Chapter 7: Strange Sighting
Maia paused in the lobby of the Hotel Plaza Athénée to check her reflection in the mirror. She'd arranged her hair into a carefully crafted chignon. Gone were the jeans and loose sweater that lately were her standard attire. Instead, she wore a tightly wrapped sheath dress in coral silk and heels. It was a sophisticated professional look Electra would applaud. She was calm and cool. If she kept repeating it to herself, maybe she'd believe it.
Inside her heart was beating so fast she was sure Electra would notice it. She'd never defied Electra. Never even dreamed she'd want to. But for Sam's sake, for Neal's sake, she had to make the effort. This was the first time Electra had ever fed off someone Maia had chosen. As for Neal, only a couple of months ago Electra had castigated Alcy for not exercising restraint with the artist in Connecticut. Based on Crowley's report, Electra was devouring Neal at an even faster rate.
Maia smoothed an errant lock of hair behind her ear. The gilt mirrors, chandeliers, and exuberant floral murals of the lobby were appropriate for her sister. The rococo extravagance used to suit her as well, but no longer. She took a slow breath and pressed the elevator button.
Electra arrived yesterday from New Haven. She planned to attend the Mabon celebration at Inwood Hill Park this evening. She was now able to tap into not only the prayers of the Wiccans but the applicants to her foundation. Columbia University, Broadway producers, art galleries, even that small community theater association that Neal's friend Elizabeth was a member of—they all made her more powerful.
Electra smiled her approval when Maia entered the suite. "You have exquisite timing. I just received a new selection of blood. We can sample them together." Electra gestured for her to take a seat on the ivory velvet sofa. She'd already placed the crystal bottles and glasses on a side cart.
Maia wondered who her supplier was. She suspected it was one of the pure-bloods, but Electra hadn't provided any of the details about her children since the near disaster in Shepherdstown. Had Electra grown suspicious of her? Were Maia's efforts to influence her doomed from the start?
"You'll like this one," Electra said, pouring her a glass. "According to the bio, he's a poet who already has several published works to his name. He'd make an ideal protégé."
Maia eyed the glass with loathing. She hadn't drunk a drop of blood since she and Sam started dating. Once she abstained, her memories of who she'd been before Electra abducted her began to resurface. Maia had suspected for a while that Electra could cast a spell to make blood addictive. Only recently did she realize that it also enthralled her.
She'd hoped to dissuade Electra from feeding off Sam and Neal by being the adoring little sister Electra wanted her to be. But if she tasted blood, would she even care what happened to them?
She should have realized this was exactly the sort of trick Electra would play. Maia set the glass down on the cocktail table without taking a sip. "How long have you been feeding off Sam?"
"I should ask you the same question. When did you stop?"
"Why are you doing this? Or do you want to kill him simply for the pleasure of it?"
Electra flinched as if Maia had struck her. Recovering quickly, she hissed, "Careful, my love. Remember who I am. It's become painfully clear you're besotted over him. You've forgotten who you are. My sister. My handmaiden. You live to serve me. No one else."
"So to punish me, you'll kill Sam?"
Electra nodded coldly. "He'll be no loss. His value as an artist is nil."
"What if I stop seeing him? Will it make any difference?" Out of the corner of her eye, Maia saw a rustling in the curtains. Scarbo's head peeked out, a lecherous leer on his face. If Maia hadn't been staying with Sam, the demon would have visited him the past three nights. Did that mean he was concentrating on Neal even more?
Electra shook her head slowly. "No, my dearest. It won't make any difference at all. You're too far gone. This is for your own good. Once Sam is no longer a factor, you'll return to me."
"What about Neal?"
"Why do you care about Neal?" Electra demanded. "He's not your concern."
A few months ago, she would have agreed. Now she'd adopted him and his friends along with Sam, Dean, and Chloe into her clan. Her old one had been wiped out centuries ago, but no druid can last for long without a clan. Even though the members would likely never know about it, she'd sworn fealty to her new circle.
"You chastised Alcy for being indiscreet," Maia said, attempting the diplomatic route. "Aren't you doing the same thing? You're putting all of us at risk of exposure."
"Don't use that tone with me." In an instant, Electra transformed herself into Astrena, the blue goddess, Queen of the Stars. Her ice-blue figure towered over Maia.
So much for diplomacy.
"I could kill you now." Electra's voice was a low rumble of approaching thunder. She clenched her hand into a fist and Maia felt her fingers around her throat, suffocating her.
Her vision blurred into a red haze. Maia fell to her knees. Suddenly the pressure stopped.
"Get out of my sight," Electra ordered. "But heed my words. I won't be so lenient next time."
#
"How the hell do you go about hunting a leech-spirit?" Dean realized it was unfair to vent his frustration, but Bobby was used to it. "Follow slime residue?"
"I wish!" Bobby snorted. "That photo of the pictograph is all I got. Did you find anything in your dad's journal?"
"Nothing." And that about summed up what they knew about Willy. The pictograph showed a vaguely human torso on top of some wavy lines which supposedly represented water. Did that mean they were supposed to search by canoe? Clad themselves in deerskin and hunt by bow and arrow? That wasn't about to happen.
Mozzie showed up at Peony's while he and Sam were having breakfast. The Mabon ritual was to be held at Inwood Hill Park that evening. Dean had spent the rest of the morning with Mozzie in a fruitless search of Riverside Park while Sam worked on Chloe's grimoire. Over lunch back at the inn—and Peony's pies were almost as good as her sister Wisteria's—Mozzie offered to show them around the site where the Lenape pottery fragments had been found. Dean saw no reason to object. It was close to water—as good as any place to find Willy—and the fresh air might do Sam some good.
Maia was spending the day at the university library, but Tatyana would be well cared for. Peony was a dog-lover and had adopted her as the inn's puppy-in-residence whenever Maia visited. She'd even provided a bed for her next to the bay window in the front lounge.
The park was a short drive north of the university. Mozzie had Dean park next to a baseball field. It was close to a wooded point overlooking the Harlem River. They got out of the Impala while he indicated landmarks.
"This stretch of the river is called Spuyten Duyvil Creek. Now, follow me. There's a good vantage spot at the tip of the point."
Ranger Mozzie led them to a trail lined with old trees.
"What's the significance of the blue C on the far bank?" Dean asked. The giant letter was painted onto a rocky embankment. There were several words he could think of that started with C. None of them were probably correct but they made him smile.
"That's known as the Columbia C," Mozzie explained. "It was painted by members of the university's rowing team in the 1950s and has been maintained ever since. The Columbia boathouse is on the south side of the river, just to our east. To the right of the boathouse is the construction site for the sports complex expansion. The parking lot next to the boathouse is where the Lenape pottery shards were found."
While Sam quizzed Mozzie about Native American sites in the area, Dean scanned the large soccer field to the west. Named Celtic Field, it would be the site of the Mabon ritual at sunset. Some of the organizers were already setting up tables.
Peony said she'd chosen that particular field because of the name. She thought it'd be particularly auspicious. Dean was tempted to scoff at the thought, but Peony's psychic abilities were no joke. Many of the Wicca rituals dated back to old Celtic practices. Now that Chloe knew she was related to Harriet Beaufort, she'd asked for Mozzie's help in tracing her Irish roots.
No shamrocks in the Winchester family tree. Nobody was going to trace his ancestors back to a leprechaun . . . or a druid.
Mabon was supposed to be a time of thanksgiving and the coven planned to ask members to voice their reasons to be thankful. Neal's cousin Angela had coerced several music students to attend and sing songs. There was something called a drum circle where participants would beat drums and dance. Prayers would be offered to pagan deities. He and Sam planned to patrol during the event. Would a Lenape leech-spirit be offended by the Wicca ceremony? Dean wasn't taking anything for granted.
Mozzie pointed to a weedy area on the edge of the river by the boathouse. "We're trying to save that marsh. It's the least Columbia can do. We don't have a hope of salvaging the parking lot where the potshards came from."
Dean wouldn't argue with that. Pilings were already being driven. Steel beams, cement trucks—that parking lot was a goner.
"The 'Save Our Marsh' forces will prevail, particularly after the spirits join us in celebrating Mabon," Mozzie predicted. "I wouldn't be at all surprised that Weewillmeku is seeking vengeance for the rape of the wetlands," he added darkly. "There has to be a reason why all of a sudden it's making an appearance after hundreds of years."
"I bet Willy turns out to be a human," Dean said. "Some dick of a pervert who wants to spread terror. That's what Peter believes too."
"As long as we're here, we should check out the Lenape caves Mozzie told us about," Sam suggested.
That was fine by Dean. They had plenty of time before the ritual would begin.
"Can you manage without me?" Mozzie asked. "I promised I'd help set up the altar."
"Sure," Dean said, waving his map. "The trail's well marked."
He and Sam spent an hour exploring the rock tumbles on the hills of the forested park. Mozzie had told them that the Lenape used the forest as a seasonal camp before settlers came to Manhattan. They'd excavated caverns to keep cool in summer.
When Dean clambered out of one of the shallow caves, he paused for a moment to scan the sky through the towering oaks lining the slope. It was hard to believe they were in New York City.
He heard scrabbling sounds behind him and turned around. Sam winced at the hand Dean offered to help him climb out of the cave but accepted the assist. That spoke volumes. Dean tried not to focus on how labored Sam's breathing was from what should have been an easy hike. He looked happy. Dean could hold off raining on his parade.
"Mozzie told me the caves were used for centuries," Sam said, placing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "Arrowheads, flint axes, and pieces of pottery have been found inside."
"But no pictographs."
"No, nothing relevant to Weewillmeku. The caves are interesting but the only evidence we found is of the homeless finding shelter there. No leech-spirits."
Dean nodded. "The lore says Willy lives in the water. There's no mention of him living in caves." He glanced up at the sky. "Sunset's almost here. You wanna go to the Mabon ritual? Maia would like the company."
Sam eyed him suspiciously. "What will you do?"
Dean shrugged. "Patrol, and don't start on me. You can't accompany me. You don't have the endurance and you know it."
Sam let out an exasperated huff but didn't argue. He couldn't with the truth smacking him on the head.
As Sam trudged glumly beside him back to the field, he had that frustrated look Dean knew so well—he was kicking himself for letting others down. Dean had been surprised that Sam admitted his condition to Maia, although the dude really had no choice. She couldn't have missed his weight loss. And something good might come from it. She said she'd try to learn more about Astrena. Dean knew he was grabbing at straws, but surely one of them was attached to something tangible. Didn't the Scoobies always discover something? Why couldn't their lives be more like Scooby-Doo?
"The murders, the sightings, the howls—they've all been near Columbia by the Hudson River," Sam said. "Wouldn't that be the most productive area to search?"
"Patrol Riverside Drive? It's a long shot we'd find anything."
"We've faced worse. We could patrol in the car after the ceremony. You can't object to me going along with you in the Impala."
He had a point, and there was no reason to hang around afterward. Mozzie could return with Chloe and Maia. "I'll keep watch on the Harlem River while you go to the ritual," Dean said, compromising. "One of us should be present to monitor the situation. You give me a call if you see anything." Sam didn't argue. There'd been no sightings in the park, but it was close enough to the river that a threat was plausible. In such a large group, Dean didn't fear an attack. All the reports of zombies had been of lone individuals. But it gave Sam something semi-useful to do.
As they approached the Impala, Dean began scanning the water once more. The sun was setting. Visibility was deteriorating by the minute . . . A shadow caught his notice. He stopped to stare at it.
"See something?" Sam asked excitedly.
Dean nodded and squinted. "Those dark ridges close to the shore. Do they look off to you?"
"Maybe waves from someone swimming underwater?"
Dean sprinted forward. Damn. All their weapons were in the trunk of the car. What if this was Willy? What he would give for a pair of binoculars. The wave pattern was heading for the marsh close to the sports complex.
Sam was lagging far behind but Dean couldn't worry about that now. He kept his eyes fixed on the water. The waves came from the west—the direction of the Hudson River. Close to the boathouse, the waves parted and a shape began to emerge.
#
"All I can tell you is that it looked to me like the Jolly Gray Giant and instead of a smirk it had an open leech mouth." Dean paused to frown at Chloe. "No need to roll your eyes. This is why you'll never catch me writing novels."
Chloe sighed as she tried to picture a bald, musclebound creature rising out of the waves.
Mozzie and Janet had returned to the inn with her, Peony, and Maia to raise a final toast to Mabon. Instead, they were gathered in the sitting room, listening spellbound to Dean's tale. Peony suggested using the room which could be closed off for privacy, and it was a wise precaution.
"By the time I caught up with Dean, Weewillmeku had already disappeared," Sam said glumly. "I never saw it."
"Are you sure that's what it was?" Janet asked.
Dean nodded. "I got a good view of his face. Who else would have a sucker mouth? After he sank back into the water, I lost him."
"We stayed around but he never reappeared," Sam added. "Did you hear any howls?"
"A few faint ones," Mozzie said. "They were coming from the south."
"Did anything strange go on during the celebration?" Dean asked.
Peony surveyed them for a moment before answering. "The spirits were restless at Mabon."
Chloe winced mentally as Maia stared at Peony with a shocked look on her face. Chloe had explained Peony's psychic ability to Maia but this was her first time to experience it.
"It was after we performed the drum circle," Peony said. "I could hear the whispers of the Lenape. They came to lament what has happened to their land."
Mozzie nodded emphatically as if he'd heard them too. "We should have expected it. I don't suppose we could get the spirits to join us in support of the marsh, but I know they would if they could."
"But they weren't the only spirits present," Peony cautioned. "I felt another—a presence much more ancient. It was as if our collective energy was being sucked into the heavens."
"Could it have been Weewillmeku?" Sam asked, his brow furrowing.
Peony shook her head slowly as she considered for a moment. "I don't think so. With Native American spirits, the colors and scents are of the earth. What I sensed came from the stars." She shrugged. "It's possible I was mistaken. Perhaps it was caused by the music."
"Angela had brought along a group of folk musicians," Chloe explained. "They'll also play at the festival this weekend. The music sounded medieval, but I'm no expert. The drums were particularly striking."
"The musicians were playing the bodhran," Maia supplied. "It's a traditional Irish drum. The music was based on Irish folk melodies. There were also Irish harps, flutes, and bagpipes. I asked Angela about the group and she said they specialize in early Celtic music."
Chloe looked at her with surprise. She hadn't realized Maia was into folk music. She and Angela should get along well. Maia stuck close to her and Peony throughout the ritual. Her sister Electra was also there but Maia kept her distance. That struck Chloe as being rather odd. Electra was quite friendly when she chatted with coven members before the ceremony, and Chloe had always found her easy to talk to. There was a significant age difference between the sisters—ten years or more—which might account for it.
After Mozzie and Janet left, Sam and Dean took off to patrol by car. Chloe planned to return to the grimoire.
"Sam told me about your search for a potion," Maia said. "Perhaps I can help." She added in a lower voice, "I need to do something."
"How are you on orchids?" Chloe asked. "A Japanese expert wrote about how Greek orchids were used in various spells, but he gave no specifics. I'd hoped an herbal by Harriet Beaufort would provide the answer. So far, though, I haven't had any luck. Identifying the plants has been difficult and none of the spells seem relevant."
"When I was a child, we spent our summers in Greece," Maia said. "Electra and I both have Greek orchids at home."
"Perhaps the descriptions will mean something to you." Chloe went over to the bookcase and removed Airmid's Garden from the drawer.
"May I see it?" Maia asked.
Chloe unfastened the clasps and opened the grimoire to a page of illustrations.
Instead of checking out the description, Maia closed the book before Chloe could stop her. "What a lovely binding. The book must be very valuable."
Now what? Could she explain that the clasps required a special touch? That was true in a sense and better than admitting that Maia would need to be a Beaufort witch to open them. After all, she'd just found out about Dean and Sam being hunters. She might not be ready to hear about Chloe's unusual family tree.
Oblivious to Chloe's churning emotions, Maia stroked the title with her hand. "Airmid . . ." She pronounced the name softly, giving it a breathy lilt and rolling the r. She sounded like the recording Chloe had heard on how to pronounce the word. Did Maia speak Irish or was that the Greek way of pronouncing it?
"A curious name, isn't it?" Chloe said, forcing her tone to be casual. If Maia would just set down the book, she'd reclaim it and open it once more without her suspecting anything was wrong. "She was the Irish goddess of healing. Some believe she was a historic figure, perhaps a druidess. The ancient druids were supposed to have magical powers. Airmid was reputed to be an expert in the healing properties of herbs. Let's hope she can help Sam and Neal."
Maia nodded but her attention was still on the grimoire. Chloe watched with dread as her hand moved toward the top clasp. Effortlessly she snapped both clasps open. Chloe let out a gasp before she could stop herself.
Startled, Maia stared at her. "Did I do something wrong?"
Chloe's first thought was not to admit to anything, but Sam worked on the book, too. He was bound to comment on it. Wouldn't it be better to say something now?
The door opened and Peony walked in. "Would you two like a glass of red currant wine? Maia, you haven't tried my latest—" She stopped when she saw Maia's hand on the book.
"She opened it," Chloe blurted even as she felt her face redden. Maia must think she was out of her mind.
"Shouldn't I be able to?" Maia asked. "What's going on?"
"Oh my, that's really quite extraordinary." Peony placed the tray of glasses on the table and sat down. "Watch what happens when I try." She took the grimoire from Maia, fastened the clasps, then tried to open them with the expected results. "The grimoire has been protected by a spell ensuring that only members of the author's bloodline can open it."
Bewildered, Maia looked first at Peony and then Chloe. "I don't understand. Chloe, are you related to Harriet Beaufort?"
"Apparently. Mozzie researched my family tree for me. I'd already traced my ancestry back to Bridget Bishop—"
"The Salem witch?" Maia asked, looking shocked.
Chloe nodded. "My grandfather moved to Nebraska from Massachusetts, and I've known about the connection for a while. But that was as far back as I'd gone. Mozzie's helped me research my family tree. He discovered that Bridget was born in Ireland. Her maiden name was Beaufort. The Beaufort name originated in England in the fourteenth century, but one of the first Beauforts moved to Ireland and married an Irish woman. It's certainly possible Harriet and I share a common ancestor."
"And the grimoire proves it," Peony declared. "Maia, are you aware of any Irish blood in your family?"
"Perhaps." Maia hesitated for a moment, looking absently at the book cover. "I don't know who my ancestors are. Electra's parents adopted me from an orphanage when they lived in England. I'd been found as a baby at the entrance to a London hospital with no identification. The Stavrous were very kind. They treated me as if I was their flesh and blood."
Chloe tried to picture herself in Maia's place, with no knowledge of her past. Although Chloe was an only child, she had plenty of aunts and uncles. Chloe reached over and grasped Maia's hand. "We could be distant cousins."
"More than likely," Peony agreed. "I don't know how else to explain it."
Maia broke into a radiant smile. "You're the only blood relative I've met. I'm so glad it's you."
Peony beamed at both of them. "We need to toast to that." She passed around the glasses of ruby-red wine.
Chloe raised her glass. "How appropriate that it looks a little like blood. Here's to you, cousin!"
Maia clinked glasses with Peony and Chloe. "To family and friends!"
The red currant wine was bright with the taste of berries and packed a surprisingly big wallop—an auspicious symbol for their friendship. Peony's face was as pink as her cardigan, and Chloe suspected it wasn't only because of the wine. She had a big heart and treated them as her nieces. The feeling was mutual. Chloe seldom got to see her own relatives, and from the way Maia was acting, she was ready to adopt both Chloe and Peony on the spot.
"Like Chloe, you may have inherited your interest in flowers from your forbears," Peony suggested.
"I always thought I'd acquired it from Lena Stavrou," Maia confided. "She was Electra's grandmother and passionate about Greece's wildflowers. When we were children, we used to stay at her villa outside Athens in the summer. I have a book on wildflowers at home that has been passed down in the Stavrou family. It's really more of a field guide—handwritten notes and drawings collected over many generations. It might help us identify the plants in Harriet's book. There are some poems in the book as well. At least, I assumed that's what they were. Now I wonder if they could be spells."
Maia offered to fetch it from New Haven the following morning. Chloe sensed that she didn't want to leave Sam alone at night. Chloe assumed that Sam was stable for the moment, but Maia acted as if his life was threatened. It was understandable. She'd only found out about the curse on Wednesday. In any case, there probably weren't any trains leaving for New Haven till the next day.
Maia was better off delaying the trip for her own sake as well. How safe was it to be outside at night? Because of the recent murder, Columbia and the neighborhood associations had all issued alerts for the public to be especially vigilant. Chloe's thoughts went to Dean and Sam, patrolling the neighborhood. Had they found anything?