Chapter 9: Siren Song

Dean rolled out of bed and glanced over at Sam. A night without hurling—Sam had to be feeling better.

He was asleep now, but the book of poetry Dean had found in his duffel bag was lying open next to him. It wasn't there when Dean went to bed.

Curious to see what he'd been reading during the night, he got up and retrieved it. Poetry had never been his thing, and he hadn't heard of Langston Hughes. The book was open to a poem called "The Dream Keeper." The poem talked about dreams and heart melodies.

A sheet of notepaper was tucked into the book. He opened it to find Sam's scrawl. A few phrases that didn't make much sense. Was Sam turning into a poet-hunter? By the peaceful expression on his face, he was enjoying some heart dreams of his own. Hell, if poetry helped him, Dean wasn't about to object. He kept the noise level to a minimum while he dressed and slipped out of the room.

He found Neal and Peter having coffee on the porch. They went into the dining room together. It was early and they had the room to themselves. Edith took their orders, supplied them with a large basket of fresh muffins and sweet rolls, and returned to the kitchen.

While they waited for their eggs and grits, Dean filled them in on the previous day's hunt. "Looks like you may have lucked into something, although I know you're not feeling particularly lucky at the moment."

Neal's mouth dropped open. "I was right? We'd about convinced ourselves there wasn't anything to investigate."

"And that's why you need to leave it to the professionals. I hooked up with Bobby's friend. Randy's been hunting demons in these parts for years. He'd heard rumors of a nest that was abandoned a few months ago and we decided to check it out. Took us a while but we finally scrounged up one lone vamp hiding in a hunter's shack in the woods. He took off when we found him." Dean paused to take a swig of freshly squeezed orange juice. "The fang led us on quite a chase. We finally cornered him near Berkeley Springs and were able to convince him it would be to his benefit to talk."

"What kind of persuasion can you use on a vampire?" Peter asked. "I'm not challenging you, just curious."

How much detail could they stomach? Dean had worked three jobs with them, but the gore factor was minimal. They only had a sketchy understanding of what his normal jobs were like. "Let's leave it that there are various ways of killing, some much more painful than others. The vamp knew what was in store for him, but he was like everyone else. If your number's up, you want it to be quick."

Peter nodded slowly. "I understand," and judging by his expression, he did. Papa Bear Burke . . . Dean had been joking when he gave him that name, but he'd grown to appreciate why Peter was such a good leader. He cared for the people working for him like they were family, and now, through a crazy quirk of fate, he included Dean and Sam in that circle. It was a good feeling.

"The vamp—his name was Clarence—said that a couple of months ago they'd gotten word of new leadership. Before then, nests were few and scattered. In June, they were ordered to report to New Jersey . . . to Jenny Jump State Park."

No one spoke while their hostess set down the breakfast plates, but Dean knew what they were thinking. That park had been the site of the summer solstice ritual when the pure-bloods arrived.

After Edith left, he continued, "Clarence told us they escorted a prince down to Shepherdstown. The guy calls himself Lutar." At Neal's exclamation, Dean gave them a moment to recover. "Instead of rewarding the nest for their help, he brought in a new lot. Cleaning up the language a bit, Clarence called them snotty-nosed college kids. Supposedly they're whizzes on the computer. Lutar's new regime didn't go over well with the old crowd. Instead of hack and slash, they were ordered to drain off only enough blood to live on but leave the victims alive. Not only that, they were supposed to do it in such a way that their vics remained unaware of what had happened to them."

"You mean like a vampire mugging?" Peter asked, looking startled. "Is that possible?"

"Sure," he said, scooping eggs onto his fork. "Suppose you get knocked out while walking to your car at night. If you didn't see who struck you, you'd wake up with a gash on your arm, not realizing you'd provided someone's dinner. The new objective is to avoid exposure at all costs. That's why we haven't been hearing many reports about vampire attacks."

"So Clarence's nest was abandoned because they moved to Lutar's castle?" Neal prompted.

"Just the opposite. Instead of being enchanted with their new prince, the old vamps drifted away, demoralized. They lack the skills their new master wants, and he's not provided them any incentive to stay. Clarence griped that instead of robbing victims, they're hacking credit card accounts. He misses the good old days."

"Have the new vampires moved in with Lutar?" Peter asked.

Dean shook his head. "He didn't think so. Claimed Lutar was too stuck up to want his minions on the premises. Instead, they're holed up somewhere outside Hagerstown, Maryland. After we finished with Clarence, Randy headed south for a job in Tennessee. I offered to help him find the nest when he returns."

Peter scratched the back of his neck. "I'll check for crime reports from Hagerstown . . . Any ideas on how I can present any of the evidence from a vampire who is now deceased"—he glanced at Dean who nodded confirmation—"and inform the Bureau that a pure-blood vampire is responsible for the ID frauds?"

Dean shrugged. "You're the G-man. That's your problem."

Neal didn't say anything. He was probably trying to figure out how to tell his cousin to stay away from Lutar without revealing the existence of vampires.

Neal's phone vibrated as they were finishing breakfast. From the sound of it, Michael was on the other end, and, judging by Neal's expression, the news wasn't good.

#

Neal ended the call and tuned out the others' questions. Bile rose in his throat. Was she in bed with him right now? A vampire?

"Neal!" Peter's tone had sharpened to the point he couldn't ignore him any longer. "What happened?"

"When Michael woke up, he discovered Angela had left during the night. She'd taken a bag of clothes with her. He found a note on her pillow. She wrote that she was moving in with Lutar and that Michael should return to New York."

Peter cursed under his breath. "Any signs of a struggle?" They'd all been speaking in undertones, but Peter's voice still sounded rough.

"None. They returned to her apartment after dinner and watched a movie. Angela was moody. Michael suspects she was making her plans during the movie. She could have packed her bag when he was taking his shower."

"I heard you tell him to come over," Peter said.

"Yeah, he's bringing the note. He said it looked authentic to him, but he wants me to take a look."

Dean grimaced. "Lutar must have given her the idea. If she's acting under his influence, she thinks it was her decision."

Rubbing his forehead, Peter turned to Dean. "Do you think he's feeding off her?"

Dean shook his head slowly. "If Lutar was a normal vampire, I'd say the odds aren't in her favor, but this guy's not your run-of-the-mill fang. He and Angela are scheduled to perform in a concert this weekend. I bet he won't do anything to sabotage his moment in the spotlight."

"You make a good point," Peter agreed. "He thinks scouts for NPR will be there, maybe reps from music companies."

Neal swallowed, hesitating to voice his worst fear. "He might not be feeding off her, but could he have turned her?"

Dean grimaced. "You know I can't give you any guarantees." His lips tightened as he thought for a moment. "He may want to but that concert is forcing him to put his plans on hold. Once someone is turned, they have an uncontrollable hunger for the first few weeks. I can't picture Angela being in any kind of shape to perform in a concert in two days. Lutar knows that."

"There's also her work with the kids," Neal said, hoping he wasn't simply clutching at straws. "Lutar's appeared to take a genuine interest in it. He's just gone to the trouble to set himself up in this town. If he's smart he wants to avoid any appearance of scandal."

"In a couple of hours the kids will show up for rehearsal," Peter said. "You'll be able to talk sense into her. Perhaps I could dream up a way of having her arrested. Maybe suspicion of drug possession?"

"That won't work," Neal said. "Classes aren't held on Thursday."

Michael would be here in a few minutes. How much to tell him was on everyone's minds as they quickly finished breakfast. Edith's delicious food had no appeal, but Neal forced some of it down. He still held out hope Angela would never need to learn that vampires were real. For Michael's benefit, they would act as if she was being drugged or even hypnotized. Either one could be true. Dean had run into monsters who made use of hypnosis.

When Michael arrived, they commandeered the lounge at the far end of the house. It was deserted this time of day. Michael hadn't bothered to shave. He'd already convinced himself Angela had been subjected to mood-altering drugs. Looking at him forced Neal to shove his own fears to the side. Michael was already on the edge of losing it. If he realized the true peril she was in, he might not be able to function.

Like the rest of the rooms, the lounge was furnished with Federal-style antiques. Nineteenth-century landscape prints hung on the walls. Dean and Peter pulled up two chairs that could have come out of the workshop of Duncan Phyfe and made a tight group around the arched-back sofa and cocktail table.

"I wish I could say her handwriting's forged," Neal said, studying the note one more time, "but it looks genuine."

Michael clenched his hand into a fist. "We can't wait around to see if she'll show up for tomorrow's class. No telling what Lutar's . . ." He stopped abruptly, but Neal knew what he was thinking. "I'm going to his place and demand to speak with her."

"It won't accomplish anything," Dean warned. "He'll just tell you she's not there. If you insist on searching for her, he could have you arrested."

Michael's jaw hardened. "There has to be something we can do."

Michael thought he could strong-arm his way into the estate and rescue Angela. That wasn't about to happen. What they needed was a fox instead.

During the American Revolution, Francis Marion had used guerilla tactics against the British, earning himself the sobriquet of the Swamp Fox. Neal had acted as a fox once before against vampires when he led them away from two kids at astro camp. This time his mission was more critical. Whether or not she realized it, Angela was already a prisoner.

Peter had brought his laptop downstairs. He pulled up a map showing the estate's location. "Neal, what's this idea you want to present?"

He hesitated for a moment. Peter was used to his schemes. How would Dean react? "It's going to sound a little crazy," he cautioned.

Dean shrugged. "We can do crazy."

Peter frowned at Dean. "Don't encourage him. Neal's normal mode is crazy. When he admits it in advance, watch out."

Neal sailed right past his warning buoy. "We agree we need to get into the house to find out if Angela is there. Our challenge is to conduct a search without Lutar's knowledge."

"—an illegal maneuver," Peter couldn't resist pointing out, "but we'll deal with that later. Go on."

Neal felt like saying and vampires aren't supposed to exist either, but he couldn't in front of Michael. "Peter has an advantage that the rest of us don't. Lutar's never met him. We can use that. Lutar already believes Dean is an NPR producer. Dean should call him and ask for an appointment to meet with him." Neal turned to Dean. "You can tell him your director from New York is interested in preparing a segment specifically on Lutar and the revival of the dulcimer. The way he acted at the rehearsal, he'll jump at the bait to increase his fame. Could you sell it?" Neal didn't know how good Dean was at cons. They used fake IDs all the time, but generally he played a law enforcement agent.

Dean didn't slam down his idea immediately—a promising sign. "I'm no good at using NPR lingo but I could work the rock angle for hours. When Sam and I talked with Lutar on Tuesday, he was especially interested in blending hard rock with the dulcimer. That proved to me he's certifiable, but you may not be able to have him committed strictly on that." He eyed Peter warily. "What about you?"

"Stick with classic rock, and I'll be fine. I can also discuss contract terms."

"You can channel your inner Led Zeppelin or Mick Jagger," Neal suggested. "I'll help with your wardrobe. You'll be an ex-musician working for NPR—"

"I get the point," Peter interrupted in a low rumble.

"But how is this going to help?" Michael said, giving an exasperated huff. "So what if they meet with Lutar? If they ask him about Angela, he'll deny any knowledge of her."

Michael's patience was at low ebb. He was the one they needed to worry about doing something crazy, not Neal. What Michael needed was an assignment to focus on. "They're providing the diversion. You and I will have rowed up to his estate."

When Michael's eyes lit up, Neal jumped in to outline his plan before Peter let loose the thundercloud that was already gathering on his face. "While they're talking to Lutar, I'll sneak into his house and find out if Angela's there. I bet I'll be able to convince her to come with me. Last resort, I can threaten to tell her mother and grandparents. Even a drugged Angela won't want to face their accumulated wrath. Then we'll take her back to town in the rowboat. Lutar won't know about it till it's too late. Once she's in the clear, we can take care of the odds and ends."

Michael may have been enthusiastic, but Dean's reaction was more amusement than anything else. He didn't know Neal was a cat burglar. He was going to steal Lutar's treasure and bring Angela home.

As for Peter, flashes of lightning were coming out of that hovering thundercloud. Michael's presence was tempering his reaction but Neal couldn't hold him off forever. Did the Swamp Fox also have to deal with uncooperative generals?

"Have you taken into account that Lutar might not be alone in that house?" Peter asked. "He could have . . . um . . . associates staying there."

"Dean's friend told him the fraud syndicate was being handled in Maryland."

"Based on a witness with unreliable credentials," Peter retorted.

"And that's precisely why I have to sneak in," Neal explained calmly. "One person has a much better chance of escaping detection."

"The house is not far from the water's edge," Michael said, providing welcome support. "The riverfront is heavily wooded in that section."

"That will provide the cover I need. Michael, you and I can go boating this morning and check it out. I'll take my binoculars along. Anyone who sees us will think we're birdwatchers." Neal was glad Michael didn't ask how he'd get into the house. He didn't want to be forced to explain his lock-picking expertise.

Dean stood up abruptly and jerked his head toward the porch. "Michael, you and me, outside. I want to hear more about the rowboat you'll use and they need to sort out the details."

Peter nodded his appreciation at Dean, and Neal was also grateful. He was sure he could convince Peter eventually . . . once those storm clouds dissipated.