Chapter 4: Creatures of the Night

Bullfrog Roadhouse. Saturday evening.

As Janet watched the men in the roadhouse, it was hard not to be discouraged. As the jukebox blared "Lucille" by Kenny Rogers, a couple of men wearing pinafores over their jeans danced an impromptu waltz. She drew a little comfort that thanks to her efforts, Mozzie, Peter, and Dean were properly attired. But if Neal and Sam hadn't helped, that wouldn't have been the case. "The Three Amigos" as she now called them were sitting at a nearby table playing Go Fish. Janet gave herself a pat on the back for managing to snap up the last set of cards at the local toy store.

Chloe was in dire need of a morale boost. Since discovering she'd likely caused the affliction, she'd been inconsolable. "Shouldn't they be forced to post warning labels on witchcraft websites?" she said, eyeing the amigos gloomily.

"I've been a champion of sisters striking out on their own and taking charge of their lives, but I have to confess you're making me reassess. Could it be that we're becoming too powerful?"

Chloe groaned and sank her head into her folded arms. "To think I did this to Ravensword." Her voice was a muffled wail.

"Ravensword? Who's he?"

"The love interest in my stories. I've been writing about the steamy romance going on between him and my main character Zoe for the past several stories."

"I'm not following you."

Chloe raised her head dejectedly and looked over at Dean. "Oh, Ravensword . . ." She turned to Janet. "I lead a single life. I'm on the road a lot, traveling between jobs. I'm not lonely," she quickly added. "I enjoy talking with the locals. They inspire some of the characters in my books. When I drive, I often sketch plots and experiment with dialogs. I carry images of what my characters look like in my head and talk with them like they're real people."

"I feel the same way about some of my designs," Janet admitted. "Especially the insect-inspired costumes. Don't tell anyone but sometimes I give them names and talk to them. Gosh, we're having a moment. I've never mentioned that to anyone."

"I feel the same way, and don't forget, you promised to send me a catalog of your latest exhibition. Anyway, when I met Dean, I was so flummoxed, I could barely speak. He's Ravensword! Or at least the way I picture Ravensword. And then when I heard about his work." She paused to give a breathy sigh.

Janet nodded and patted Chloe's arm. "I could tell the pheromones were flying between the two of you. I'm very sensitive to pheromones."

"Exactly, but now look at him." Chloe groaned again and took a glug of beer.

Janet regarded the amigos. They'd grown bored with their card game. Dean appeared to be the ringleader. He leaned over to whisper something to Mozzie and Peter who both started snickering. Janet got up to find out what they were concocting.

Five minutes later the amigos were standing in the front of the jukebox, belting out "Rawhide" to the crowd. Janet returned to the table. "Of the options I was given, this was the most harmless." She retrieved the camera from her bag to take more photos.

#

Neal eyed the shotgun Sam had given him skeptically. "Salt cartridges? You're sure this is going to work?"

Sam studied Neal for a moment. Despite his claims of being a crack shot, he certainly didn't look it. Going off to battle a Nocnitsa with an untested white-collar consultant was a lousy idea that Dean never would have agreed to. "Salt repels ghosts and demons. It should work against malicious will-o'-wisps too. When we spot the Nocnitsa, we'll have to leave the car to pursue her. The salt should ward off any will-o'-wisps in the area."

"Any other condiments I should know about in case we meet other demons later on?" Neal asked with a grin. That was the problem with amateurs. They never took the work seriously until it was too late.

"Sulfur. You find any sulfur lying around, that's an indicator for demons."

"So if I smell rotten eggs, I need to call Sam and Dean, the Demonbusters?"

"That's—"

"There she is!" Neal interrupted, sitting upright. He pointed south into the swamp.

Sam scanned the trees for a ghostly pillar of light. "Where?"

"Look through those tall cedars. She must be about two hundred yards away. I see some will-o'-wisps around her."

Sam peered into the swamp and caught a glimpse of her. Neal got high marks for sharp eyesight. Maybe he could shoot after all. "Remember to stick to the plan. We'll sneak as close as possible before firing at her."

"I'll take out the will-o'-wisps and play the fox to distract them."

No will-o'-wisps to contend with when they exited the Impala. The full moon provided a little light but it was slow going. Neal was in the lead as they worked their way through the underbrush. The swamp consisted of shallow basins of water, bordered by shrubby undergrowth and tall trees. They kept to the edge of the water, darting from tree to tree and restricting their communications to hand signals.

Neal's movements were impressive—he seemed to skim over the muck. In comparison, the sloshing of Sam's boots on the muddy ground sounded alarmingly loud. But they were lucky. The frogs were so noisy, they tended to block everything else out.

As they drew closer, Sam got a better feel for the Nocnitsa. She was tall, maybe fifteen feet—a spectral vision that floated over the surface of the water. Surrounding her like satellites were five will-o'-wisps. Were they her bodyguards? They seemed unaware of their presence.

When they were about a hundred feet away, Sam felt he was close enough to get a shot. The next time Neal looked back at him, he flashed him a hand signal. Neal stopped and flattened himself against a tree as Sam aimed.

But just as he started to squeeze the trigger, he felt something pressing against his boot. Glancing down, he let out a yelp. The largest snake he'd ever seen in his life was slithering up his leg! He must have jumped two feet into the air as he tried to shake it off. And the curses that came out of his mouth were not the stealth mode he was aiming for.

Neal spun around to see what the commotion was about. Flailing in the mud, Sam tripped on a tree root and fell with a loud splash into the water. He groaned. Could this get any worse?

Bad question.

The Nocnitsa changed her direction and charged their way. Neal was firing at the will-o'-wisps which were zooming in with alarming speed. How could little balls of gas look so threatening?

Sam quickly staggered up. The salt didn't appear to damage the will-o'-wisps. Neal was making a target of himself, darting into the open and firing off shots. The Nocnitsa swerved and headed straight for him. Sam brought up his shotgun, aimed carefully, and fired one, two, three times at the spirit.

The third time did the trick. The Nocnitsa exploded, ejecting fiery blobs of gas as it disintegrated. Neal stopped in his tracks and stared, his mouth dropping, as a dense column of charcoal-black smoke rose from the column and vanished into the moonlit sky. The will-o'-wisps scattered and retreated into the swamp.

Neal slogged his way back to Sam. "You did it!"

Sam grinned in relief. "It was a team effort." He scanned the swamp but couldn't spot any will-o'-wisps. "The hunter in Bulgaria reported that once the Nocnitsa was dead, the curse was removed and the townspeople returned to normal. Let's hope it happens here too."

He pulled out his cell phone to call Dean as they trudged back to the car.

Neal also took out his cell phone, but then stopped short. "I hear something," he whispered.

"Well, yeah. Ten thousand frogs."

Neal shook his head vehemently. "No, something else."

Sam paused, scanning in all directions. He lowered his voice too. "You're right. There's something else out there. Get back to the car, fast."

They began to run. Neal sprinted ahead of him and looked to his right. He called back to Sam, "Five shapes, maybe more. They're way too fast to be human." He fired his gun at them but Sam suspected it wouldn't have any effect.

"Don't wait for me! Go hide in the trees. Don't let them catch you!" He urged his legs to go faster, but he'd hit a muddy area and his boots were sticking in the mud. He punched the speed dial on his phone. "Vamps in the swamp. I hope to God, you're you again."

He scanned for Neal just in time to see him seized by two dark figures.

Sam lurched forward as something crashed hard into him. He frantically tore at the hands on his throat and then fell to the ground as more vampires rushed him. A boot appeared over his face.

#

"How much longer do you think Neal and Sam will be?" Janet asked Chloe worriedly. "They've already been gone for over two hours."

"I'm more concerned about what shape they'll be in when they return," Chloe confessed. "Will they have turned into dorks too? What will we do then?"

"Sam gave me the telephone number of a friend. His name is Bobby. Sam said if the worst happened or if they didn't come back, I should call him." And not just him. If Neal and Sam were dorks too, she'd have to call El. How could she explain to Peter's wife that her husband had spent the past fifteen minutes singing "Happy Trails" with Mozzie and Dean, with each stanza growing more lachrymose? All the other men in the bar had joined in. It was enough to turn her off men permanently. Could the witty, charming, and utterly irresistible bon vivant who had won her heart ever be restored to his former self?

Janet had tried to calm her fears by comparing Mozzie to a honey bee who'd experienced an allergic reaction to someone's perfume. Surely his pheromones were just off. But then she thought about ZomBees. Cases of ZomBees were becoming more frequent where honey bees were infected by zombie flies. They began to fly at night, hurling themselves against street lamps till they dropped dead. Would Mozzie turn into a ZomBee?

Chloe patted Janet's hand. "Don't worry. I'm sure Sam and Neal will find the Nocnitsa and reverse the spell." She looked like she was ready to cry, too.

Janet sniffled and fished in her bag for a tissue. Neal hadn't called for thirty minutes. Was that a positive sign?

"What the . . . !" Dean recoiled from Mozzie and Peter, staring at them with a mixture of horror and dismay. Only a minute ago they'd been arm in arm, singing. His look was so shocked as to be comical.

Peter and Mozzie were equally dismayed. And not just them, all the men in the roadhouse. Janet jumped up, gave Chloe a quick hug, and then raced over to Mozzie. Pandemonium erupted with the women in the roadhouse crying, embracing, and scolding their men. Janet shoved her way through the crowd and, hanging on to Mozzie for dear life, ordered a very confused Peter and Dean to accompany her.

Chloe stood up, looking hesitant as they returned to the table. Janet cried out triumphantly, "You see, I told you Ravensword would come back to you!"

Chloe turned fire-engine red, but it was worth it to see the grin on Dean's face.

"What happened?" Peter asked, bewildered.

"Do you remember anything?" Chloe asked.

"I can remember the Froot Loops, the cartoons, the silly games," Mozzie said, "but none of it makes any sense."

He was not alone. Dean and Peter also remembered how they'd acted, just like you might remember having once loved polyester pantsuits but the thought now fills you with loathing. Janet explained about the Nocnitsa and how Sam believed the will-o'-wisps were her agents.

Dean nodded with pride. "We owe him one."

"We should call them, let them know we're okay," Peter said. He reached for his cell phone then slapped his pockets. "Damn, where's my phone?"

Janet reached for her bag. "I've been holding onto all your phones for safekeeping. When you tried to use them as boats in a bathtub, we had no choice." She returned their phones to them.

"I got a voicemail from Sam," Dean said. He played back Sam's message, his face becoming grim as he listened. He'd put it on speaker and replayed so they could all hear.

"Why is he talking about shoes?" Janet asked, bewildered.

Dean stared back at her like she was speaking a foreign language.

Chloe shook her head and murmured under her breath, "When he said 'vamps,' he wasn't talking about shoe vamps but vampires."

"Vampires? In New Jersey?"

#

"So, vampires in New Jersey."

Peter reviewed once more how he found himself driving a suspected criminal into a swamp in the middle of the night to hunt vampires. But twenty-four hours ago, he never would have believed that his actions could be controlled by a curse. This was all Mozzie's fault.

Dean was transformed when he heard the voicemail from his brother. The snarky laid-back wiseass was replaced with someone Peter could relate to—all business and focused on the mission, with the intensity of a federal agent who knew his comrades were in harm's way. Dean's sense of urgency was transmitted to Peter. Not that he for a minute believed Neal had been kidnapped by vampires, but that something was seriously wrong, yeah, that was undeniable.

Chloe had related an incredible tale of casting a spell that inadvertently placed a curse on the men of Buttonwood. She gave them directions to the location where Neal and Sam were supposedly hunting some sort of swamp-witch-demon. Peter suspected they'd stumbled upon a gang hideout, but Dean insisted Sam knew what he was talking about. Whatever. They needed to be rescued.

Peter spent a few precious minutes trying to argue Dean out of his vampire notions, but it was hopeless. Once they freed Neal and Sam from the gang, he'd have the proof to show Dean how ridiculous his theory was.

Mozzie offered to come along, but when the self-proclaimed germophobe blanched at the mere mention of vampires, it was obvious he'd be no help. Peter persuaded him that his talents were needed by Janet and Chloe, who were attempting to reassure the roadhouse patrons.

Peter had his own calming to do when Dean discovered his Impala was missing as well. His curses at not having any gear available were equivalent to Peter's when Dean wouldn't let him call the police. That argument turned into a shouting match. It ended when Peter reluctantly conceded that calling in a report of vampires on the loose in Black Ash Swamp would get them nowhere.

Now they were driving to the swamp in Peter's Taurus. The one good thing in this disaster of a weekend was that Dean didn't complain about his driving, not that he didn't have a few choice words about driving to hunt fangs in a Taurus.

"If we don't find Baby, we're dead in the water," Dean warned for the third time.

Peter racked his brain for vampire lore. "What about garlic? Or a cross?"

"Old wives' tales. The only way to gank them is by beheading, and before you ask, silver bullets don't work either."

Peter's cell phone signaled an incoming text. He exhaled in relief when he saw who sent it—the Bureau's Newark office.

Dean glanced over at him. "They get the coordinates for you?"

Peter nodded. "Neal's watch is still sending a signal."

Dean had Sam's laptop in the car. He pulled up the location from the GPS coordinates displayed on Peter's phone. "That's about midway through the swamp and a mile north of the highway. If the Impala is where Chloe said she cast the spell, it should be close. That watch is a lucky break. I wish Sam and I had them."

"You won't find it at any surplus store. They're special issue. Neal and I wear them because of an ongoing threat situation."

Dean shot him a quick look. "Threats to white-collar agents? Was somebody mad you'd confiscated their DVDs?"

Peter ignored his comment. "Sam should be with Neal. We'll soon find out if it's a gang hideout or a vampire den."

"Nest," Dean grumbled. "It's vampire nest, not den. If you're gonna hunt with me, at least learn the lingo." He added in an undertone, "Dick."

Peter bit back the sharp retort and focused on the road. He took a turn that would have had Neal closing his eyes and wanting to bail out. Neal should be in the car right now, not lost in the swamp, kidnapped by gang members, vampires, or something worse.

Peter had seen the photos of Neal when he'd been abducted as a child. There'd been so much blood. The cops had drawn a line of chalk around his body because they thought he was dead. Peter still had nightmares about it. The man who'd inflicted those terrible injuries died before Peter met Neal. No one had been there to protect him. Was something similar happening now?

"He'll be all right." Peter was startled that Dean read his thoughts so well. "Sam knows what he's doing. But I should have been with Sam. An art student consultant won't be much help, no offense."

"None taken. For once I agree with you."

"If I hadn't let myself be taken in by a stupid wisp-pire, I'd be the one in the swamp. Sam's good, but facing fangs on his own?" He looked over at Peter and winced. "Kids, what can you do? You try to keep 'em safe and they go and get captured by a pack of vamps."

Peter appreciated the sentiment. "You've had experience with them?"

He nodded. "We've faced them a few times. Learned how they think, how they act."

"And obviously you made it out okay."

"Yeah, but don't get cocky. They're tough, very tough."

"Damnit, Neal, you better not have gotten cocky," Peter muttered.

"We should have a window to rescue them. Vamps don't usually kill their victims immediately. They first use them as feedbags for a while."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It should. Vamps like fresh blood. They don't usually drain a guy till later."

"That's the road sign saying we've entered the swamp," Peter said, his stomach churning. "According to Chloe, we should start seeing skunk cabbage."

"She said it was in bloom—bright yellow spikes. We can't miss them with this full moon."

Peter slowed down as they scanned the swamp. It wasn't five minutes before they found their first clump. The skunk cabbage was growing in a ditch along the road. Peter stopped the car and they got out. The swamp was a raucous symphony of peeping frogs. Peter was familiar with skunk cabbage from his days of tramping the woods in New York as a kid and he was fully appreciative of its potent smell. "You're sure we need to do this?" he asked.

Dean was already ripping leaves off the plants and placing them in a plastic trash bag. "Best way to disguise our presence. Man, the smell makes me want to puke, though. Vamps rely mainly on their sense of smell to find their victims. This will give us a chance to sneak up on them. Their sense of hearing is also acute. They can hear your heartbeat when you're close."

Peter stood next to him, exhaled, and started ripping off leaves for himself. Whatever it takes.

#

"Neal? You with me?" Still no response. Sam had awakened a few minutes ago to find himself bound with ropes to a vertical metal beam in a shed. No sign of vampires. The only other human was Neal, who was tied to a beam about five feet away. His eyes were closed. No obvious wounds. They must have struck him from behind.

Sam tested his bonds. The vamps knew what they were doing. The ropes were too tight for him to free himself. They were being held in an abandoned barn or maintenance shed. Steel frame construction. Concrete floor. The amount of bloodstains indicated the nest had been here a while. Miscellaneous gear and equipment were scattered about. They were in what seemed to be an alcove. Hard to judge the dimensions of the building.

Sam longed to rub his aching jaw. At least he'd gotten in some good punches before they overwhelmed him. A groan alerted him Neal was waking up. "Neal, you okay?"

He blinked and opened his eyes with a grimace. "What happened?"

"Your lucky day," Sam said ruefully. "It's not often you get the thrill of marauding will-o'-wisps, a Nocnitsa, and vampires all in one evening."

Neal stared at him wide-eyed as if he'd gone off the deep end. "Huh?"

Sam gave him the two-minute lowdown on vampire lore. Rather to his surprise, Neal didn't give him grief for being a wacko.

"What do you think they're up to now?" Neal was stretching his back and flexing his arms while they talked, probably to ease sore muscles.

"They could be hunting for more vics. How bad are your injuries?"

"Nothing to speak of." Neal smiled and waved at him. Somehow he'd managed to free his hands. He bent down to work on the rope binding his ankles.

"How did you manage that? You some sort of Houdini?"

"I didn't spend my entire youth in pool halls. There was plenty of time for other pursuits." He was working on the last knot.

Sam listened anxiously for any sounds indicating the vamps were returning, but the frogs were so noisy they'd probably drown out their approach. "When you get loose, run for help. I called Dean and left a message. Hopefully he got it and is on his way. Get yourself as far away—"

"—I'm not deserting you to face vampires alone," Neal protested. "That's not open for debate so don't waste time talking about it." He kicked his ropes out of the way and darted over to Sam.

A minute later, Neal jerked his head around. "You hear something?"

Sam heard it too. "Run!"

Too late. With a whoosh, two vamps were on Neal before he had a chance to take off.

The taller one grabbed Neal's arms, pinning them behind his back while the other yanked his head back and spat in his face. "Where d'ya think you're going? We haven't had dinner yet." He let his fangs drop down and brought them within inches of Neal's face. "I should go ahead and have you as an appetizer."

"Leave him alone!" Sam shouted. "You want blood, take mine." The vamps were both young and powerfully built. Neal didn't stand a chance of escaping.

"Don't you worry, we'll feast on both of you," the taller one snarled. "First, though, we're gonna nibble on this calf. Since ropes don't work so well on you, Doc can have you first."

Neal was attempting to break free, lashing out with his legs, but he was no match. The vamps dragged him away to another section of the building where Sam lost sight of him. Sam struggled to free himself but Neal hadn't been able to loosen them enough before he was captured.

Somewhere a door creaked open. Had Dean found them?

That brief hope fizzled when two more vamps rushed toward him.

Notes: Although they sound like something from Supernatural, ZomBees are real and a serious threat to honey bee populations.