . ." Crowley took a breath. It pained him to admit it. Preferring a paintbrush-pusher over him? "She's obsessing more than ever over that twit Cheekbones. One moment she curses him for being a mere copyist. The next she moons over him like a love-struck teenager. Her behavior's unseemly, and it's poisoning her decisions. If she'd just make up her mind, I could deal with it. When she wanted to eliminate the competition, I understood and supported it. A highly commendable action. Staging a mugging of his girlfriend Bianka was simplicity itself. The fang siphoned off enough of her blood so Electra could establish her link. Now she can torment her victim whenever she wishes."

Maia frowned. "When did this happen?"

"A couple of weeks ago. That appeared to satisfy her, or so I thought." He paused to chuckle. "My spies tell me Bianka's come down with one bout of the flu after another."

Maia wrinkled her delicate brow even more. "You have vampires on the Columbia campus?"

"Only a couple. Very discreet, of course. Columbia's one of the prime recruiting sites for our new breed of hacker fangs. Didn't Electra tell you?"

"She doesn't tell me much of anything," she admitted, fingering her tea mug absently.

"The worst is having Electra call out Cheekbone's name when we're bonking. Frankly, it's insulting. What I don't get is if she's so hot for the smudge, why does she torture him?"

Maia gave him a sharp look. "She's been feeding off him?"

"Gorging herself is more like it. From what she tells me, these are no gentle love nibbles. I know that's what both of you do, but I thought your aim wasn't to kill the bloke right away. At the rate Electra's going, Cheekbones won't last the year."

She winced. "It's complicated, and to set the record straight, I am not feeding off Sam." She looked at him accusingly. "You were supposed to help me protect Sam's friends."

"Any ideas on how I can keep Astrena, Queen of the Stars, from feeding off whoever she bloody wants to?"

Maia had no answer, but she was looking more distressed by the moment. What was he missing? Wasn't feeding off others the sisters' goal? "You've got to toss me a bone or two. We agreed to help each other but I'm flying blind until I know what makes Electra tick."

Maia exhaled and didn't say anything for a moment, twisting the tail of her flannel shirt into a tight knot. When she finally spoke, her voice was pitched so low, he had to strain to hear her. "Electra told me that in the beginning, she acted as a muse and nothing more. She visited the minds of her chosen ones to inspire them, but she didn't feed off them."

"What changed?"

Maia shrugged. "She did. Her father Erebus gave her great power, and Electra amplified it through spells and potions."

Crowley was glad he'd read up on his mythology. He knew Papa Erebus. The personification of darkness. Of course, others laid claim to the title as well. Was Papa Erebus still around? Could Crowley forge an alliance with him? Present himself as a future son-in-law? Someone who would watch over his darling soul-sucker of a daughter?

"Electra created the first witches. In the beginning, they used their abilities only to help others. But at some point Electra became bored. Being a muse can be awfully passive," Maia added a little defensively. "One thing led to another. She began feeding off the life force of her protégés. Later she developed a taste for blood and created vampires."

"Did you know her then?"

"No. By the time she elevated me, her abilities had already matured." Maia patted the comforter for Tatyana to flop next to her. "Ever since the persecution of witches began in the sixteenth century, Electra's power has been waning. Like all gods, she derives her strength from being worshipped, and as her followers dropped, her power did as well. Now, with the rise of Wicca, she's regaining her strength. Many Wiccans worship the Triple Goddess—some call her the White Goddess. Astrena's found a way to redirect the energy created from their prayers to her instead."

"Is there a White Goddess somewhere?"

Maia shrugged. "I've never met her."

"And how do you fit in, little mouse? Is Erebus also your daddy?"

"How sick is Neal?" Maia asked, not answering his question. Had he struck a nerve? Just who was she?

"How should I know? I can't simply give him a call. He knew my meatsuit, Hagen. It wouldn't be wise to raise his suspicions or those of his boss. Electra told me you'd sampled Neal's blood, too. Can't you tell?"

"Don't remind me," she muttered, looking genuinely nauseous. "In any case, we can't read their thoughts. We can only project our own, and I've never visited him." She looked at him with big, scared eyes. "Do you know if Electra is sending Scarbo to Neal?"

"That nasty little imp who hides behind the curtains in her bedroom? She never mentions him to me. How does he fit into her plans?"

She sank her hand into Tatyana's fur. "Electra sends Scarbo to punish her victims if they don't perform to her satisfaction. If Neal hasn't seen him yet, he likely soon will. I've seen Electra obsess over someone before. Mozart rebelled. He didn't last long."

Did Cheekbones have any idea of what was going on? He was friends with the Winchesters. Possibly they realized supernatural forces were at work. Up to now, Crowley had managed to keep his operations clear from hunter interference. Dean had seen him at the castle of Electra's bratty pure-blood in West Virginia, but there was no way he could have learned about Crowley's connection to Electra.

New York City had initially appeared to be an ideal location. He knew the city well. A rich supply of creative types was available for Electra to select from. Crowley had set up her pure-blood prince Jeremy with the Riffs rock club in the Village. The establishment was also a front for Crowley's identity fraud operation, ably managed by his lieutenant Drasko. The initial results were promising. The club quickly became a magnet for the music and arts crowd. Drasko was successful in recruiting top-grade hackers from the local universities. Lately, however, there were troubling signs which bore watching.

Hunters didn't normally spend much time in large urban centers, but the Winchesters had been spotted at Riffs. Crowley's initial heartburn was somewhat mitigated when he realized their presence had a silver lining. The brothers appeared to be unaware of who Jeremy was, and the club's surveillance cameras could be used to monitor them. Jeremy was also able to spy on Cheekbones who performed there regularly.

The fly in Crowley's lucrative ointment was a man with an uncanny resemblance to Dean. Jeremy discovered that this new plague on their lives was Henry Winslow. When Jeremy found out Henry was Cheekbones's cousin, the pieces began to fall into place. A blood relationship had to be the cause of the similarity, and it explained why Cheekbones was so tight with a pair of hunters. Was Henry also a hunter? Or did he belong to a group even more nefarious?

"Has Electra said anything about Sam?" Maia asked, breaking into his thoughts.

"No, why? Are you afraid she's going after him, too?"

She nodded worriedly. "You'll let me know if you hear anything?"

"Of course." If Electra killed Sam, Dean would never rest till he destroyed her and anyone serving her. He'd likely go ballistic over Cheekbones's demise, too, since they were related. Crowley had zero desire to go to war against Dean Winchester and his fellow hunters, but he could only advise Electra. Maia, on the other hand . . . Did she have the ability to thwart her?

In his view, the odds were remote. A mouse taking on Astrena, Queen of the Stars? Not bloody likely. She was probably more concerned about being caught in the crossfire of Electra's wrath. The mouse appeared to be renouncing everything that made her a handmaiden of Electra. She was no longer drinking blood, she wasn't feeding off Sam. What was going through her pretty little head? She better be careful if she didn't want to lose it.

Crowley snapped his fingers. Maia might opt for a train, but no pedestrian modes of transportation for him. It was time to pay a visit to Electra and he'd do it in style.

He arrived seconds later in her office at the Elysian Bookstore. Electra was sitting at her desk in front of her computer, her blond hair coiled into a tight chignon at her neck.

"You're just the one I wanted to see," she said with a slight nod, looking pleased.

This was a pleasant change. When was the last time anyone had said that about him? He gave a low bow. "I'm honored," he said in an obsequious murmur.

"I'm going to New York and I want you there as well," she added.

"Of course, your radiance." Interesting. Maia hadn't said anything about Electra being there. Did the mouse know?

"Wisteria told me her sister Peony's coven is holding a Mabon festival on Thursday in New York City," she said. "It will be a small ceremony but the coven is attracting some Columbia students. I'd like to encourage the trend on college campuses and have decided to attend."

Wisteria Brigham was the head of the New Haven Wicca coven. Electra had made a devoted friend out of her by allowing her coven to meet in the bookstore. Wisteria regularly supplied her with pies from her inn. Crowley's favorite was raisin pie. It reminded him of Scottish fruit slices. Wisteria's look was priceless when he praised her for her fly cemetery. Much as he enjoyed the joke, he relented to explain the origin of the name. It wouldn't do for her to stop making them and she laughingly agreed that the filling did resemble a mass of flies. She even offered to try her hand at sticky toffee pudding. Crowley was enjoying his new life immensely. Had Maia supplied him with enough ammunition to keep Electra from ruining it?

"I'll be glad to assist in any way," he said, swinging into a blue leather side chair. The closer he kept to her, the easier he could spy on her activities and dissuade her from provocative moves.

"Good. The following weekend Peony's coven will participate in Medieval and Renaissance festivals. They'll staff a booth on witches, focusing on the benefits they provided during those more enlightened times. The Elysian Bookstore should also have a presence. My staff can easily manage the bookstore in my absence. While I'm in New York, I'd like to check on Jeremy at Riffs."

That was welcome news. Focus on business. Jeremy was the role model of what the pure-blood vampire prince should be—unemotional, logical, and possessing a sharp business sense.

"I haven't received any recent reports on Neal," she said, her elegantly chiseled features twisted into a frown. "He's taken at least two women to Riffs. Bianka I know about, but the identity of the other is so far unknown."

Bollocks. Again with Cheekbones. Crowley sighed, wishing he'd had Scotch instead of tea at Maia's. "You haven't been to New York in almost two months. Do you expect him to be a monk in your absence?"

She glared at him. "Of course I do. His thoughts should only be about me and his art. He'll have his final chance this week. If he doesn't mend his ways . . ." She shrugged. "I want you with me. We need to exploit the Columbia connection even more."

"We're already recruiting there," he protested.

"Not that way," she said impatiently. "Through my foundation. I intend to become one of Columbia's major benefactors."

She didn't explain why, but her newfound interest in the university made him all the more determined to become indispensable to her. The power she was accumulating could be channeled into something far more lucrative than destroying a bunch of paint pushers.