Chapter 6: Appalachian Rock Star
Electra's House, New Haven.
"Why is Neal in Shepherdstown?" Electra asked, staring at Crowley incredulously. Somehow she knew that when the demon materialized in her conservatory, her mood would be ruined. But she hadn't expected Neal to be involved. Just the mention of his name conjured up memories of her failure last Saturday. She'd been so close. If only she could have lured him into her suite, he would have been hers.
She set down her needle-nose shears beside the bee orchid. Pruning would have to wait.
Crowley flicked a non-existent speck of lint off his black suit. The demon had taken fastidiousness to an extreme. "Perhaps Cheekbones likes dulcimer music?"
"Cheekbones?" she repeated, her voice projecting a bit more thunder than she'd intended. Her Siamese cat Daphne leaped off her lap onto the grand piano, her back arched and her tail fluffed out to a bottlebrush. Electra was half-inclined to do the same.
Crowley went to the sideboard and helped himself to his favorite Scotch, Glencraig. In a concession to his services, she kept a supply for him.
"It suits him. Your new pet hangs around Burke, a Dick Tracy if I ever saw one."
"Did Neal spot you?"
"Of course not. I was backstage reviewing Lutar's accounts while the rehearsal was going on. I decided to take a break to see how our young pure-blood was performing."
Crowley dared to use the word our . . . She'd wait to instruct him on his station in life at a later time. The pure-bloods were her creation, not his. Thirteen vampire princes she and her sisters had created a little over a month ago. Among them, Lutar was her favorite. "Any sign of the Winchester brothers?"
"Do you suspect they're also in Shepherdstown?" he asked, startled.
"The hunters appear to have formed a partnership with Neal and Peter. They were working together in New Jersey and Connecticut. Why should this be any different? Did you discover what case brought Neal to Shepherdstown?"
"No, but I can ask around."
"Do it," she commanded. "What did you find out about Lutar?"
"He's set himself up as an Appalachian rock star, making the college girls swoon over him. I saw several he'd charmed to his will." As Crowley described the rehearsal, Electra's mood darkened. She'd admonished the pure-bloods to conduct their affairs with discretion and not attract attention. Lutar was a disobedient prince to use his charm ability so openly.
"As you know, I acted on your orders and set him up with a palatial establishment. Fortunately, he hasn't been so preoccupied with the country wenches in Shepherdstown that he's lost track of business. The identity fraud trade has exceeded my expectations. The recently turned fangs that I hand-selected for him have turned out to be wise investments."
Alcy's technique was paying off. For the past few months, she'd instructed her vampires to target hackers from Eastern Europe. Alcy had a sharp head for business, and her latest scheme was deliciously simple. Charm the victim, acquire their credit card information, draw off enough blood to satisfy the fangs then release them. No deaths meant that they'd stay off the radar of hunters and the local police, and they had more than enough funds to keep everyone satisfied. The key, as always, was not to draw attention to themselves. Had Lutar gone too far? Was Neal there because someone had complained to the FBI about him?
Electra closed her eyes. Maia, I have need of you.
A minute later, her sister coalesced in the chamber. She was barefoot, wearing a pale pink shirt over faded jeans. Her hair hung loose on her shoulders. Electra sighed. Simply because she was enrolled at Yale didn't mean she had to dress like a student.
Maia gave a brief nod to Crowley and sprawled on the velvet settee. "Will this take long?"
"Were you feeding on Sam?"
"No, I was writing a paper."
Crowley sat down beside her. "I know you're a grad student, but you're not actually doing the work, are you?"
"Of course, I am. My doctorate is on the role of magic in the ancient Greco-Roman world."
Crowley snorted. "You could write the book on it. Are you revealing any trade secrets?"
She darted a glance to Electra. "I'm not that dumb. I'm basing my work on what the cultures believed. Sometimes they were remarkably close to the truth."
Electra was beginning to have second thoughts about Yale. University life was influencing Maia more than she'd anticipated. What was originally intended to be a cover was turning into an avocation. For countless centuries, she'd kept Maia close. Of all the sisters, Maia had been the most obedient. Now she was displaying unsettling hints of independence. "Do you know where Sam is?"
"He's been in Cape May with Dean," Maia said. "As far as I know they're still there." Electra wished she could read her thoughts. Was Maia nervous simply out of deference to her or was something else going on?
"Use a locator potion," she commanded. "Let me know if they're anywhere near Shepherdstown." She turned to Crowley. "Go back and find out why Neal is there."
"Can't you read his mind?" he asked.
"Unfortunately not. Sampling their blood enables us to enter their minds while feeding off their creativity. We can project our thoughts but have no way of sensing theirs. That's a good thing for you. It gives me a reason to keep you around."
Crowley got the message. He, as well as everyone else who served her, lived at her discretion. That included wayward sisters like Alcy. If Maia was wise, she wouldn't stray off the path.
Crowley drained his glass and made a bow. "Until later, Exalted One." With a snap of his fingers, he disappeared.
#
"Have another spice biscotti," Neal urged, pressing the basket on Peter. "They're outstanding. I should get the recipe for El."
Peter took one, but he knew it wouldn't improve his mood. Yes, the breakfast room at the inn was delightful with its maple ladder-back chairs and Currier and Ives prints on the walls. Usually, a breakfast of Virginia ham, eggs, and homemade biscuits would be enough to make his day, but these were not normal times. When he returned to the inn the previous evening, he found Neal on the phone with Dean Winchester. The glow from the delicious dinner he'd enjoyed at Brewer's Alley in Frederick with Graham and Julia vanished in a puff of supernatural smoke.
Peter had done his best to convince Neal that Angela was simply going through a phase. Female hormones could explain a multitude of mood swings. Or, worst-case scenario, Angela and Michael were heading for some rocky times. A lamentable but natural occurrence.
He was prepared to offer the benefit of his wisdom. Women could be perplexing creatures. But no. Neal insisted the cause had to be demonic. Was the design of a horse-drawn carriage on his plate an omen that he and Neal should hightail it out of here?
"You're not listening to me," Neal said, looking equally frustrated. "I know this isn't what you want to hear. Do you think I like the idea that Angela could be under the influence of some spell? But when I saw several others in the audience reacting the same way, I knew something was off."
"And naturally the first thought that came to you was a demonic dulcimer?"
"Not the first," he muttered. "Possession was a possibility, too."
Peter jabbed his fork in Neal's direction. "You know what your trouble is. You've been singing at too many concerts instead of being in the audience. What you described sounds like Angela's gone gaga over a musician. Happens all the time."
"You think I don't know that," Neal huffed. "I'm familiar with how groupies act. So is Angela. And her behavior is not the same. Angela is far too kind to treat Michael the way she is now. If she'd fallen for someone else, she'd let him down gently." He shook his head, his mouth tightening. "Something else is affecting her."
The only thing Peter knew was that he was glad he'd come along. How could Neal possibly believe a possessed dulcimer was a rational explanation? He'd intended for this week to be a test, and so far Neal was failing. Clearly he wasn't ready for fieldwork. When they returned to New York, he would have to put the brakes on starting the con against Adler.
He reviewed his options while munching on the biscotti. He couldn't slam the kid too hard, or Neal would regret being open with him. "Did Dean mention any other possibilities?" Despite the monsters he routinely dealt with, Dean was a reasonable guy and not inclined to exaggerate. Surely he'd brought up non-paranormal causes.
Neal nodded. "You won't like it."
"It can't be worse than what you already told me."
"Dean thinks there's a chance Lutar could be one of those pure-bloods who were created during the summer solstice—perhaps the same individual I saw in the woods. He has the right build and hair color."
Peter eyed him skeptically. "That vampire glowed. Was Lutar incandescent as well?"
Neal glared at him. "No, but even fireflies need time off to recharge their batteries. Then, when I told Dean that you saw Crowley on the streets—"
"I wish you hadn't mentioned it," Peter groaned. "I'm sure I was mistaken."
"That's not how you felt yesterday." Neal's phone vibrated. When Peter discovered that Dean was on the other end, he knew why Neal didn't put the call on speaker. Dean didn't mince words. Neal probably wanted to massage the monster bulletin into something more palatable. Peter braced himself for what was to come.
"Sam checked with Bobby," Neal said when he ended the call. "He's heard of music instruments being possessed by demonic forces. Bobby was more concerned about Crowley, though. He's a crossroads demon."
"What's that?"
"Dean explained he's a demon who makes bargains with humans. For instance, he could have granted Lutar the ability to be irresistible in exchange for his soul or a shorter lifespan."
"Who in their right mind would agree to that?"
Neal shrugged. "Maybe Lutar is the one who's doped out. He doesn't care what happens to him in ten years."
"How about vampire reports?"
"Bobby doesn't know of any nests in the area, but he agreed that Angela's symptoms could indicate she'd been charmed. Dean and Sam think it's worth checking out. They'll be here midday." Raking his hair off his forehead, Neal didn't attempt to speculate on what he'd tell Angela.
"No vampires. Not this time." Peter couldn't bellow like he wanted to. There weren't any other guests in the dining room, but their hostess was in the kitchen. "Of all the places in the world a pure-blood could have gone to, he picked the one town where Angela is? That can't be right. Despite my teases, I don't actually believe you're a vampire magnet, and Angela certainly isn't one. There has to be a non-supernatural explanation."
His words didn't appear to have the reassuring effect he'd aimed for. "You want me to stay around?" he added. He didn't have a clue on how he could help, but Neal looked so miserable, he needed to do something.
Neal shook his head. "You should keep to your schedule. I'm meeting Angela and Michael at the university later this morning. She's spending the morning with the kids. The Bunnicula performance is scheduled for this coming weekend. Angela's assigned us to paint props while they rehearse." He exhaled. "Dean asked me to find out if Angela has any bite marks." He grimaced. "I'm not looking forward to that."
"You'll give me a call if anything comes up?"
He nodded and gave Peter a halfhearted imitation of his normal smile. "So how's the world of identity fraud?"
Peter welcomed the change in topic. At this point, he'd have to rely on Dean and Sam to deliver the knockout punch to Neal's concerns. "Jones transmitted an analysis of the cases in this area. The entire D.C. region has been unusually hard hit. The Greater Washington metroplex covers sections of Maryland and West Virginia and includes Shepherdstown. With over six million people in the region, charting a pattern isn't easy. It appears that the cases Angela brought up are a tiny part of a much larger epidemic."
Peter drained the last of his orange juice. Neal had barely touched his breakfast. He was absently slicing his ham into tiny pieces, his thoughts no doubt swirling around Angela.
He wished he had an excuse to lock her up. At a minimum, she needed protective custody until the facts were known. But from the sound of it, there was no way she'd agree. If he called her mother, Angela might become so angry, she'd bolt.
Would Neal manage to stay out of harm's way while he was gone? Realistically, even if vampires were around they wouldn't strike till night. Dean and Sam would soon arrive and he'd be back in Shepherdstown well before dusk. "When I'm in D.C., I'll run a check on Lutar."
Neal's face brightened. "Thank you. I ran one from my laptop last night and couldn't find anything."
"D.C.'s files may hold something. I'll also look into reports of missing persons and unexplained murders. If there are any vampires around, something should pop up. I'm worried about Angela too. I can be back here in an hour if necessary. Actually, in the Mustang I'm driving, make that thirty minutes."
#
The university was a short walk from the inn. Neal enjoyed strolling through the wooded campus. The buildings blended Federal style with modern structures. The contemporary arts center which housed the music, art, and drama departments was next door to the recital hall where they'd been the previous day.
What would Angela be like today? He suspected his hope for a miracle transformation was dead in the water. Michael would have texted him if there'd been any radical change. The previous day Angela had been indifferent to Neal's arrival. Had she suggested he help Michael so they wouldn't pester her?
He found Michael arranging chairs in the rehearsal room. Angela was nowhere to be seen.
"She took off as soon as we arrived," he reported gloomily. "She said she had something to check on. That was a half-hour ago."
Neal lectured himself to relax. The kids weren't due for another thirty minutes. "I'm sure she'll be back in time." He injected a note of confidence he didn't feel.
Michael reminded him of a Canadian Mountie—a Dudley Do-Right if ever there was one. He'd rowed on the University of Washington's crew as an undergrad. With rugged good looks and the heart of an overgrown puppy dog, Michael was as true blue as they came. It was impossible to believe Angela would have ditched him for a musician she barely knew unless some other force was at work.
Michael was staying with Angela in a campus apartment supplied by the university. Asking delicate questions about their private lives wasn't something Neal had ever contemplated having to do, but it was necessary. He learned that Michael and Angela had been intimate only once over the weekend, and Michael conveyed the distinct impression she was dialing it in.
"Did you notice any marks on her?" Neal asked.
Michael stared at him. "Hickies? No, we don't go in for rough stuff."
Neal sighed. "Not that kind of mark. Needle marks, tattoos, or . . . bite marks?" The last suggestion he said in such a low voice Michael had to strain to hear him.
He stared at Neal aghast. "You think she may have joined some sort of weird cult?"
"Exactly!" Neal confirmed, relieved to pounce on Michael's assumption. "Every college seems to have its share of flaky groups."
"Tell me about it. I saw a sign at the Student Center at Columbia about a Wicca coven. I had to ask a friend what Wicca was."
Did Chloe know about the coven? How many covens did she already belong to? Neal beat a hasty retreat from that uneasy speculation—Chloe was Dean's problem. "Angela may not have even known. Somebody could have given her a drug that acts as a hallucinogenic or causes behavior swings." Neal wished Mozzie was here. This was his specialty. "Angela needs to be tested."
"I don't see how we could get her to agree. She flares up over the tiniest remark. When I asked her if I'd done anything wrong, she almost bit my head off."
Neal swallowed. Surely Michael was exaggerating. Could Angela already have become one of the undead? Her skin had always been pale, and with the goth makeup she liked, it could be hard to tell. Michael had said she didn't have any wounds but pure-bloods might have other ways of turning their victims.
Michael told him Lutar had stopped by the classroom the previous day while she was teaching and stayed to watch for a few minutes. Neal didn't need to ask where he thought Angela was now. The dark cloud of Lutar hung over the classroom.
Angela hadn't arrived by the time the kids began pouring into the classroom. Neal put thoughts of his cousin on hold. Twenty kids, ranging in ages from seven to ten, were eager to rehearse and their leader was AWOL. Luckily she'd left the master script. It was up to him and Michael to lead her students through the rehearsal.
Angela had written the lyrics and music for the play. The production was hilarious with the kids playing the parts of a faithful dog who reminded Neal of Satchmo, a suspicious cat, a rabbit, as well as two kids and their parents. The suspense was provided by the cat who believed the veggie-sucking bunny was a vampire.
Instead of costumes, the children wore paper masks they'd colored. Those who weren't acting in a scene sang tunes composed by Angela. Many had never played a music instrument before. Michael could relate. He'd never played either till he picked up tambourine for the Celtic fusion band Neal had played in at Columbia last year. When Angela transferred to Columbia in January, she joined the band and learned the dulcimer. Around the same time, Michael graduated from tambourine to penny whistle.
Angela had obtained a small grant from her funding organization to purchase simple mountain dulcimers, penny whistles, and tambourines. Neal had never played any kind of dulcimer, but he got the kids to teach him. Soon both he and Michael were playing along with the kids as they went through the scenes.
The students didn't appear to mind Angela's absence. Michael was a natural at working with children. As for Neal, he had to resist grabbing the part of the cat for himself.
An hour into rehearsal, Angela finally showed up. Neal was glad to see that she was more natural with the kids than with them.
Neal waited till the students had left for the day to demand an explanation.
"Didn't I mention it last night?" she asked, looking honestly confused. "Lutar needed me." She scowled at Michael's groan. "This afternoon he's conducting a workshop on the hammered dulcimer. I offered to help him prepare. We have over thirty people scheduled to attend."
"Plus me," Neal said.
"You can't!" she said, shaking her head quickly. "You and Michael haven't even started painting the backdrops. I don't know what you were doing all morning. Did you forget the performance is scheduled for Saturday?"
She completely missed the sarcasm in Neal's reply and only grudgingly accepted Michael's offer to go to lunch. Neal excused himself from joining them. He had other plans. He'd come prepared with his laptop and had all the files he needed. He could obtain extra supplies from the art workshops down the hall.
He'd talked with Sam midmorning. They'd arrive in town in about an hour. Neal suggested they meet at his new favorite restaurant, the Blue Moon Café. Thanks to what he'd learned from Angela, he'd be able to provide them with a suitable cover. He was counting on the Winchesters to solve the mystery.