Chapter 4: Family Connections
When Peter arrived home that evening, he found El in the kitchen making dinner. He breathed in the delicious aroma of meatloaf. She somehow knew he'd need comfort food tonight.
"How was your day?" she asked, giving him a kiss.
He pulled her into his arms and held her close for a moment. "I've had better."
She raised a brow. "Is it something you can talk about?"
He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. "We need to. Would you like a glass of wine?"
"Please. The salad can wait."
She took a seat on one of the bar stools around the butcher block table, and he joined her. El already knew about Astrena, but hearing about Christie's diagnosis was as difficult for her to hear as it had been for him.
"I thought I'd come to terms with it," he admitted, "but today I realized I'd been in denial. Despite the evidence, on a subconscious level, I continued to feel we were the victims of a cruel prank."
"I know what you mean. This is the twenty-first century, not ancient Greece. And now I find myself desperately wanting to believe in the curse. That's something Chloe may be able to fix. This syndrome . . ." Shaking her head, she didn't finish her thought.
"I researched the disease after Neal left the office. Finding the appropriate treatment is difficult. There are many different strains, and each case appears to be different. So far, none of Neal's organs have been affected, but Christie is monitoring him closely. She's made an appointment for him to see a hematologist later this week."
"I'm glad Sam will be in New York. It can't be easy for him and Dean to find doctors they trust. Sam needs to see Christie, too." She brushed a strand of hair off her face. "I was all set to persuade you to go to the Renaissance festival next Sunday, but this puts a different spin on it."
"We should go," he said firmly. "This morning the team urged me to participate in the LARP."
She eyed him skeptically. "And you knew what they meant?"
"I do now."
She bit her lip. "Will Neal be able to . . .?"
Peter shook his head. "No. He told me Christie's put the kibosh on any larping. I know how it galls him. A chance to wear costumes, engage in mock battles—any kid's dream."
"If they hold the festival next year, perhaps he can then." El's words trailed off. It was hard to be optimistic about the future.
Neal's teasing face flashed in front of his eyes. It only took Peter a moment to make up his mind. "Hon, do you think Janet could scrounge me a suitable costume?"
Her face lit up. "Are you going to be Neal's stand-in?"
"Sure. You and he can watch and snap all the photos you want. We'll make this a battle to remember."
#
Dean and Sam arrived at Peony's B&B shortly after Chloe returned home from work. When Sam saw how Dean's face lit up at the sight of her, he breathed easier. Chloe was just what Dean needed—a distraction from worrying about him.
For the past six weeks, Chloe had been on a contract assignment with a publishing house. Life in the Big Apple hadn't appeared to change her. No heels and silk suits for her. She still had bangs and wore her long auburn hair loose. With her boots and tight pants, she could easily pass herself off as a hunter.
Maia had adopted the same style but she gave it a softer touch. Maia . . . Sam let his mind rest on that pleasant thought for a moment. He'd be seeing her in a few hours.
Much as he wished she'd already arrived, it was for the best. They'd have a chance to discuss Chloe's book without her hearing about it. Sam was shielding Maia from his hunter activities. He'd led her to believe that he and Dean were freelance investigators who occasionally consulted with the FBI. That was true as far as it went. Sam hoped she'd never need to know about the monsters and demons he and Dean faced, and he'd warned Chloe not to mention them to her.
When they entered the inn, Peony rushed forward to greet them with a bright smile as if they were her long-lost nephews. The gray pleated skirt and wool cardigan she wore over her pink blouse evoked her British roots. Stepping into her B&B made Sam feel like he'd entered Miss Marple's home.
The thought made him smile. If he hadn't tricked Dean into thinking Miss Marple was a sex worker, his brother never would have watched the movie At Bertram's Hotel with him. Dean's reaction when he discovered the hotel was filled with elderly guests and Miss Marple was a gentle white-haired spinster was worth the inevitable revenge prank. As a bonus, Dean was now acquainted with lace arm covers, doilies, and hand-knitted tea cozies.
Peony didn't solve mysteries like Miss Marple, but Sam had learned her talents were not to be underestimated. Peony was an authentic psychic. The herbal infusions she made in her silver cauldron allowed her to connect with the spirit world in ways Sam wouldn't have believed if he hadn't been a witness.
Peony had detected the psychic bond connecting him and Neal to the goddess Astrena. Chloe was now studying herbs and potions with her. Chloe's concoctions had already proved useful. She'd prepared an oil that kept vampires from being able to sniff them. Now they were pinning their hopes on her and Peony finding a way to sever the link.
The book had arrived at Bobby's place in New Jersey at midday. Chloe was as excited as a kid at Christmas to see it, and Sam was right with her.
"You don't mind if I join you for the unveiling?" Peony asked hopefully.
"Of course not," Chloe said. "I may need your help. You're much more familiar with English herbs than I am."
Peony led them to a small sitting room papered in a green floral design with roses. Sam quickly learned on their previous visit that Peony was into pink. Most of the time her clothes included something in that color. Her china had pink flowers on it. The guest rooms had pink towels and floral wallpaper. Peony herself seemed to be in a permanent rosy glow.
They sat around the round oak table Peony used for her séances.
Dean placed the package on the table and handed his pocket knife to Chloe. "To you go the honors."
Inside the outer shipping carton was a black box. Dean eyed it warily. "Wasn't there something about a black box and quantum theory?"
Chloe looked at him startled. "When did you get interested in physics?"
"It was mentioned in a Scooby-Doo cartoon he watched on Saturday," Sam explained helpfully.
Dean glared at him. "That's just cruel."
"Well, you don't have to worry about any cats inside," Chloe teased. "This is an archival storage box. I'm glad Finnerty took such good care of the book. It's two hundred years old and probably in fragile condition."
Peony pulled out a sparkling white damask tablecloth from a drawer in the bookcase. "We should protect it from any random emanations." Directing Chloe to lift the box, she spread the cloth on the table.
Dean tossed Sam a shrug. He probably thought Peony was being overly cautious. He and Sam carried their dad's journal everywhere. It had bloodstains, grease marks, ectoplasm smears . . . A little late to think about protecting it, but maybe they should be more careful.
Chloe raised the lid of the box and lifted out the book. When he caught a glimpse of it, Sam was glad Peony had taken protective measures. He'd expected a battered guide with broken covers and pages falling out. Instead, the herbal was bound in pristine caramel-colored leather. Silver clasps formed an elaborate tracery of stylized trees. Embossed in silver flowery characters was the title, Airmid's Garden.
Chloe stared at it for a moment as if it were a holy relic before laying it carefully on the table. "It's beautiful! Did Finnerty tell Bobby where he found it?"
"An antique bookstore in Dublin," Dean said. "The bookseller had purchased it from an estate. Finnerty mentioned that there was a tag on the outer package indicating it had belonged to John Denley."
"Oh my!" Peony exclaimed. "Not the John Denley! But, of course, that makes sense, given the age and the rarity of the work."
"Who's John Denley?" Chloe asked.
"He was a bookseller in London during the early 1800s," Peony explained. "He specialized in books on the occult with many of them reportedly unique copies. A few catalogs remain, but the works were all sold off later in the century. For many of them, we only know the titles."
"It must have cost Finnerty a king's ransom to buy this," Chloe said, looking nervous. "How much do I owe him?"
"Nothing," Dean said. "Finnerty had helped the seller out with a cursed book a while ago. Besides, the seller couldn't verify the work. He wasn't able to open the clasps and didn't want to damage the book by forcing them."
Peony was studying the binding while mumbling to herself. When Chloe reached for it, she said, "Not yet, love." She closed her eyes and held her hand above the book with the palm facing downward. Slowly she made several passes over the cover. Chloe raised her eyebrows at Dean who shrugged and glanced at Sam for help.
"She may be sensing something," Sam hazarded. "Perhaps an astral presence."
Peony's eyes snapped open. "Goodness, that was strong. Dean, you said the bookseller couldn't open the clasps?"
"That's right."
Peony nodded as if that made perfect sense. "You should give it a try anyway." When Chloe reached for the book, she added, "Let Dean attempt it first."
Dean studied the clasps. There were two of them—at the bottom and top of the book. They appeared to be simple closures that snapped in place, but when Dean tried to open them, they wouldn't budge. "The hinges must have rusted. Pliers might help."
Peony shook her head. "I don't think so. Sam, you should try."
Sam knew what the results would be in advance, and he was right. He had no better luck. Nor did Peony when she made the attempt.
"Now watch this." Peony murmured Latin phrases under her breath. Sam couldn't catch their meaning but a soft golden glow began to emanate from the book. Chloe gasped at the sight. It lasted for only a few seconds and then evaporated.
"I've heard of this," Peony said with a satisfied nod. "Some witches ward their grimoires with spells so that only members of their bloodline can view the contents. If I'm right, no matter what method you use, you won't be able to open it. Even if you succeed in breaking the clasps, the pages will stick together and be illegible."
"Then we're at a dead-end?" Chloe asked, wide-eyed with dismay.
Peony smiled at her. "I don't think so." She passed the herbal to her. "Now you try."
Chloe gave her a puzzled look but didn't question her. When she pressed one of the clasps, it snapped open.
Dean stared at her shocked as she opened the other one. "What the—?" He glanced at Peony and bit off the curse. "Chloe, is there something you haven't told us?"
"She must be related to Harriet," Peony said, replying for her. "I'd sensed a connection between her and the grimoire."
Sam watched Chloe with sympathy as she grappled with the significance. They already knew she was related to Bridget Bishop, the first woman to be hung as a witch in Salem. Now another witch was in her bloodline. Their dad had drilled into Dean and him that hunting was in their blood. It was becoming increasingly clear that witchcraft was in Chloe's.
It wasn't a big leap to make. Sam had wondered about Chloe's affinity for herbs and potions. Now he knew why.
#
Dean was glad when Peony was called away to greet a newly arrived guest at the inn. Chloe watched him uneasily, mutely pleading to not freak out. He reminded himself that his dad had mentioned running into helpful witches during his travels. Good for him. The only witches Dean had encountered were the kind who gave you nightmares.
He could hear Sam's voice in his head urging restraint. He shouldn't hold Chloe's ancestors against her. But Sam could afford to be tolerant. His girlfriend Maia didn't have any witches in her family tree.
"Look at the bright side," Chloe urged. "This may mean I'll have a better chance of curing Sam and Neal."
"It also explains why that swamp spirit in New Jersey was so willing to help you out," Dean pointed out.
Her face reddened. "Are you going to bring that up forever? There was no lasting harm."
"Give him a minute," Sam urged, shooting Dean a frown to cool it. "It was just a shock."
"To me, too," Chloe said defensively. "I've known about Bridget Bishop for years, but she was simply a distant ancestor. I never felt any connection to her. Now, with this grimoire . . ." She paused to look at it once more, tracing the embossed title with her index finger. "When I was a child, I used to explore the prairies around our town, looking for wildflowers. Is that interest something I inherited from Harriet?"
"She was Irish," Dean said, clearing his throat. Stop acting like a jerk. It's not Chloe's fault. "Did any of your ancestors come from Ireland?"
She nodded. "When I was researching Bridget in Salem last spring, I discovered she was born in Ireland. Bridget is an Irish name. In Celtic mythology, she was the goddess of fire, poetry, and wisdom."
"Harriet lived about a hundred years later," Sam said. "The two women could share a common ancestor."
Chloe began thumbing through the pages. The text was written by hand in a cursive script and was profusely illustrated with drawings. There had to be a couple of hundred pages at least. If a potion to sever a psychic link was described, it could take a while to find it. There was no table of contents or index to rely on. The thought of attempting to read early nineteenth-century script made Dean cross-eyed.
As long as the book was open, anyone could read the pages, but apparently only Chloe could open the clasps. Dean had been looking for a way for Sam to not overexert himself. That grimoire should do the trick. But it didn't solve what Dean would do for the next several days. The Mabon ceremony would be on Thursday, not something he was looking forward to. He'd have to wait till Sunday for the LARP battle. Chloe would be at work during the week. He supposed he could research her family tree, but he knew in advance he wouldn't like it.
"You haven't heard of any weirdness in New York recently?" Dean asked, trying not to sound desperate.
Chloe smiled sympathetically. "This probably isn't your type of case, but a student was reported missing at Columbia."
She was right. Had he sunk that low?
"If you don't like that, how about this? I went to the Aloha Emporium for lunch and ran into Mozzie. He said that a murder victim was found west of the university near Riverside Park. The corpse supposedly had a very strange wound although I don't know what he considers strange."
Sam chuckled. "If Mozzie thinks it's weird, it must be off the charts. Dean, you should definitely check it out."
"And then there are the howls," Chloe added.
"What kind of howls?" Dean asked. This was the city, after all. A New Yorker would probably get spooked over a Barn Owl.
"That's just it. No one can figure them out. For the past week, they've been heard near the river. The university has had experts listen to the recordings. They've eliminated wolves and coyotes but don't have a positive match. Are there any monsters that howl?"
"Could be werewolves, but there hasn't been a full moon."
"Yeah, but if they're pure-bloods, they can transform at any time," Sam pointed out. "Hellhounds are another possibility."
"Hellhounds exist?" Chloe asked, her eyes widening.
Sam nodded with that sympathetic wince he gave when delivering bad news. "And before you ask, they actually are from Hell. They're often in league with crossroads demons— like Crowley, for instance. But we haven't heard any reports of hellhounds on the loose. Most likely frat boys are pranking someone," he added reassuringly.
If werewolves were involved, Dean would be able to tell by the condition of the corpse. New York City was Neal's turf and he did appear to have the knack for attracting monsters. Was Peter already stewing about it? Dean should give him a call. He could also touch base with Mozzie and replenish their stock of credit cards and fake IDs.
#
"What's going on at Columbia University?" Peter asked.
Neal was in his art niche in the tech lab when Peter dropped in to see him. Travis, whose workstation was next to Neal's, also spun around at their boss's question.
"Did something else happen?" Travis asked. "I heard about the murder on campus."
"It's been identified as a maintenance worker," Peter said, rolling over an extra chair. "Now a second person is missing."
"I haven't heard anything about it," Neal said, puzzled.
"You wouldn't. The police are keeping a lid on it to prevent a panic. Columbia has already posted notices about security concerns. There's not much else they can do. The cases may not be related. This time it was a freshman. There's nothing to connect the murder to the missing students except that all three are affiliated with Columbia." Peter paused to lock eyes with Neal. "You be careful tomorrow."
Neal spent his Wednesdays at Columbia in an intense day of seminars and workshops. He turned to face Travis. "You'll be on campus tonight. You should as well."
He nodded. "Those howls will be the talk of the SETI group. I'm braced for Mozzie's interpretation." Travis and Mozzie were members of the Columbia working group on the search for extraterrestrial life. They met in the science building on campus.
"They're a real puzzle," Peter agreed. "It's been impossible to keep them out of the news."
"We could ask Dean and Sam about them," Neal suggested. "They arrived in town yesterday."
Travis frowned. "Are they here because Sam's worse?"
"Yeah, but that's not the only reason. Chloe's book arrived. Dean called me last night." Explaining the curse to the team had been decidedly awkward, but now it was a relief to be able to discuss it openly. Everyone knew he and Sam were in the same boat.
"Any dreams last night?" Peter asked.
"All's quiet on the possessed front, I'm happy to report. As for Sam, it's gotten to the point he refuses to sleep. He's scheduled to have a physical with Christie today."
Peter grunted but thankfully didn't lay into him about his own sleep habits. "I'm glad the Winchesters are in town," Peter said. "Hughes came to see me this morning with a request I never thought I'd hear him make."
"What's that?"
"He wants me to consult with them." Peter grimaced. "Now that Hughes knows about our experiences with vampires and witches, we've become the go-to unit for any weird occurrences."
Travis chuckled. "We're now the Bureau's X-Files branch?"
Peter groaned. "I'm afraid so. Neal's joshed me about Fox Mulder needing to take a seat in the bullpen. That time has come."
Travis shook his head regretfully. "Mulder will be hard to find. We could appoint Mozzie instead." He scanned the lab. "I could carve out a space for him in the far corner, behind the bookcase. No one would know he's here."
"Don't rub salt in the wound," Peter growled.
"I don't want to hear any arguments over the equipment requisitions I'll need to submit," Travis continued, in his best deadpan Vulcan manner.
"Plus additional budget allocations," Neal pointed out helpfully. "Paranormal sightings require nonstandard devices."
"Which I'm sure Hughes will welcome," Peter mocked. Hughes's stinginess with requisitions was legendary. Peter's expression grew serious. "That murder poses some features that have not been released to the press. When Hughes saw the bulletin from the Violent Crimes Unit, he brought them to my attention. Do you know if Dean's available today?"
"I'm sure of it," Neal said. "Chloe told him about the howls and the murder. He's at loose ends and decided to check out the campus situation. Mozzie's giving him the campus tour today."
"We'll need a private place to talk. How about your art studio?"
Neal agreed readily and called Dean to make the arrangements.
Notes: John Denley is a historical character and his interest in the occult is well documented. Harriet Beaufort is also a historical figure but there's no mention of her being a witch. Only in the world of Crossed Lines will you find references to Chloe's book.