Chapter 8: Castle on the Potomac

"Not again." Dean groaned as he focused bleary eyes on the alarm clock. "It's four o'clock in the morning, dude. You've already hurled for hours. Give it a rest."

The only response was the sound of Sam retching in the bathroom. Dean sat up and rubbed his forehead. He couldn't remember when Sam had been so sick. The one glimmer of consolation to his misery was that the room they were staying in, courtesy of Neal, was much higher quality than their normal dive. Sam could be sick in luxury.

Dean's first thought was food poisoning, but they'd both had the same food at dinner—chubby burgers with bacon—and Dean felt fine. Although that weird French cheese had been suspicious. Who puts Brie on a burger? When Dean asked if that could be the cause, Sam's answer was to rush back to the crapper.

Dean sat slouched on the side of the bed until Sam dragged his ass out of his new favorite room and crashed onto the adjoining bed. His face was paler than the last five ghosts they'd gotten rid of.

When Dean pressed his hand onto his brother's sweaty forehead, Sam jerked back as if he were a demon.

"I'm fine," he muttered.

"Shut up before I slug you. You're running a fever like hellfires are licking at you."

"Go ahead and kill me now," he groaned. "If I'm lucky, I'll wind up in Purgatory instead."

"I'm sorry if my bedside manner doesn't match Maia's. You want me to call her to come down?"

He looked at him, horror-stricken. "What? See me like this?" Sam covered his head with his pillow, but that didn't stop him from mumbling, "Leave her out of it. It's a good thing I turned down her invitation. I—" He tossed the pillow onto the floor, and, swallowing convulsively, staggered back to the bathroom.

Dean let out a sigh that only another selfless older brother could fully appreciate. Food poisoning or flu—whatever it was—after a night of agony for both of them, Sam would probably be okay.

Dean eyed his bed. Should he even attempt to sleep? Sam's laptop was on the nightstand. He'd left it on. No doubt he was checking for tips on how to stop the hurls which didn't involve shooting himself. Plainly he hadn't found any.

Dean got up to turn it off. They'd returned to their room around midnight. Sam had checked his laptop for messages. By the dopey smile on his face, Dean knew he'd gotten one from Maia. When Dean teased him about it, Sam admitted she'd invited him to New Haven. Some bigshot was coming to town in a couple of days for a poetry reading. Sam seemed interested. If they hadn't made the commitment to Neal, he might have agreed. She'd even offered to meet him at the train station or airport.

An hour later Sam was too sick to go anywhere. Dean would be on his own tomorrow, but he wasn't worried. By their standards, this was a minor case. If Neal hadn't called for help, they wouldn't have bothered with it.

By the time the sun came up, Dean had squeezed in a couple of hours of shuteye. Sam had worn himself out and was dead to the world. His fever seemed a little less, but it was obvious that, barring a miracle, he'd be worthless for the rest of the day.

Over breakfast, Dean gave the health report to Peter and Neal. The inn's breakfasts were several grades above his usual fare. He plowed into the eggs, bacon, biscuits, and sausage gravy with enthusiasm. There was nothing wrong with his appetite, and he needed to eat extra to avoid catching the same plague.

"A friend of mine came down with something similar last weekend," Neal said. "It took her two days to get over it."

"Sam will snap out of it," Dean predicted. The Winchesters didn't get sick. They didn't have time for it. "In any case, we didn't find anything last night. We went by Lutar's house, and Michael's report was correct. It does look like a castle. With an estate right on the Potomac, Lutar's not suffering for funds. There's a fence around the place. Security looks tight. We kept watch for a while but didn't spot any suspicious activity."

Peter planned to spend the day in D.C. Neal would babysit Angela. Dean would check around for any signs of Crowley or the witch. With no unexplained murders on the books, he doubted he'd find anything. Bobby had located a hunter in Maryland. If there were any vampires around, he should know.

By the next day Sam should be well enough for them to leave. A bunch of women acting besotted over a musician didn't rise to their standard. Bobby had called in a much more serious report coming out of a town in Massachusetts. During the past week, a doctor and a nurse had been killed in separate incidents. Both worked at the Taunton State Hospital. Bobby said that the facility dated back to the 1850s, and there had been persistent rumors of malignant ghosts. Apparently one had gone deadly.

As far as Neal's cousin, Dean's best advice was to take her back to New York City. If the feds did find Crowley, he and Sam could return. But there was no point in hanging around for a what-if.

#

When Electra materialized in Lutar's living room, the morning sun was shining brightly through the windows. Crowley had told her seven other vampires lived with him, but no one appeared awake. Electra glanced around the Gothic furnishings and dark Victorian furniture. There was even a suit of armor displayed on a stand in the corner. Crowley must have picked it out. His tastes in decorating appeared to be based on an addiction to old horror movies. She'd have to encourage Lutar to call in an interior decorator.

Still, the manor had good bones. She approved of the stone walls. The sweeping staircase with its crimson carpet added a suitably dramatic touch.

She headed upstairs to Lutar's bedroom and found him sprawled face down, asleep on a massive Tudor-style bed. The room was all in black with black satin sheets and embossed black wallpaper. The black candles were overkill. He'd also hung far too many mirrors in ornate frames. Was he deliberately trying to prove that the myth of vampires not being seen in mirrors was false? Or perhaps he simply wanted to admire himself. And as Electra gazed at his nude body, she couldn't help but be satisfied with her handiwork.

She noted the dark violet glass bottles on his dressing table. They were designed to be discreet, and from what Crowley said, Lutar was making ample use of them. A few drops of the precious liquid and Lutar was able to establish a link with his victims which would last for days. She gifted all her pure-bloods the ability to bend others to their will. Was he abusing it?

She sat down on the edge of the bed beside him and lightly stroked his golden hair. Her darling boy. She loved all her princes, but Lutar most of all. For this generation, she'd endowed them with music ability. In the case of Lutar, she'd reached back to one of her favorite periods, the Tudor era in England. Hammered dulcimers were at the height of popularity. With the talent Lutar possessed, a new revival wouldn't take long to happen.

Lutar stirred and looked up, his lips curving into a smile. "Mother! To what do I owe the pleasure?" He rolled onto one side and propped his elbow on the bed.

Electra stood up to retrieve the black silk robe draped over the chair. She tossed it to him. "Your house is cold." He stood up and put it on, tying it loosely. It did little to cover the perfection of his limbs. "Crowley has been to see me. He's quite pleased, as am I, on your financial transactions."

He acknowledged her approval with a nod. "The hackers he supplied me with have made excellent thralls."

"You encountered no difficulties in turning them?"

"None at all. It was if they were born to be fangs."

She sat down on the loveseat and beckoned him to sit next to her. "I hear you've charmed many of the locals."

"Naturally."

"Tell me about one in particular—Angela Caffrey." She watched him carefully for his expression.

He smiled. "She was an unexpected prize. She's well named. She sings and plays the dulcimer like an angel. She looks like one too." His eyes showed the hunger within him as he added, "She'll make the ideal consort."

"First appearances can be deceptive." She paused to consider him for a moment. He was so young. How best to phrase it that he would understand? "You've been on Earth for only a little over a month. You should take your time before choosing anyone. I regret that Angela is not suitable."

"Why not? You should at least meet her. When you do, I bet you'll want her to be a sister."

Did he realize what he was requesting? "My darling, your fondness for her is hardly sufficient grounds for me to elevate her."

"You should meet her before making a decision," he insisted.

Electra hesitated. She found it difficult to deny him anything. She hadn't created another sister in ages. For a moment she toyed with the idea. Neal's cousin as a sister? No, impossible. Eventually she'd discover Electra was feeding on Neal, and her mind would be forever poisoned. "Angela has connections to hunters and the FBI. If you attempt to steal her away, you'll incur the wrath of powerful forces."

"They're frail mortals. Why should I worry?"

"Because you're not indestructible either. You haven't learned to fear hunters, but you should. On this matter, I must insist. Leave her alone. You have a rich supply of musically talented women to choose from, any one of whom would make a far worthier prize." Was any of this sinking in? His face had become a mask to her. Who was this Angela that she'd already cast such a spell on him? She deepened her voice. "You will obey me."

"Of course, mother."

His eyes were veiled. Would he heed her advice? His desire for Angela was strong and could outweigh any other consideration. She'd enlist Maia's help in finding someone else. Yale must have plenty of suitable women, any one of whom would satisfy his craving without arousing suspicions. It would be far better to have Lutar's mate be one of Electra's choosing, one whose blood she'd first sampled. Then she'd be easier to control.

She could tell from her caress that Lutar hadn't had sex with Angela. He claimed he would resist, but Electra was by no means convinced. If he disobeyed her, the consequences would be far-reaching. Electra saw no need to take the risk. She was glad she'd brought along the potion.

When she poured the glass of blood from the decanter, Lutar was dressing. He didn't notice the drops of clear liquid she added to the glass. He'd be impotent for several days. Enough time for her to supply him with someone of her choice. As for Angela . . . A measure of extra insurance was warranted. Electra reached deep into Lutar's mind. What she gave she could take away. With one focused thought, she severed his ability to link to his victims. It would take a day for them to come back to their senses, but surely nothing could happen in one day. She'd been overly indulgent with Lutar. He wasn't ready for the power she'd given him. Once he was more mature, she'd restore his abilities.

#

Neal awoke early on Thursday morning after a fitful sleep. His concern for Angela, combined with frustration over not being able to help her, worked better than any alarm clock. He went ahead and dressed. There were no coffeemakers in the rooms, but their hostess Edith kept the one in the dining room always supplied.

He could hear her in the kitchen bustling about with breakfast preparations as he poured himself a cup. Apparently he was the first guest up. Neal went outside to sit in one of the rockers on the back patio. When Peter came downstairs, he'd probably recommend that it was time to leave. How would Neal respond?

The previous day had been a waste. Was there any reason to think today would go differently? Dean said he should take Angela back to New York, but she'd never been the type to meekly follow orders. Michael hadn't even been able to convince her to have lunch with him yesterday. And how could she abandon her students on the eve of their performance? She'd receive failing marks for her fieldwork project.

Angela was growing more annoyed with his and Michael's hovering by the minute. They'd survived the morning rehearsal with the kids without any flare-ups, but she'd left immediately afterward to see Lutar. Another rehearsal was the excuse she provided. When Michael tried to reason with her, she blew up at him. The argument became so heated and personal, Neal retreated into the hallway. When she stormed out of the room a few minutes later, she wouldn't even stop to talk to him.

They eventually tracked her down in a practice room in the music department. Angela glared when they entered but didn't raise any objections. Under the circumstances, Neal decided the best policy was to ignore her. He focused his attention instead on Lutar.

Neal reasoned the dulcimer would be a safe subject and one that would engage Lutar. Much of early Appalachian music in the 1700s was based on Celtic music and there were still strong similarities. Neal and Angela had distant relatives who made their living as instrument makers and musicians at Renaissance fairs. As Neal and Michael told Lutar about the Celtic fusion band they'd performed in last year, Angela gradually relaxed. Michael and Neal were careful not to bring up anything personal.

Lutar was eager to take the dulcimer mainstream and incorporate it into rock music, reviving a trend that was popular in the '60s. He asked Angela to play a song Joni Mitchell had performed with a mountain dulcimer, "A Case of You," and Lutar reciprocated with a Rolling Stones tune featuring the dulcimer. When he sang "Lady Jane," he only had eyes for Angela and she for him. He wasn't singing Lady Jane, he was singing Lady Angela.

As Neal watched them, his doubts resurfaced. Perhaps Angela had simply found someone more desirable. She and Lutar shared a love of music. They both had enough talent to be stars. Looking at Michael's devastated face, Neal suspected he was thinking the same thing. Angela had cast him off. They might have reached the point of no return. When Neal arrived in town, Angela could have suspected Michael had called him. She likely resented Neal's interference. Neal could relate. He'd chafed when others tried to influence his love life.

Peter had spent the previous day researching the backgrounds of the identity theft victims and consulting with Jones in New York and Max Ganesh in D.C. The prevalence of so many cases in a small town suggested a local was responsible, and perhaps Lutar was involved, but this wasn't Peter's jurisdiction.

Jones had looked into Lutar. His home had been purchased by Nesarat Holdings, a British firm that handled investments for the trust which had been established for him. Jones wasn't familiar with the firm but according to the listing services it had a spotless reputation.

"Would you like some company?" Peter asked, walking onto the patio.

Neal looked up and nodded. "It's peaceful here." In New York, the rumble of trucks and cars was a constant. Here there were only bird calls. Edith had placed several bird feeders in the back garden and the perches were filled with the early morning arrivals.

Peter sat down in a cane rocker beside him. "I wish El could have joined us. She would have loved the restaurant last night."

He and Peter had gone to a French bistro in town. Over pepper steak for Peter and duck with root vegetables for Neal, they'd reviewed the situation. Peter was anxious to return to work. The con was scheduled to begin soon. Peter's mention of Elizabeth was another subtle hint that it was time to go. Neal didn't want to leave Angela, but what good could he hope to accomplish? If he warned her about Lutar's suspected involvement with an identity fraud ring, she'd accuse him of slandering his character.

"Any word from Dean?" Peter asked.

"No, he was still out when we returned from dinner. I visited Sam. Edith had taken him some soup and ice cream and he looked a little better. He said he'd slept most of the day. Maia called while I was there to check on him."

Neal took another sip of coffee, waiting for Peter to tell him it was time to pack up. And frankly, would he accomplish anything by staying?

Notes: Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones owned and played an Appalachian dulcimer. It was used in "Lady Jane," "I Am Waiting," and other pieces in the late '60s. Joni Mitchell also played an Appalachian dulcimer. Her song "A Case of You" is pinned to the Pinterest board along with "Lady Jane."

Taunton, Massachusetts is part of the Bridgewater Triangle, an area famous for paranormal occurrences. The Taunton State Hospital is reputedly America's most haunted asylum.