Chapter 12: Figure of Ice
Neal managed to hustle Angela out of the castle without setting off any alarms. She was still dazed and groggy from being drugged. Under the circumstances, that was for the best. Otherwise, she would have peppered him with a thousand questions. If she couldn't remember how she'd wound up in a strange bed, this wasn't the time to discuss it.
While he helped her down the hillside, his thoughts remained focused on Peter and Dean. They were still in the castle with a pure-blood vampire, an undetermined number of garden-variety fangs, and the demon Crowley. Did that mean that the witch Alcy was also there? She and Crowley had vanished together from the witch house in Connecticut. She might have taken up residence with Lutar. Could Alcy be another name for Astrena?
Peter had ordered him to leave with Michael and Angela, and he hadn't debated the point. He'd been too relieved to have Peter sanction the operation to quibble over technicalities. But as long as Peter and Dean were still inside, he was staying put. And now that they had to face Crowley too, all previous orders were null and void.
If all had gone according to plan, Peter would have made an excuse to leave as soon as he texted that he and Angela were in the clear. Would have, should have, could have . . . Had they?
Dean said Crowley could access Hagen's memories. That meant he knew who Peter was. Dean and Sam had been with them that evening in the witch house when Hagen was possessed by Crowley. Their cover would be blown if Crowley spotted them with Lutar.
First things first. Michael better have rowed that boat ashore. He'd texted him before leaving with Angela, but there were no certainties where vampires were concerned. Did they have any special powers in the water? He hadn't asked Dean but he should have. They ran with preternatural speed. Maybe they were able to skim the surface of the water like they were on water skis. Or they could launch themselves into the water like blood-seeking torpedoes . . .
He tightened his grip on Angela's waist and propelled her faster.
She glanced behind her shoulder. "Is someone following us?"
"No, but Lutar won't be happy that I stole you away."
Despite his fears, they seemed to have escaped undetected. He could see the ramp. Michael was already anchoring the boat. For a brief moment, he considered warning him about vampires. But what were the odds Michael would believe him? Much more likely he'd suspect Neal had gone mental.
Michael ran toward them. With a quick hug, he scooped Angela into his arms and carried her onto the boat. She gazed up at him, a blissful smile on her face, not letting out a peep of protest at his Prince Charming maneuver.
They'd brought blankets for her in the expectation she'd need to lie down in the boat, and after a little initial hesitation, she didn't resist.
Once back in Shepherdstown, Michael would take her to the nearest hospital. The Berkeley Medical Center was a half-hour away by car. Earlier they'd discussed how Michael would have to insist she'd been drugged. Now, given the symptoms she displayed, it was no longer a question. Michael would also notify the police. By the time they arrived at the castle, Dean and Peter should be long gone.
Neal gave Michael two of the small violet bottles he'd picked up in Lutar's bedroom. "These may contain the drug she was administered."
"Aren't you coming with us?" he asked.
Neal shook his head. "Peter and Dean may need me. You head on back and . . . row like you're in a race."
Michael gave him a sharp look. "You think we'll be followed?"
"It's possible," he warned. "We don't know what Lutar is capable of." He consoled himself he was being truthful if not completely open.
Michael's jaw hardened. "No one will catch us." He got into the boat and picked up an oar.
"How will you get back?" Angela asked as Neal untied the rope.
"The main highway is not that far. I'll climb over the fence and hitch a ride back to town." He gave her a reassuring smile. "See ya at the hospital."
He shoved the boat away from the dock and then darted back up the hillside. Still no sign of a pursuit. Chloe's Fang No. 5 must have worked. When he reached the castle, he crept around the perimeter to the front. Peter's Mustang was still parked on the circular drive near the main entrance. Not good. Time to regroup and resurrect his inner Swamp Fox. He dabbed a little more of Chloe's trillium oil on his neck then retreated to the back of the castle.
Sneaking silently up to the patio doors leading into the salon, he risked a peek inside. The room was empty, but Dean and Peter's briefcases were on the floor. He tested one of the doors and found it unlocked.
Lutar wasn't concerned about burglars . . . or swamp foxes. He should have been. With Angela safe, he felt ready to tackle anything. He still had his dart. His machete was in his portfolio case. Dean and Peter had likely been taken prisoner. He refused to consider any grimmer possibilities.
Cautiously he cracked the door open. Faint voices were coming from the direction of the staircase but no one was in the living room. He slipped inside and closed the patio door behind him.
His first goal was to retrieve their weapons. Dean had two extra darts of dead man's blood in his attaché case and both men had brought machetes. Peter was also carrying a gun, although it would be ineffective against a vampire.
The Winchesters said vampires didn't usually kill their prey immediately. Instead, the victims were kept confined for several days, serving as their food source till they finally succumbed. None of the rooms upstairs that he'd seen looked particularly suitable. As a rising rock star, Lutar probably threw lavish parties which would likely be catered. The kitchen would have to appear ordinary. The cellar, on the other hand . . . Surely the castle had a basement. Mozzie's voice popped into his head. What better place than a basement for a secret laboratory to make drugs and do other unspeakable things?
Just then he heard voices in the hallway. No time to exit. He darted to the suit of armor displayed in a corner and flattened himself behind it.
The voices grew louder. Crowley's he recognized. Something about Lutar searching the grounds. He peered over the shoulder of the armor to see three men and a woman with Crowley. Were they demons or vampires? How would you know?
They appeared to have come from an open doorway in the hall. The group headed straight to the main staircase. No one paused to sniff the air or look into the salon. Thank you, Chloe, for Fang No. 5.
Crowley stopped at the foot of the stairs. "Find Lutar. Make sure nothing happens to him. If he's harmed in any way, it's Astrena you have to answer to, not me. I'll meet you once the geeks are on their way." Did that mean Astrena was in the castle, too? Vampires and demons weren't enough of a problem?
The vampires took off through the front door while Crowley heaved a heavy sigh. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Why am I cursed with imbeciles?" he moaned. "Bloodsucking nerds still wet behind their ears that I have to nursemaid, a lovesick prince barely a month old who's convinced he's found his queen consort, and a bunch of troglodytes to execute my orders. Is there no justice in the world?"
He stomped upstairs, yelling orders presumably to the vamps working in the upstairs office.
As soon as Crowley was out of eyesight, Neal raced to the corridor. The open doorway he'd seen opened into a narrow staircase leading down to the basement. He decided to search it first.
The front part of the basement was filled with sound and recording equipment. A utility room was off to the side. Behind the recording console was a locked door. It was imitation Gothic with an elaborate lock and padlock. Anything that secure was worth investigating.
He retrieved his lock picks from the hidden compartment in his shirt. It was his experience that massive-looking locks were often the easiest to pick, and this one was no exception. As he worked he could hear the thuds of pounding footsteps overhead. Probably Crowley and the hackers. They better not need to retrieve anything from the basement.
When he opened the door, he found himself in a replica of a medieval dungeon, complete with prisoners. Peter and Dean had been chained to the wall with iron shackles on their arms and legs. Dean had a cut on his forehead but otherwise they appeared unharmed.
He dashed forward with his lock pick to free them. "Like a little assistance or are you in the middle of a game of Dungeons and Dragons?"
Peter broke into a smile. "I've never been so happy to have you disobey an order."
"No bites or bloodletting?"
Peter shook his head. "I felt like I'd been transported to the surface of the sun for a moment, but we're fine."
Peter refused to go into details, saying there'd be plenty of time later, and Dean was demanding a status update. After Neal unlocked Peter's wrist manacles, he gave Peter a spare pick. He'd be able to open his leg irons while he freed Dean. Peter's skills were sufficient for these rudimentary locks.
"Angela and Michael are now safely on their way to Shepherdstown," he reported. "When I came back, I overheard Crowley give orders to find Lutar. He's apparently searching the grounds for Angela. Crowley was heading upstairs to help the hackers clean out."
When he described the people he'd seen, Dean confirmed they were the vampires who'd taken them prisoner.
"Our best chance will be to sneak out while Crowley's upstairs," Dean said, rubbing his wrists.
"He may already be leaving," Neal said. "Do you hear that?" It was the welcome crunch of car wheels on the gravel drive. The engine rumble was growing fainter.
Peter nodded. "Sounds like a large SUV."
"That will give us a fighting chance," Dean said. "We still have the vamps and Lutar to contend with. Our weapons are in the salon." He didn't mention what they'd do if Alcy or Astrena was around, and Neal knew better than to ask. They hadn't had any luck in Connecticut. Their best hope was to sneak out before she spotted them.
"No need to fetch your knives. I provide arms as well as lock pick service." He opened up his portfolio bag and tossed them their machetes. "I only found two darts."
"That's all I had," Dean said. "One for each of us. Make them count."
They crept up the stairs. Would they be able to escape without incident? That wouldn't necessarily be the best outcome. As long as Lutar was loose, wouldn't he just come back for Angela? He didn't voice aloud his concern but tightened his grip on the machete.
Dean paused, his hand on the front door handle. "Don't stop if you hear anything. Head straight for the Mustang."
"I left the car open," Peter added. "There's an extra key in the glove compartment if you need it." Peter was preparing for any contingency, but there was no way they'd drive off without him.
Dean opened the door cautiously and peered outside. "Looks good," he muttered. "Now!"
They burst out of the house and raced to the car at top speed. But not vampire-fast. The vamps were on them before they'd gone more than a few paces.
Someone grappled Neal from behind and dragged him into the bushes. Panicked, he tore at the hands gripping him. A tattooed arm wrenched his machete away from him and tackled him to the ground. He twisted around to face his attacker while he struggled to unpin his hands.
He was one of the men he'd seen with Crowley. He looked like a normal thug till he opened his mouth and his fangs extended.
Neal lashed out with his leg and managed to spear him in the groin. The vamp released his grip just long enough for him to get his right hand free. Tumbling away, he fished in his pocket for the precious dart. Holding it like a javelin, he plunged it into the vampire's neck.
The vampire instantly became a dead weight. His eyes continued to glare at Neal, but he was unable to move.
He squirmed his way free and got to his feet when he was yanked from behind by another arm.
Lutar blew hot smoke in his face. Instantly he was powerless to resist. He could only stare into those glowing red eyes in a translucent face of molten lava.
"You took Angela from me," Lutar hissed. "You'll pay for your folly."
He pressed the palm of his right hand onto Neal's forehead, boring deeper and deeper until he was transported to an inferno of fire beyond anything he could have imagined.
He felt his flesh being scorched away. Already blackness was clawing at his mind.
A figure emerged in the midst of the inferno. Ice-blue gas in the shape of a woman. Tendrils of her long hair writhed like snakes as she extended her arms to him. Her touch was dry ice on his burnt flesh, freezing it she pulverized him into tiny chips . . .
The hard ground shocked him into consciousness. Dean was standing behind Lutar, his arm wrapped around his throat.
With an unearthly howl, Lutar disintegrated into a column of red smoke that rose high into the air. Numbly Neal stared at its trail as it disappeared into the clouds.
"What happened?" Peter demanded, charging into view.
"When I found Neal, Lutar had him in his grasp," Dean said, wiping his machete on the grass. "I couldn't get into position to go for the fang's neck without injuring Neal, so I knifed him in his back. Appeared to do the trick." Dean crouched beside Neal as he checked the sky. "Never expected a vamp would leave a demon trail."
The paralysis was quickly leaving him. Neal propped himself up on his elbows and leaned against Peter. He couldn't believe his flesh was still intact. His clothes hadn't been singed. More mind games, this time courtesy of Lutar?
He tried to explain what he'd experienced. If he'd been fully awake, he probably wouldn't have gone into so much detail, but he was too dazed to resist Peter's questions.
"Could that have been Astrena?" Peter asked, keeping his hand on the top of Neal's head. It was a reassuring reminder he was back in normal reality.
Dean shrugged, looking buffaloed. "Maybe?"
Neal stood up while Dean and Peter filled him in on what he'd missed. One vampire had fled the scene. Three were immobilized from dead man's darts. With difficulty, he wrenched his thoughts from the nightmare. None of it had been real. "Was that the end of Lutar? he asked.
"Man, I dunno, but I thought it'd be harder to kill him," Dean said. "When a demon leaves his meatsuit, he exits in a pillar of smoke similar to what we saw, but the body is left behind. When a vampire is killed, his corpse is left behind. A knife in the back won't kill him. I'd expect a pure-blood to be even harder to gank."
The vampire Neal had darted was still lying immobile on the ground. They returned to the main entrance to check on the others. Peter was keeping a light hand pressed against his back and Neal didn't protest at the assist. He was still shaky from the vision or whatever that was.
A man and a woman were still sprawled where Dean and Peter had left them. The vamps glared up at them but were incapable of speech or movement.
"Any chance of turning them back?" Peter muttered to Dean.
He shook his head. "We can tie them up and do the deed later—or finish them off now. Your call."
Neal understood the drill. Beheading. They were still alive. Yes, they were killers. The rational side of his brain understood what needed to be done, but his stomach was lurching at the thought.
"If we don't kill them now, they'll simply continue," Peter said, showing a calmness Neal wasn't capable of.
Dean nodded. "There really is no choice." He slanted a glance in Neal's direction.
Neal knew he should help them, although he didn't know how he possibly could. An execution? If the vampires were fighting him, he might be capable. He gazed at the prisoners and—"Look!"
No need to tell them. They were staring in shock too. The vampires were crumbling into ashes in front of their eyes. No one had touched them.
"What the hell?" Dean muttered, swiping the side of his face with his hand.
"Have you ever seen that before?" Peter demanded.
"Not with a fang." Dean scanned the perimeter as if a demon was hiding behind a tree. They checked on the third vampire and he'd vanished as well.
"Could Crowley have done it?" Neal asked.
"Probably," Dean conceded, "but why? I guess we shouldn't complain. That takes care of the problem."
They headed for the house to check inside. Peter opened the front door. "Crowley's working with a pure-blood. Probably involved with ID fraud." He exhaled. "Hagen's file's going to need a larger folder."
"It makes me wonder if that witch in Connecticut—Alcy Lancaster—is Astrena masquerading as a mortal," Dean said. "Neal heard Crowley mention Astrena's name. He'd left the witch house with Alcy." He glanced upstairs. "I don't think we have to worry about her being here now. If she were, we'd already know."
That was Neal's thought too. In the witch house, Alcy could have easily killed them. Like Lutar, she'd been able to paralyze them. Could that fiery torment he'd experienced with Lutar be related to the fire Crowley had set in the witch house?
"If I remember my Greek mythology correctly," Peter said, "gods could disguise themselves as mortals and live as normal members of society. Astrena may be doing the same."
"Bobby says there are similar cases," Dean agreed and turned to Neal. "Any chance that woman you saw in your head could have been Alcy?"
"It's tempting to think so. Alcy, Astrena—even the names are close. Alcy was a brunette. The figure in my vision . . . her hair was ice-blue and her features so distorted she didn't resemble anyone human."
Dean grunted. "What you saw in your head doesn't count for much. She could easily disguise her appearance or be a shapeshifter."
Peter looked at him startled. "You've encountered real shapeshifters?"
"Man, you've only scratched the surface of all the monsters that exist." Dean refused to elaborate, and Neal didn't feel like pressing him. He'd had enough nightmares for one day.
They searched the house from top to bottom. In the upstairs office, the computers were gone. The peripherals and power strips had been left behind. In the hackers' haste to depart, they'd neglected to take a hard drive enclosure, raising hopes for retrievable data.
The spartan dorm-style sleeping arrangements in the rooms on the top floor had enough beds for seven. Neal felt fairly confident that he'd heard three computers at work. Assuming all the hackers had departed with Crowley, one vampire had escaped.
The only women's garments were in the upstairs barracks. If Alcy was living there, surely she would have had more luxurious accommodations. There was no art on the walls. The violet bottles Neal had found in Lutar's bedroom had disappeared.
Peter had called Max Ganesh in D.C. when they returned to the house. As far as the Bureau was concerned, this would be a case of identity fraud and felony use of drugs. The specifics of how Lutar transformed into a column of red smoke would not be included.
Peter advocated they take the line that Lutar had been suspected of holding Angela against her will. When Peter, Michael, and Neal came to the estate to plead for her release, they found her drugged and the house vacant. Michael took her to the hospital while Peter and Neal stayed to search the house. The contents of the violet bottles would be analyzed for evidence. Peter promised not to mention Dean's involvement.
By the time Max arrived with the Evidence Control Unit, Dean had already vacated the house and was hiding in the woods by the front gate. After a brief round of introductions, Neal excused himself, explaining that he was heading to the hospital to check on Angela. Peter could catch a ride back to town with Max.
Neal picked Dean up at the gate and let him drive Peter's car. Something told him Dean would be a lousy backseat driver.
Once they were back at the inn, Neal accompanied Dean to his room to check on Sam. They found him dressed and sitting at the desk, wolfing down a burger. "I woke up an hour ago," he said, "and felt my old self again—my old hungry self. Is Angela okay?"
"Appears to be," Dean said. "Michael's with her at the hospital where she's getting checked out."
"Dean will be happy to have you back," Neal said. "I make a poor substitute." It was galling to admit his limitations. He might be a swamp fox, but he was no vampire hunter.
"You're not a killer," Dean said bluntly. "Be glad of that." He turned to Sam. "Neal's been holding out on us. Thanks to his hidden talents he was able to save our asses. Next time I need a thief, I'll know who to call on."
Praise from Dean? That was unexpected. But they'd made a good team. The ending was highly satisfactory. Angela was safe. Lutar was no more. Crowley was still out there but he wasn't an immediate threat. Neal turned to leave as Dean began relating their experiences to Sam. Dean didn't need him and he was anxious to check on Angela.
"Dinner's on me tonight," Neal said as he headed for the door. "We have plenty to celebrate."
Sam looked up. "Tell Angela . . ."
A roaring in his head blocked out Sam's voice. There, in front of him was Astrena, a figure of ice-blue dry ice. She stretched out her arms toward him. Each strand of her hair was a live wire branding his flesh. He fell to his knees.