Chapter 14: Weewillmeku
"Stop pacing," Mozzie urged. "He'll show up."
Neal ignored him. Everyone else had already arrived at the designated rendezvous spot—the parking lot by the Columbia boathouse. Chloe had picked up Neal and Mozzie in her Mustang. Dean brought Maia, Sam, and Peony in the Impala. But there was no sign of Peter's Taurus. Sunset would fast be upon them.
Peter had texted he'd be there, but there was currently a higher priority. Diana and Jones had been missing for close to twenty-four hours with no additional leads. When Peter's car screeched into the lot, Neal exhaled with relief. For once, he wouldn't tease him about his speed-demon habits.
"No news about Diana and Jones," Peter said, jumping out of the car and forestalling Neal's questions. "The only updates are discouraging. We've heard of one more missing person."
"The sun is about to sink below the horizon," Dean warned. "Let's do this. If nothing happens, I'll go back on patrol." He was carrying a shotgun. Sam had one as well.
Mozzie scowled at the weapons. "Your firearms send the wrong signal. We don't want to inflame Weewillmeku's anger."
"Humor us," Peter retorted, pulling out his gun. "For all we know, he may consider it a sign of respect."
Chloe and Maia walked to the river's edge and clasped hands. The clouds which had been present in the morning had dissipated, leaving a clear sky with only a light breeze. The women began murmuring the supplication, their voices growing more powerful as they chanted in the ancient tongue. Peony strode over to stand behind them. She didn't add her voice to theirs but grasped their free hands to form a tight triad.
Neal held his breath, waiting to see what would happen. Everyone had their eyes fixed on the river. They'd brought binoculars and were scanning the water for any sign of movement.
Suddenly they were cast into darkness. A black cloud had appeared out of nowhere. It was directly overhead and growing steadily in size. The light breeze turned into a stiff wind. Soon the river itself began to churn and seethe.
A clap of thunder caused Neal to jump. It was immediately followed by the crackle of lightning. One bolt after another etched the sky and plunged into the river.
"What the hell," Peter muttered. "Rain wasn't called for in the forecast."
Sam stared upward. "This is no natural phenomenon. Look at the shape of that cloud."
The cloud had coalesced into a gigantic ring with lightning erupting from the edges. So far no rain. Whatever force was at work was more intent on a sound-and-light show. Their hair was standing on end from static electricity.
Letting out a curse, Dean dropped his shotgun and shook his hand. And not just him. Peter and Sam flung their guns to the ground, too.
"Electric shock!" Peter yelled over the wind which was now howling. "Drop anything metal. We need to seek shelter."
"No!" Peony commanded. "The chant must continue."
The women's voices carried high over the peals of thunder. The air itself felt charged with some unseen force as they all nervously waited.
Then, as if a switch had been flicked, the wind stilled. A column of water began to rise from the nearshore directly in front of the chanters. Floating in the center was a creature. Bald, smooth-skinned, his mouth gaped open in a large circle. For a long minute, he hovered in the liquid column of water, his eyes fixed on the women.
Mozzie swallowed. "Weewillmeku." His voice was a barely audible whisper.
The creature raised both arms high into the sky and howled, an ear-splitting prolonged roar lasting for several seconds. Neal heard an explosion somewhere behind them. He turned his head to see dense smoke rising from a building south of their location.
The column of water began to lift once more, quickly rising to the level of the cloud. With one final crackle of lightning, the column disintegrated. As suddenly as it had formed, the cloud vanished, leaving the sky clear once more.
Chloe and Maia stopped chanting. "He acknowledged our prayers," Maia said, gazing upward and looking awestruck.
"They're right," Peony confirmed. "I can feel Raincloud's presence even here. Weewillmeku has been appeased."
Peter shrugged. "I'd rather have firm evidence."
"Will that do?" Neal pointed to the building behind them. A black pillar of smoke was pouring out of it and rising high into the sky where it too quickly disintegrated.
#
Crowley was all for torture, but he'd always preached the virtue of being on the giving end. No bloody leech-mouthed moron was going to make a sacrificial lamb out of him.
The first zombie left after it gorged itself but now another one had taken its place. This one was a woman. She headed straight for a man in his early thirties who was hanging lifelessly in his shroud. Breathless said she'd been able to talk with the bloke earlier last night. He'd been attacked by Wee Willie in Inwood Hill Park.
Crowley attempted to teleport once more with the same dismal results. Flattop's feeble struggles weren't successful either. For one brief moment, Crowley wished Cheekbones were here. Hagen said he was an expert escape artist. They could use a Houdini. After all Crowley had done for Cheekbones, the kid owed him a save.
A deafening explosion shook the building. Bollocks. Crowley coughed and shook his head to get rid of some of the debris that had fallen from the ceiling. Adding insult to injury he was now covered in a thick layer of dust.
The zombie was lying lifeless on the floor, showing that every disaster had its silver lining. A dense column of black smoke rose out of her body and appeared to pass through the ceiling. What was left of her looked like a bag lady. Grimy, her clothes in tatters—she wasn't much of an improvement but at least blood was no longer flowing out of her eyes.
Flattop stared at Crowley. "Did you do that?"
"Much as I'd like to claim credit, it wasn't me."
Breathless was eyeing the column of smoke apprehensively. "Did she catch on fire?"
"No, more's the pity. That smoke was the zombie essence inside her." Crowley looked up at the hook suspending him and decided to give it another try. He was going to take that explosion as a hopeful omen. One blink was all it took. Instantly the rope holding him to the hook snapped and he fell to the ground. Not the most graceful landing but he wasn't going to be picky. With a twitch of his shoulders, the tarps fell to the floor and Crowley was a free demon once more. He stood up, dusting off his suit. Flattop and Breathless were exchanging worried looks. What would he do now?
Crowley took a moment to scan the group of people still suspended from hooks and hesitated.
"How about setting us free?" Flattop suggested. "We didn't harm you."
"You couldn't if you'd wanted to," he sneered. He raised his hand, reveling in the power coursing through his veins. Which one should he take out first?
"You might need our help someday," Breathless said. "Hagen was no killer. We don't have any evidence that you are either. For that matter, we don't have proof of any crimes you've committed. If you vanish, you'll prove you're not Hagen, so we can't charge you with his crimes."
She made an interesting point. Should he cut Dick Tracy's agents some slack? But if he killed them all, there wouldn't be any witnesses to him having been there.
Flattop was looking rather pathetic. Breathless was so covered in dust that inflicting further damage didn't have much appeal. His meatsuit had liked Caffrey. He believed he'd gotten a square deal from Dick Tracy and his minions.
Crowley groaned to himself. Was he going soft? This was all Maia's fault. Her silly notions about clans and families were messing up what should be a simple hack and dispatch. But if Crowley didn't kill them, he'd win points with her. She could help him with Thanatos, put in the good word with Erebus. Killing Flattop and Breathless wouldn't gain him much, but if he let them live, they'd tell Caffrey and the Winchesters. They'd spread the word to other hunters. That was one good thing about hunters. Live and let live was their policy. If Crowley didn't go on a killing spree, he wouldn't be hunted. Now that the hunters were forming an alliance with the Bureau, a little discretion could provide big rewards.
"Let it not be said I can't be generous." With a snap of his fingers, Crowley freed the remaining hooks from the cables, resulting in a gratifying crash of bodies onto the floor. He blinked to loosen the tarps. They could manage the rest on their own. "Remind Dick Tracy he owes me." Disappearing into the aether had never been so satisfying.
#
"By the time we got to the building, the smoke had dispersed." Neal paused to refill Sara's champagne glass. He and Sara were celebrating the end of the curse in the best possible way—in bed with a bucket of champagne on the nightstand.
"But the building didn't catch fire?" Sara asked. Her silk kimono was loosely tied. The griffin on her necklace dangled saucily in her cleavage, sparking flames of a different sort.
"No, the structure didn't appear to be damaged. It was an old meat-processing plant. After I provided lock-picking services, we went inside to find Diana and Jones in the basement. They were helping four other victims. Two deaths. The others will recover. Diana and Jones escaped without injury. The EMTs looked them over and allowed them to go home."
"Any word on the zombies?"
"One of them was with them at the time of the explosion. Diana said she collapsed on the floor, a column of smoke left her body, and she was human once more. We found her later wandering in the back section of the building. Dean said that dark smoke we saw outside the building was probably the accumulated essence of the zombies. Several other ex-zombies were scattered in other rooms, including the missing freshman from Columbia."
"Just think of the stories he'll tell his friends about his life in Hotel Zombie."
"They'll have to be inventions. None of them have any recollection of their lives as the walking dead, and so far no one's been able to shed light on how they were transformed."
Sara set her glass down on the nightstand and snuggled closer. "Are you surprised that Crowley didn't harm anyone?"
"Jones was particularly concerned that Diana's taunts had angered him. She countered that the demon secretly enjoyed them, and perhaps she's right. Crowley seems to have retained at least some of Hagen's memories. He told them to let Peter know we're in his debt now." That action made Neal wonder if Hagen was somehow exerting an influence on Crowley. An exchange of favors sounded like something the Dutchman would argue for.
"Why was Crowley in New York?"
"We can only speculate. The last time we saw him, he was in West Virginia, working with a pure-blood and a group of vampires who were engaged in identity fraud. Diana and Jones have been researching an upsurge of identity fraud activity in New York. Crowley could be involved with it. His presence also raises the possibility of a pure-blood somewhere in the vicinity."
She clasped his arm. "Tell me, you haven't been assigned to the case."
"Peter's already laid down the law for me not to pursue it. Meanwhile, Diana and Jones have already exchanged numbers with the Winchesters."
"Thank you, Peter!" She leaned her head on his chest. "All's well that ends well."
"Except for Mozzie. None of his photos came out. Willy appears to be camera shy."
"I've seen videos of the lightning display. The sudden thunderstorm and the spectacular waterspout accompanying it are the lead items on all the news reports, but there's no mention of Willy having been seen."
"Mozz holds out hope that someone else got the shot. He's already talking about mounting surveillance cameras near the marsh."
She chuckled. "We no longer have any need to be jealous of Scotland. Willy could become as famous as Nessie. Gosh, Diana and Jones safe, Willy happy, you curse-free. What next?"
"On to taking down the Mansfelds," he said, stroking her hair. "I hope you don't mind maintaining the masquerade for a little while longer."
She turned to face him. "Masks are like music—as all minstrels know. Shakespeare would remind us that since music is the food of love, we should play on."
"As you'd like it!" he laughed, delighted at her response. He suspected that this past week he hadn't been the only one who'd wished they could discard the Clueless con. But as long as he had to fool Bianka, they had no choice. Sara knew that too.
"That reminds me," she said. "Didn't you promise me a Renaissance date in costume?"
"I did indeed." He slipped the kimono off her shoulders. "Should we change?"
She smiled and drew her finger down his chest. "Eventually."
#
"Our best match yet!" Aidan whooped jubilantly in the locker room as they headed for the showers. "If we can maintain this level, we'll get that second undefeated season."
Neal shared Aidan's confidence. They'd both competed in épée and sabre. Richard was making strides on the foil. Peter, Travis, and Keiko had been there to watch. Neal hoped that his skill at fencing would help to allay Peter's concern about his fitness to proceed with the con. When their fan club walked up to offer their congratulations, they extended an invitation for lunch at the Blue Lion to celebrate.
During the walk to the pub, Neal told Peter, "Henry texted me from the Tokyo airport. He's en route home. He invited us to his loft tomorrow for dinner and wanted to know what kind of takeout you'd like."
"We can do better than that surely. He's got that fancy new grill. Has he even used it yet?"
"No, but Eric has."
"That doesn't count. How about I teach both of you the art of making the perfect Burke burger? My dad taught me. It's time for you to learn the secret ingredients."
"I'm honored," Neal said, touched at the underlying message. "We'll provide the meat, and you know Henry will insist on hitting the bakery for dessert."
"I have exacting standards for the patties," Peter warned. "I'll email you the recipe. The sauce is a house secret."
"Can El join us?"
"No, she'll be overseeing a wedding reception." Peter's face grew serious. "This will be a good time to discuss the upcoming op."
And make any needed adjustments. Neal didn't voice his concerns about Peter restricting his participation. As an expression of confidence, he disclosed, "I've already told Henry about the cure. I intend to give him the long version tomorrow."
"Good. We'll make dinner a celebration."
"Ding dong, the witch is dead?"
"And hope she stays that way. I've decided to place Jones in charge of the Crowley investigation."
Neal grinned. "So he'll be the one to oversee White Collar's X-Files operations—outstanding!"
Peter smiled at his enthusiasm. "Jones's exposure to the paranormal goes further back than the rest of us. I could make the case that his experience with ghost stories when he served in the Navy makes him eminently qualified."
"The past few days were a good initiation to some of the other creatures who lurk in the shadows. With his dedication, Jones is a natural choice."
"Plus he was the one who initially targeted the Dutchman. Crowley the demon will be even more elusive. We know Crowley's affiliated with pure-bloods and Astrena. Until we discover why he was in town, none of us should get complacent."
Neal nodded. "Dean's given me and Sam the lecture, as well."
"Then I know you won't argue that if you're injured, you'll have to be tested. That link could be re-established."
When Neal started to protest, Peter shot him down. "I don't want to hear it. Until we know more about Astrena, that order's mandatory. We have no way of knowing how persistent she is." He smiled, reducing the sting. "There's an easy way to avoid retesting. Don't get injured."
"And the same goes for you, and Elizabeth, and the team, and Dean, and—"
He laughed. "A little extra caution for all of us is a good thing."
"Has Jones offered any thoughts on why Crowley didn't harm him and Diana?"
"It's odd, isn't it? When Crowley possessed Hagen at the witch-house in Connecticut, he appeared to spare us but then set the house on fire. Dean thinks he may be working some angle."
"Or he may just like you? Diana mentioned he'd given you a nickname. You're Dick Tracy, she's Breathless, Jones is Flattop. I wonder what nickname he chose for me."
"Mumbles? Surely not Frizzletop." Peter snapped his fingers. "I know! Junior Tracy."
Neal broke into a laugh. "Hey, it's better than Lips!"
Notes: Neal would hate being called Cheekbones as Mozzie found out when he used the term to describe Neal in canon. In 2014, Columbia University created Muscota Marsh in partnership with the New York City parks department as part of the agreement to build its new sports complex next to Inwood Hill Park. While the description of the marsh is accurate, no Lenape artifacts were found and to my knowledge, Electra was not involved in the funding.
The aria Mozzie hummed is the same one he used to train Neal in the season 5 episode "Out of the Frying Pan." Now it's Mozzie who may be heading into the fire. His new pal Quint is actually Electra's brother Thanatos. Quint will put his scheme into motion in the next installment of Crossed Lines—Columbia Ghost Story.
Neal's reunion with Henry on Sunday will take place in my next Caffrey Conversation story, The Musicians.