Chapter 7: A Demon in Shepherdstown
"Make it two bottles," Crowley requested with a flick of two fingers.
The shopkeeper at the liquor store looked at him, startled. "We don't generally have much demand for Glencraig."
Peasants. What he had to put up with in the backwoods of America. Would he have to single-handedly teach the rustic inhabitants of Shepherdstown the glory of single malt? The purveyor of this establishment had shelves stocked with Rebel Yell, Old Blowhard . . . Who in their right mind would possibly want to drink something labeled Old Crow? He would be doing the townspeople a favor to kill them now.
"I'll check in the back," the shopkeeper offered.
"Yes, why don't you do that, my good man? Run along now." Rolling his eyes, Crowley turned to look out the store window. This experience provided additional ammunition in his drive to convince Electra that placing pure-bloods in the countryside was a waste of time. Just look at the streets. Where were the BMWs, the Jags? All he saw were a few pickups and family vans filled with smudges.
A café was across the street. Several cars remained in the parking lot from the lunch crowd. Crowley idly scanned them for any signs of culture and did a double-take. Bollocks. How many '67 Impalas could there be? First Caffrey. Now the Winchesters. This was bloody intolerable.
Had Lutar's indiscretions drawn them to Shepherdstown? Was their vampire-sniffing ability that refined? Most of the common vamps had already been eliminated as Crowley restocked Lutar's minions with carefully selected superior specimens. More likely Caffrey was the cause. The silver lining in the dark Winchester cloud was that in the future she'd be more appreciative of the astuteness of his counsel.
#
In the evening, Sam and Dean returned to the garden of the Blue Moon Café, the same location where they'd met Neal at lunch. Neal and Peter had already claimed one of the rustic wood tables when they showed up.
Peter looked at them hopefully as they sat down. "Nothing demonic, right?"
Sam tried to make his smile non-committal. He had a bad feeling about Lutar, but possibly he simply didn't like the dude. If Lutar had made a pact with a crossroads demon, he was to be pitied, not reviled.
Neal had described his cousin's behavior over lunch. Since she hadn't met them, he suggested they attend the afternoon workshop as producers for NPR. They were supposedly researching a documentary series on Appalachian music. Neal had prepared IDs for them as well as some official-looking documents about the upcoming production.
Neal picked up the tab for dinner—craft beers from the Rogue brewery and chubby burgers piled high with Brie and bacon. Sam always enjoyed Neal's taste in restaurants. Dean wasn't sure about having Brie on his burger, but the French fries and onion rings kept him happy.
Peter scrutinized the ID cards, holding them up to the light. "And you whipped these off after rehearsal?" he asked Neal incredulously.
Neal shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. Mozzie had been helping them out with fake cards for the past few months. How many of them had Neal made? Mozzie hadn't revealed his source and had warned them to never mention the cards to Peter.
"The participants in the workshop were friendly enough," Dean said, taking a swig of beer. "Many of them were picturing themselves in a one-on-one with Lutar by the sound of it. There were a few guys who were taken with him, but most of his fans were female."
"We drew straws to see who would wind up being the sacrificial lamb," Sam added, "and Dean lost."
"Why am I always the one to get the crap assignments?" Dean complained.
"You're the musician, not me," Sam pointed out. "I should have taken a photo of you with Lutar."
"Your turn's coming," Dean grumbled and turned to the others. "I had Lutar demonstrate the dulcimer to me. I strummed a few strings, but it didn't make me want to kiss the guy. Unless there's a delayed effect, I think we can safely rule out the dulcimer as the cause for whatever's gotten into your cousin."
"We noted a couple of small bandages," Sam added, "but nothing large enough to look like someone was feeding off anyone. The pallor fits for a vampire, but a lot of musicians don't hang out on the beach. We haven't had much of a chance to look for Crowley. He could be in league with that Connecticut witch, Alcy Lancaster. She might have cast a spell on Angela."
"Do love spells actually work?" Peter asked.
"Some do," Dean said, reaching for the ketchup. "Spells can make you attack someone, get sick, act crazy, fall in love—you name it."
"Here's something else strange," Sam added. "When we introduced ourselves, Angela commented how much Dean looks like her cousin, Henry. That may be another symptom of whatever she's suffering from."
Peter shook his head. "Not this time. We noticed the resemblance too."
Neal retrieved his phone from his pants pocket and began scrolling through photos. "Dean's the same build and height. If he styled his hair the same way, they could trade places." He passed his phone to Sam. "What do you think?"
Sam grinned. "You could be twins." He handed Dean the phone.
"That guy?" He scowled and took a closer look. "Man, that's freaky. Where does he live?"
"New York City. His apartment isn't far from the Federal Building. Next time you're in town, I'll introduce you." Neal's expression grew serious. "This could be the only rational remark Angela's made since Thursday."
"Will Michael be able to keep her from seeing Lutar tonight?" Sam asked.
"He plans to," Neal said. "He's taking her to a French bistro in town. Michael knows the importance of keeping an eye on her. He's not going to let her wander off like she did this morning."
"I looked into Lutar," Peter said. "He has dual citizenship. His mother's Welsh, his father from West Virginia. His family, the Garringtons, have deep roots in this region. They made a fortune from coal in the nineteenth century. Lutar's parents are both deceased. He moved to Shepherdstown last month after graduating from the University of Wales. There's limited information about him since he's not suspected of any crimes. There are no FBI or Interpol files about him."
"Lutar owns an estate on the Potomac River north of town," Neal added as Peter bit into his meatloaf sandwich. Sam had been sorely tempted by the beef, bacon, Cheddar, and caramelized onion masterpiece. Surely they'd need to stay around for at least one more day?
"It must be quite a place," Neal added. "Angela described it as a castle."
"That fits the pattern of a pure-blood," Sam said. "You remember that Irish friend of Bobby's—Finnerty? He said they act like country lords, establishing miniature kingdoms, all in service of Astrena, their queen."
"If Lutar's a vampire and has made Shepherdstown his fiefdom, wouldn't he have other vampires living with him in the castle?" Neal asked.
"Probably," Dean agreed, "unless he considers himself above them. But Lutar isn't acting like any vampire we've come across. The publicity he seems to crave is the last thing a home-grown fang wants. It's another mark against him being one."
"Up to a few months ago, we rarely came across vampires," Sam added. "In the States, their nests are small. They stay off the radar of law enforcement agencies by preying on drifters and the homeless."
Peter turned to Neal. "You see, they agree with me. Angela's probably crushing on a musician. It's heartbreaking for Michael, but it's not demonic."
Neal's lips tightened, but he didn't dispute the point.
"As long as we're here, we'll check out his estate," Dean offered. "Bobby's trying to rustle up a local hunter for us to talk to. But so far, the only thing you could charge Lutar with is making himself irresistible to women. Hardly a crime."
"And nothing I can get a warrant for," Peter pointed out. "I ran a check, and there haven't been any suspicious murders or reports of missing persons. Those people you interviewed this afternoon—do you have a list of names?"
Sam retrieved his notepad from his denim jacket pocket and handed it to him. As Peter studied it, his brow furrowed.
"What do you see?" Neal asked.
Peter reached for his laptop. "I knew there was a reason to bring this along." He powered it on and after a few minutes swung it around for the others to see. "Several of the names correspond to victims of identity fraud. Have you had any reports of demons running fraud operations?"
Dean looked as perplexed as Sam felt. "Corporate fraud is not our home turf," Sam said, speaking for both of them. "We deal with murders and mutilations, not finance scams."
Sam felt uncomfortable talking about identity fraud with Peter. The only credit cards he and Dean owned were fake ones. He wondered if that was the reason Neal and Peter always picked up the tab when they were at a restaurant.
Long ago, Sam had rationalized a justification to soothe his conscience. Since no one paid them for killing monsters, fake credit cards were the only means left to them to pay their expenses. Peter might even agree privately with their reasoning, although he never could publicly.
Neal seized on the news. "Your hunter friend in England says pure-bloods live like nobility. Where are they getting their money?" He arched an eyebrow at Peter, challenging him for an answer.
Peter took a slow breath before replying. "This doesn't explain what's going on with Angela, but this evidence allows me to justify spending another day here. What is Lutar Garrington's background? The fact that so many participants in his workshop are also identity fraud victims warrants investigation."
"Thanks," Neal said. "It makes me wonder though . . . If Lutar's mixed up in the scheme, why hasn't Angela been a victim?"
"I'll run a credit check on her as well," Peter offered. "What have you told Michael?"
"I led him to believe that I suspect a new designer drug has hit the market. Under the circumstances, that seemed the safest. I told him Lutar or someone else could be sneaking it into drinks without the victim being aware of it."
"That sounds good," Dean agreed. "It will give Michael extra incentive to keep a close watch on her, although from what you've said, I doubt he needs it. Sam and I'll patrol the area tonight. We'll keep an eye out for Crowley, and check out Lutar's castle." He quickly added as Peter began to interrupt. "We won't attempt to enter it."
"Neal, you and Michael were going to keep Angela busy with the play tomorrow," Peter said. "There's no reason not to stick with the plan. I'll work the fraud connection in D.C."
#
Electra had just settled in for a quiet evening of perusing the latest issue of Art in America when Crowley materialized in the middle of the salon. Regretfully she set down her glass of blood after taking a quick sip. The sample had arrived in the morning shipment from New York City. A young violinist with great promise. Unlike Maia, she'd never believed in focusing on only one protégé at a time.
"You have news from Shepherdstown?" she asked.
Crowley frowned as he nodded. "We have a rodent infestation on our hands. Do you want me to call for the exterminators?" Electra iced him with a glance to remind him who he was dealing with. "The Winchesters are in town," he amended. "I spotted the moose and squirrel having lunch."
"Was Neal with them?"
"Yes, Radiant One. And I confirmed Burke's in town too."
Electra strode to the entrance to the library. Maia's paper would have to wait. "You need to hear this too," she ordered her sister. Maia rose immediately from her laptop and followed her back into the salon. Electra glanced at her Bohemian attire and bare feet and sighed. She'd been tolerant of Maia's infatuation with Sam but she was carrying it to an extreme. Perhaps Electra should take Crowley up on that extermination. She couldn't remember when Maia had fallen so hard. This was not the way it was supposed to be. Artists were meant to fall in love with them, not the reverse. They were above love with mortals.
For a moment, the image of Maia when she was an urchin in a filthy hut in Connacht formed in her mind. Electra had long been intrigued by reports of the druids. Julius Caesar's reports about Britain heightened her curiosity. When she arrived in Ireland in the first century, she heard reports of a witch named Airmid who was revered as a druidess of great power. Maia was supposedly her great-grandchild. She was a wild and unruly seven-year-old when Electra took her back to Greece. She molded her first to be a handmaiden, then a sister. After all these centuries, could Maia be reverting to her roots? Surely that was impossible. But she'd bear watching.
Electra ordered Crowley to repeat what he'd discovered.
"Did you know Sam was in Shepherdstown?" she demanded.
Maia's face grew pale. She knew the danger he ran. "I haven't heard from him in a few days," she admitted.
"I ordered you to use a locator potion."
She shrugged helplessly. "I wanted to but I couldn't. The potion requires horned orchids, and they're not in bloom."
Was that just an excuse? Electra stilled her anger for the moment and turned to Crowley. "Do you know why the hunters are in town?"
"I can hazard a guess. Your prince has taken an interest in a certain Angela Caffrey. Name sound familiar?"
Electra stared at him. "Neal's sister?"
"I thought so at first. She's his cousin. The fang I used to spy on them talked with some of her friends. Her boyfriend is in town. He's none too thrilled that his squeeze has been charmed. Lutar's laid a rather heavy dose on her, I gather."
After Crowley left, Electra turned to Maia. "No one must harm Lutar. You know that." She didn't need to spell it out for her. Maia was well aware that Electra had drunk Sam's blood as well as Neal's. She could enter Sam's mind whenever she chose and she could snuff him out whenever she wished.
Notes: Julius Caesar's invasion of Britain in 55 BC is well documented. Electra's visit to Ireland is less well known. Connacht is a province in western Ireland with numerous archaeological sites dating back to the Neolithic.