Chapter 2: On the Hunt

Sam accompanied Dean back to the Impala. When Mozzie heard about Sam's plans, he insisted on preparing him for the upcoming ordeal. In dark sepulchral tones as if he were alerting them about the coming Apocalypse, he warned Sam of the evils awaiting him at government overlord central, aka the Jacob Javits Federal Building. Somehow Sam didn't think it compared with the creatures they normally faced.

The building was a short walk from the Correctional Center and gave him a chance to gain an impression of the area. It wasn't often that he had the chance to visit an urban center like New York. The glass skyscrapers soaring into the sky were an alien world compared to the dusty small-town streets he normally trod.

When they arrived at the White Collar offices, Peter said he'd work on the official response to Hagen's disappearance. He requested they take the hex bag to the forensics lab. Sam would have bet Neal wouldn't call it a hex bag when he filled out the requisition form, but he would have lost. The lab technician didn't even bat an eye. Not the reception he would have gotten from the usual sheriff he had to deal with. Still, he had to hide his grin when he observed the care with which the technician opened the bag. It was as if she expected to find a venomous coiled snake ready to strike.

Instead, the bag contained an old coin, a wilted flower, and a bone. Neal obtained photos of the items before they left and told him they could wait in his niche on the White Collar floor. The niche was a spot Neal had been allocated in the IT lab to conduct his art authentication work. It was surprising to see how many people were at work on a Saturday

Neal rolled a chair over for Sam to sit next to him. "Welcome to my world." He'd posted sketches and cartoons on a whiteboard. When Sam asked about the cartoons, he said most were of the White Collar team. He named some of the people, including Peter's boss, Reese Hughes.

The cartoons were irreverent snapshots of his colleagues. It was a world of camaraderie that gave Sam a twinge of envy. What would it be like to work for a boss? He already knew what a disaster it would be for Dean. Sometimes Bobby acted a little like one, although he complained they treated him like their servant. From the cartoons Neal had on his wall, Bobby didn't bear much resemblance to Hughes.

"What exactly is a hex bag supposed to do?" Neal asked, breaking into his thoughts.

"You can think of it as a type of charm used to cast a spell. Usually, it contains multiple types of objects like this one does."

"Can you tell what kind of spell it is by analyzing the items inside the bag?"

Sam shook his head. "It doesn't work that way. Often a powerful witch casts a separate spell on each ingredient. Once inside the bag, they merge to make an even stronger spell. But we may get an idea of where the bag was made based on its ingredients. What can you tell me about Hagen?"

"He's a British art forger and counterfeiter. He's been in the business for about fifteen years. We arrested him a few weeks ago. Peter nicknamed him the Dutchman because he was so difficult to catch and we didn't know who he was. A few months ago, we finally identified him through some forgeries he'd done. Lately, Hagen's been working for an international criminal group called Ydrus. He'd struck a deal to cooperate in return for a reduced sentence and special protection. When he first disappeared, we suspected Ydrus had gotten to him, but I don't know of any witches who work for Ydrus."

Sam didn't chuckle although Neal looked like he expected him to. "You said Peter gave him the nickname."

"That's right but we had no reason to believe he was being aided by witchcraft."

Sam shrugged. "How would you have known? I wouldn't dismiss the possibility."

Neal stopped to consider. "I can picture Peter's reaction if I told him witchcraft was what made Hagen so successful." Neal's eyes widened and he slapped the edge of the desk. "That's it! Why didn't I think of that earlier?"

"What is?" Sam asked, bewildered.

"When I started working on the case earlier this year, I examined a couple of forgeries we suspected Hagen had made. One of them is called Witches' Sabbath. Are you familiar with it?"

"No, but with a name like that, you've got my interest. Tell me about it."

"It was painted by Francisco Goya in the late eighteenth century. He created a series of six paintings on witchcraft." Neal pulled up a photo of the painting on his computer. "In Witches' Sabbath, the devil is represented as a goat. He's surrounded by a group of disfigured witches. Goya treated the same theme in one of the Black Paintings."

Sam studied the photo. "What are the Black Paintings?"

"They were murals he painted for his house. He didn't intend to exhibit them. After his death, they were transferred to canvas. By the time Goya painted them, he'd grown completely deaf. His works were dark and pessimistic. Goya himself was plagued by an unknown illness and feared he was growing insane."

"Do you know of any connection Hagen had to Goya?"

"No, I wanted to ask Hagen about it but didn't have the chance. He also counterfeited a bond that contained an image of a Goya painting."

"Do you know if any of Hagen's other forgeries had a connection to the occult?"

Neal considered for a moment. "He also forged a painting of Salome by Titian. It depicts the head of John the Baptist on a platter. I suppose if you thought John the Baptist was a vampire . . ."

"Yeah, that does sound like a bit of a stretch. It could have been a symbolic depiction."

"How far back does vampire lore go?" Neal asked. "Not that I'm saying John the Baptist was one, but could he have been?"

"According to Bobby, yes."

"He's your hunter friend, right?"

"Bobby's much more than that. He's a combination of surrogate dad, mentor, consultant, and backup. He's hauled our asses out of the fire more times than I can count. Bobby's the expert on vampires. After our encounter with the nest in New Jersey, we realized we needed to bone up on them. Up to a few months ago, vamps appeared to be almost extinct, but lately there's been a resurgence of reports, particularly in the Northeast."

"And you say vampires were around during the time of Christ?"

"Even before then. There are legends of vampire-like beings in ancient Greece, Mesopotamia, even ancient Egypt. When did Titian live?"

"The sixteenth century. He spent most of his life in Venice. He had an exceptionally long lifespan for the time—around ninety years by most estimates. That may not be that long by vampire standards."

"These days it could be. Hunters have made a major dent in the population. Eventually, we'll do the same with this latest outbreak. I've read reports that Venice was a hotbed of vampire activity in the sixteenth century. Corpses from that period have been found with their jaws forced open by a brick. It was a common misconception that you could kill a vamp that way."

Neal powered on the computer at the next workstation. "You can use this."

"The FBI won't be upset?" Sam asked.

"I logged you in as a guest. You have access to the internet but none of our internal files."

Sam read up on the other witch paintings by Goya and the Titian painting. Neal was right when he said Goya had embraced the dark side. It was tempting to think the artist may have had personal knowledge of demons.

"Do the Spanish have any vampire legends?" Neal asked.

"There's something called a guajona I've heard about." He pulled up the Wikipedia page. "She's a female vampire who also has some witch characteristics. I guess you'd call her a hybrid. Goya might have been thinking of a guajona when he painted Witches' Sabbath."

"You're saying a witch can also be a vampire? Isn't that cheating? I remember you said that some witches were demons. That means it's possible to have witch-vampire-demons? Please tell me I'm wrong."

"I wish I could, but in theory, a witch could be turned by a vampire then strike a bargain with a demon to acquire additional powers. I've never encountered a triple-barreled threat like that. She'd be one nasty character."

"I wonder if Goya painted any vampires. Some of his etchings had particularly dark subjects." Neal turned to his computer and searched around. "Here's one—The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters. How's that for a title? And there's another painting called Exorcism with what could be vampires."

Sam pulled up his chair to view the etching. It showed bat-like creatures surrounding a sleeping man.

"Do vampires really turn into bats?" Neal asked.

Sam chuckled. "As far as I know, they don't. At least we've never heard of any that do. I don't suppose you know anything in Hagen's background to link him to anything weird or mysterious?"

"No, but the man was only identified in the past few months, so it's hard to know what he might have been into. Satan worship is not out of the question. In his plea bargain, Hagen confined himself to revelations about Ydrus. He didn't mention any personal obsessions and we didn't think to ask."

Their research moved from paintings to the coin in the hex bag and the pendant the woman was wearing. By the time Peter returned, they had something to show for their efforts.

"The official search for Hagen hasn't produced any leads," Peter said. "Are you faring any better?"

Sam nodded. "Dean will want to hear this too."

"We haven't had lunch yet," Neal said. "Sal's burgers aren't bad, and Peter, you'll like the beer."

#

Peter hadn't heard of Sal's Billiards but he'd wondered where Neal went to keep his pool skills sharp. Sal's was only a few blocks north of the Bureau. Neal could even get in a quick game during the lunch hour. Peter had a sudden desire to learn more about the place. Perhaps he should take up pool.

A middle-aged swarthy man with dark shrewd eyes called out a greeting to Neal when they entered. "That's Sal," Neal explained, giving him a wave. "Second-generation Italian."

Dean had just finished a game. Judging by the satisfied look on his face, he also was pleased with the action at Sal's. "I'd buy lunch, but I recall someone mentioned free grub for our consulting services."

"The Bureau can spring for this," Peter confirmed. They sat down at a table in the cafe and called the waiter over.

"Sal's burgers are good," Neal said, "but his meatball subs are even better. Homemade Italian sausage on ciabatta with ricotta and mozzarella on—"

"We had stale donuts for breakfast," Sam said. "I'll take two."

Service was satisfyingly prompt and soon the table was covered with heaping plates of subs and frosted mugs of beer.

Dean smacked the ketchup bottle over his fries. "What was in the hex bag?"

"The coin is Celtic," Sam said. "I found another example online. Dates back to the first century."

"Is it typical to have such an ancient artifact in a hex bag?" Peter asked.

"Not really," Sam said. "Usually hex bags are a combination of a talisman, herbs, and bones. If a witch is targeting someone in particular, there might be something belonging to the person or a lock of hair, for instance. An ancient coin isn't easy to come by. We've only seen one other similar case."

"What's the coin look like?" Dean asked.

Neal passed around the photo. "It's gold. There's the image of a flower on one side and an abstract pattern on the other. I looked up Celtic symbolism online." He turned to Peter. "You'll like this. The Celts were into astronomy. You can see stars and the moon on the coin."

Curious, Peter studied the photo more closely. "Those pinwheels might be a meteor or comet." He looked over at Dean. "What do you know about Celtic witches? Is there such a thing as Celtic witchcraft?"

"I've heard rumors about it, but nothing specific," Dean said. "Chloe may know more about it."

Peter groaned at the mention of her name. Chloe had unintentionally instigated the dork curse. He shuddered to think what she was capable of now. "Isn't there someone else?"

Dean frowned. "Are you still blaming her for Buttonwood? That was an innocent mistake. She didn't even know she was casting a spell."

"You just proved my point." Peter's cell phone vibrated, cutting off Dean's rebuttal. It was the lab reporting the test results on the flower found in the hex bag. When he ended the call, he asked, "You ever hear of a small whorled pogonia?"

Dean sopped up marinara sauce with his bread. "Are we talking plant, animal, or mineral?"

Sam was already researching it on his laptop. "It's an orchid."

"You mean like the purple flowers in corsages?" Dean asked.

"Not exactly. This is a native orchid." Sam quickly scanned the webpage. "Very rare. There's a picture of it. Not very showy. It doesn't look much like an orchid to me."

"The lab says the flower had only been picked two or three days ago," Peter noted. "That may help narrow down where the hex bag was made."

"What about the bones?" Neal asked. "Did the lab figure out where they came from?"

Peter nodded. "The bag contained two femurs and part of the skull of a wood frog."

"So we have a Celtic gold coin, a rare orchid, and bones from a wood frog." Sam shook his head uneasily. "Not the ingredients of a typical hex bag. This is no ordinary witch."

"We already know that," Dean added. "Teleportation? The invisibility spell she cast? We could be dealing with a major demon. I'll ring up Chloe. See if she knows anything about this flower." He took out a pad of paper from his jacket pocket, wrote down the name of the orchid, and walked over to an empty table in the corner of the cafe.

"Why couldn't he have stayed here to call?" Peter asked.

"He probably didn't want us to hear him go kissy-kissy," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

Neal grinned. "Is he still seeing her?"

"Not literally. Our paths have crossed only once since March, but he talks with her a lot on the phone. He claims it's in the name of research, but Dean's never been one for research till he met Chloe."

"When did she become an expert on witches?" Peter asked.

"She's researching real witches for her new novel," Sam explained.

"She's in Salem now, soaking up the local atmosphere and witch vibes," Neal added. "So far, there haven't been any reports of men turning into dorks or other weird spells. Maybe she's gotten her act together."

"You sound like you've been corresponding with her too," Peter noted.

"Not me. Janet has. Mozzie keeps me informed. She visited Chloe in Salem a couple of weeks ago. She said they visited some local bogs. Janet's collecting ideas for a new costume exhibit featuring damselflies."

"Does this mean Mozzie will soon be into witchcraft as well?" Peter asked, sensing another looming Mozzie disaster on the horizon. "Mozzie the Warlock? Let's switch the subject before I become even more depressed."

"How do you feel about devil worship?" Sam asked, "I researched the amulet around the witch's neck." He pulled out the photo so Peter could see it. "There's an image of a goat on one side. We found a similar item online. It's a Sumerian coin that's been fashioned into an amulet. The male goat, or he-goat as some call it, has been appropriated as a symbol of a horned god—Satan or Lucifer."

"Do witches worship the devil?" Neal asked.

"Some do," Sam said. "It varies among covens."

Dean returned to the table. "I got through to Chloe. She's wrapped up her job in Salem. She'd heard of the flower and confirms it's very rare. She checked her sources and the only place she's found that's anywhere close is a wooded area in Connecticut. The town it's closest to is Simsbury. That's near Windsor. Chloe's joined a Wicca coven. They call themselves the Alyssum Sisterhood. They're centered at Yale University in New Haven. She'll check with them to see if they have any contacts in Simsbury and will call me back."

Neal looked over at Peter. "You feel like another road trip?"

"I'd promised my wife I'd work on the bathroom remodeling." Peter was torn. Was a tip about an orchid sufficient justification for the trip? But he didn't have any other leads. He could hardly call in local officials to investigate a possible witch.

"Suit yourself," Dean said. "We have no such restrictions. If Chloe turns up something, I'm heading out."

"We don't have any other leads for Hagen," Neal said. When Peter didn't reply, he pursued his advantage. "This is work-related. You can take comp time next week and work on the bathroom. El will understand. Didn't you tell me she was busy working on their community theater performance of Barefoot in the Park? That's where she is today, isn't she? She probably won't even notice you're gone. In any case, I have no house chores and after all our work to capture Hagen, I've no intention of missing out on our best shot at finding him." He turned to Dean. "Can I hitch a ride?"

"We're not a bus. You'd have to sit in the back, pay for gas, meals—"

"All right, you convinced me," Peter declared, "But if we go to Simsbury, it will be strictly by the book. We'll inform the local authorities and obey all the laws."

Dean raised a brow. "You want to tell the police we're hunting a witch?"

"Of course not," Neal said. "We'll explain we're chasing the Flying Dutchman."

Peter sighed. Here we go again.

#

"Is El upset?" Neal asked as he tossed his suitcase onto the backseat of the Taurus.

"That we're taking off to Connecticut and leaving her behind?" Any wife whose husband had weaseled out of working on their torn-up bathroom had a perfect right to be, but Peter knew he married an extraordinary woman. "More envious than anything else. If she didn't have a rehearsal tonight, she would have joined us, and she assured me that the bathroom would be waiting for me upon my return. I know I can count on your help."

"Absolutely," Neal agreed readily. "What kind of mural would you like? Mermaids, perhaps? Or do you prefer to swim with the fishes?"

"I'm staying out of that fish fryer. You need to talk with El."

Chloe had called back as they were finishing their meal at Sal's. Her contact in the Alyssum Sisterhood had heard rumors about a witch operating in Windsor. That was all the confirmation Dean and Sam needed to go witch-hunting. And not just them—Chloe, as well. Her agency had mentioned a job opening in New Haven, and she decided to take them up on it. Windsor was the scene of witch trials in the early 1600s, and she was eager to research them. Peter suspected she was even more excited about seeing Dean, but he'd limit his teasing. His knowledge of Wicca and witchcraft was zero. As long as she didn't cast any spells on him, he wouldn't object to her assistance.

The BOLO on Hagen had not produced any results. NYPD and FBI agents were conducting the standard search procedures but were dead in the water on where to look. Under the circumstances, Windsor seemed as likely as anywhere else.

"Nothing like a road trip to celebrate the end of the semester," Neal said, reaching into his backpack. "Plenty of time for good music. As I recall, you mentioned on our last road trip I could choose the music this time." He pulled out a CD.

"I said no such thing," Peter retorted, slapping on a stern expression. It wouldn't be a road trip with Neal without arguments over music.

"Sure you did." He inserted the CD before Peter could protest. "You'll like this. 'Speed of Sound' by Coldplay. The perfect song for a speed demon like you. This will keep me relaxed so I won't complain about your driving."

"When you put it that way, be my guest." He merged into the traffic on Riverside Drive. Windsor was only two hours away. They could be there by eight o'clock, in time for a late dinner. "You realize that I would have been quite content to stay at the motel by the airport. Dean and Sam agreed with me."

Neal stared at him, shocked. "And miss out on a historic inn? I knew there was a reason I liked Chloe so much. You and El should look into that B&B association she belongs to. You'd get discounts at member inns. You could plan romantic getaways. I'll be happy to take care of Satchmo for you. The Simsbury 1820 House is closer to the woods than the motel you were keen on. With Chloe's discount, it's about the same price. Did I tell you it has a gourmet restaurant on the premises? There's even a small art gallery featuring local artists."

As Neal rambled on about the delights of the inn, Peter smiled at his enthusiasm. Less than two weeks ago, he'd been poisoned by a criminal out for revenge. Delirious and hallucinating, he spent two days holed up in Columbia's underground tunnel system. Neal's capacity to bounce back was astonishing.

What were the odds they could succeed in tracking down a witch in Connecticut who would lead them to Hagen? If Peter were truthful, he'd have to place them in the cellar. If he'd felt their chances were better, he would have been more concerned. But so far no one had mentioned vampires. That was reassuring, but how dangerous were witches? Would he wind up wishing he had vampires to deal with instead? And what curse had he been born under that he was now debating in all seriousness the relative threat of witches to vampires?

"Why did you groan?" Neal asked.

Peter let out another one for good measure. "We're following our best lead to capture an escaped fugitive and I can't call in any FBI resources to help. I can hear their snipes now. 'Hey, fellas, Burke's gone over the deep end. He thinks a witch whisked the Dutchman away on her magic broomstick.' "

"Then you agree that we're dealing with a witch?"

Peter mulled that loaded question for a minute. "I haven't believed in witches since I was seven."

"I remember!" Neal said with a grin. "That was when your brother Joe tricked you into believing that a witch would visit your house on Halloween."

"That's right, and after he confessed, I said I was done with witches." Peter took a breath. "But now here we are."

"That's right, Butch. Ready for another adventure?"

"I don't recall Butch Cassidy ever having to face witches or vampires, but sure. Bring it on, Sundance."

Notes: Sam is correct when he reports that the small whorled pogonia is rare. It's the rarest native orchid east of the Mississippi. Guajonas are legendary creatures from Cantabria, Spain. They're described as blood-sucking disfigured hags. They attack adults and children at night but generally don't kill their victims. As for the vampires of Venice, I wrote about them and Titian for our blog. The post is "Titian and Vampires."