Chapter 5: Hot-Blooded

"There's the Impala!" Dean called out when he spotted Baby parked at the pull-off. "Exactly where Chloe said she'd stopped. We're finally catching a break."

Peter parked the car next to the Impala, his war face already in place. "You said you have an extra machete?"

"You can use Sam's if he didn't take it." Dean opened the car door. "We'll be able to leave as soon as we smear ourselves with skunk cabbage and grab the machetes. How are you at dart-throwing?"

"Darts against vampires? Are you sure you're fully recovered?" Peter popped the trunk of the Taurus and tossed him a plastic bag.

"These aren't ordinary darts," Dean said. He reached into the bag for a handful of leaves and wiped himself down, clamping back the urge to retch.

"Care to clue me in?"

"You're not satisfied to know I got special darts? The stuff inside these babies is a poison. It makes vamps so sick they can't move for several minutes and that gives you time to behead them. You're better off not knowing what the poison is. We don't have many of them, so make sure each one counts."

Peter's frown deepened. "What kind of poison?"

Dean shrugged. "Your call. It's dead man's blood." As Peter's eyes bulged in shock, he added, "And don't bother asking me how I got it. We're wasting time."

Peter started to speak, checked himself, and nodded. "How many darts do you have?"

"Two for each of us." Dean headed to the Impala. "And don't give me any grief about what you see in the trunk."

Peter had his hands on his hips, but Dean ignored him as he raised the lid. He couldn't hold back a smile when he saw his gear—guns, ammo, blades, everything the well-equipped hunter needed in his arsenal. Hold on, Sam. Your badass brother's back and loaded.

Minutes later they were trudging down the dirt path that, based on the GPS coordinates transmitted from Neal's watch, would lead them to at least Neal and more than likely Sam too. He and Peter both smelled like rotten meat from the skunk cabbage. Was it worse than tramping in the sewers? Maybe. On the Winchester odor-meter it was hovering close to the bottom—well below sulfur but a damn sight better than freshly exhumed coffin stench.

Gotta give Peter points. He didn't complain. For a fed, he wasn't a total dick.

Power poles stretched along the path indicated something was getting electricity. Sam called about two hours ago. They should still be alive. The vamps would have taken them to their nest and probably hadn't started feasting. Unless they got provoked.

Were the vamps the cause of the missing person reports? Dean knew he should have followed up on them. He'd been sloppy. Now Sam was paying the price, and it was Dean's fault.

"He'll be with Neal," Peter muttered. "He'll be okay."

"Yeah, probably. It's just . . . he's my brother, you know. It's different for you. I'm not saying you and Neal aren't close—it's pretty obvious you are—but you're not kin. You don't have the same blood flowing in you."

Peter didn't answer. The frogs were now their allies, helping to mask any sound they made. At the speed they were going, the signal appeared to be about fifteen minutes from the road. Peter had a device that enabled him to track the signal. Dean longed to have similar equipment for him and Sam. It'd make their lives so much simpler. Maybe they could work out a trade.

They were in stealth mode, hiding behind trees and on constant alert for vamps. The narrow path led cut through dense woods. No way could Baby have plowed through it. The woods were a stroke of luck though. They provided good cover.

The vamps could have left Sam and Neal tied up and gone out for more hunting. He and Peter could sneak into the nest, rescue them, and escape before their captors returned. Yeah, and there's a pot of gold at the base of every rainbow, too.

He rounded a turn and saw a steel frame building in the distance. The GPS coordinates indicated this was Neal's location. Once it might have been a park office or maintenance shed, but it looked abandoned. The steel was rusting in several places. No windows. He tapped Peter on the shoulder and pulled out a dart. So far all was quiet, but through breaks in the steel siding, he could see that lights were on inside.

The door opened, and a man and a woman exited the building.

Dean glanced at Peter. He was in position behind a tree, a dart in hand. Within seconds the vamps detected their presence and charged them. Any doubts Peter might have had about them being human must have vanished when he saw how fast they were.

Dean got off a dart before the fang could attack. Peter was struggling with the other—a woman. Dean plunged the dart into her neck and she fell like a stone.

Their targets were sprawled on the ground, glaring at them, unable to walk or talk. Dean crouched in front of the man and pulled back his lips to expose his fangs. "Pretty, huh?" Peter stared in shock. Dean did the same with the woman.

"Is there any way they can be turned back?" Peter asked.

"No, it's too late for them." He pulled out his machete. "You can look away if you want." Killing things—this was his job.

For his first time out, Peter did all right. He didn't hurl like Sam had initially. "There may be more inside," Dean warned. "You know what to do."

Peter nodded. His face was whiter than normal, but he didn't ask any stupid questions. He was letting Dean lead the way. Peter got it. This was Dean's turf.

He nudged the shed door open. It creaked an alarm and he froze. Peter halted in his tracks too.

No sounds inside. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. It was too quiet.

The shed was a jumble of farm machinery and equipment with a few side rooms. From the amount of gear and chairs scattered about, probably at least six or seven vampires lived here. He crept along one wall. Peter took the opposite side, his jaw locked in hunter mode, one hand holding a machete, the other a dart. He was no Sam, but in a clutch, he'd do.

They passed a couple of beams that had lengths of rope at their bases. Dean paused to examine the floor. It was stained with blood, some of it fresh. A holding area? Had Sam and Neal been here?

They moved further into the interior. A side room had lights on. The door was open. They peered inside and abandoned all thoughts of being quiet.

Sam and Neal—alive, but what the hell?

They were strapped onto tables, bound and gagged. Catheters had been inserted into their arms. Their blood was being siphoned into glass graduated beakers.

Sam struggled against his bonds when he saw them. Neal was in worse shape, his eyes mere slits. He didn't show any reaction to their arrival. There was much more blood in his container than in Sam's.

Dean raced forward to help Sam. He saw Peter out of the corner of his eye do the same with Neal. Dean ripped the catheter free and then removed Sam's gag.

"About time," Sam muttered.

"Got here as fast as I could," Dean said, tearing off a piece of his shirt to bind his wound. "You could have left me Baby. I had to come here in a Taurus."

"How's Neal?" Sam asked. "They started on him before me."

"Don't know yet," Peter growled as he bound Neal's arm. "Whoever put the catheter in knew what he was doing."

Peter was right. Those catheters had been inserted with medical precision. None of the vamps he knew showed such finesse. Hack and slash was their style. And those beakers looked like they belonged in a medical lab. What was this—the General Hospital of vamps?

"Hey, welcome back," Peter said.

Dean looked over when he heard Peter's voice and was relieved to see Neal coming around.

Neal broke into a weak smile. "God, you look good . . . and smell bad. What'd . . .you step into?"

"Is that any way to address your rescuer?" Peter began untying the ropes binding his legs. "Just stay quiet. I got this."

"Neal already freed himself once," Sam said. "That's why they started on him first."

Dean helped Sam off the table, relieved to hear Sam protest that he could manage without assistance. "Humor me," Dean said, glancing down at the beaker Sam's blood had been siphoned into—maybe a pint. "We gotta get out of here before others return. By the size of this place, there could be several more nesting here." He jerked his head in Neal's direction. "Can he walk?"

"Not without help," Peter said. The amount of blood they'd drained off looked to be close to two pints.

"I'm okay," Neal mumbled.

"Um-hmm," Peter said. "You want to try putting those feet on the ground and see how it goes?"

Dean gave the kid points. He made a valiant effort but his legs were about as effective as soggy French fries. "Will you be able to manage?" Dean asked Peter.

"Yeah, I got him. You take care of Sam." Peter slung Neal's arm over his shoulder and hoisted him up.

Dean checked on Peter and Neal as they exited the shed and didn't like what he saw. Neal was too weak to help much. The car was nearly a mile away and the other vamps could return at any moment.

Sam shook off Dean's arm. "I can manage on my own. Go help Peter."

Sam knew the score. Dean didn't argue with him but sprinted back to Neal and got on his other side. "No arguments. If we don't get out of here, we're all going to be on the menu."

Peter nodded his thanks. "Once we're in the car, I'll call the state police."

"You can't do that, man," Dean protested. "You want to lose your job? How will you explain those corpses? We'll come back tomorrow and burn them. The other vamps will be long gone. Once a nest is discovered, they desert it."

They made it back to their cars without incident. Neal continued to maintain he was okay, but Peter wasn't buying it. He insisted on taking him to a hospital. Sam didn't need to see a doc. A bandage, a couple of extra cheeseburgers, and he'd be ready to roll.

Why didn't Peter understand you can't waltz into a hospital and report a vampire attack as the cause of the injury? After much arguing, Dean finally persuaded him to wait to do anything till they were back at the roadhouse. Surely Peter would have calmed down by then. Neal was conscious. He wasn't bleeding out. What was the big deal?

#

"Forget the hospital," Neal urged. "Do you want Dean to think I'm a wuss?"

Peter used the rearview mirror to check on him. Neal was sprawled in the back. He'd revived enough to be annoying but not enough to give Peter much peace of mind. He was still far too pale. With the amount of blood he'd lost, hemorrhagic shock was a real possibility. And the Bureau training course on emergency medical procedures had gone into graphic detail about the complications that could arise from traumatic blood loss. Peter's growl was not adequate to express the severe heartburn inspired by the entire misadventure. Relying on Mozzie for assistance was not ever something he relished, but these were desperate times. Peter had called him from the car and Mozzie was checking on hospital locations. They'd assess the situation at the roadhouse.

"What died in here?" Neal asked.

"That's skunk cabbage and you should learn to love it. Thanks to it, we were able to sneak up on those vamps and rescue you."

"It's vamps now? You turning hunter on me?" Peter wheeled into a turn at slightly faster than the posted speed.

"Just kill me now," Neal mumbled.

Peter smiled. Keep it up, kid. Neal felt well enough to complain. He'd take that as a positive sign.

#

Dean gunned the Impala. What kind of speed demon was Burke? He was leaving them in the dust.

Sam had gotten out the first aid kit from the back and was smearing antiseptic on his wounds. "You all right?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. About what you'd expect from a night in the swamp."

They pulled into town directly behind Peter and stopped at the roadhouse. Peter must have called ahead because Mozzie, Janet, and Chloe were outside waiting for them. Chloe . . . He hadn't had the best introduction. Dean preferred saving his inner dork for at least the second date. The way she turned scarlet when Janet called him Ravensword was promising. It made him think they could be writing their own torrid romance in the future.

Neal was stretched out on the back seat of the Taurus but appeared in reasonable shape, giving a casual wave with his hand when he noticed Dean looking at him.

"The nearest hospital is an hour away, but there's an emergency clinic next to the fire station here in town," Mozzie said. "After you called, I talked with the doctor who runs it—he was the one who was cracking the whip when we sang 'Rawhide.' He offered to meet us there."

"At least something positive came out of that disastrous performance," Peter said, wincing. "I'll take Neal there now." He turned to Dean. "You know where it is?"

Sam started to speak but Dean beat him to it. Chloe was eyeing Sam's bruises and scrapes with concern. He wasn't about to let her think he didn't care. "I remember. C'mon, Sammy, you gotta get checked out, too."

Sam stared at him like he'd just ordered a smoothie. "But I'm—"

Dean put an arm around him. "No arguments. You need to get back into the car."

"Are you nuts?" Sam muttered. "What scam are you pulling?"

"Just listen to your big brother for once, okay?" Chloe was gazing at her Ravensword with admiration as he opened the door for Sam. This night was turning out all right.

The Bullfrog Roadhouse. April 10, 2005. Sunday midday.

"Pie, that's what you need." Dean slapped the base of the ketchup bottle to drench his fries with tomato goodness. "And another bacon cheeseburger. That's the best remedy for blood loss." He turned his head for the waitress, beckoning her over with a smile.

Neal felt like grinning himself. They'd assembled at the roadhouse for a meal together before heading home. He'd gotten back to the inn around three o'clock and after several hours of solid sleep with no pillow fights, was feeling like his old self again. The best medicine was seeing Mozzie back to normal.

"I wouldn't have dreamed a clinic would let their blood expire," Chloe said. "I'll have to use that in one of my stories."

Peter set down his burger and wiped the grease off his mouth. "In this case, it was understandable. The nurse in charge of supplies was going to replace the blood but was one of the first victims to the curse. They discovered too late he'd been spending his time building a space station out of specimen cups in the back storeroom."

"But it all worked out," Sam added. "The doctor had served in Iraq and was familiar with the Walking Blood Bank."

"What's that?" Janet asked.

"The U.S. military developed the procedure for battlefield situations," Peter explained. "Soldiers are screened for suitability and act as emergency donors. The doctor told us fresh blood has some advantages over stored blood. It has a better blood-clotting capability for one."

Chloe was scribbling notes as Peter described the procedure. It would undoubtedly appear in a future novel.

"I, of course, immediately volunteered to donate blood," Dean told Chloe. "I'm a type O—universal donor. It's just one of my many outstanding attributes. Is Ravensword type O?"

She smiled as she made an additional note. "He is now."

"But if anyone's going to donate blood to Neal, it's me," Peter interjected firmly. "We're the same blood type."

"It was quite an experience," Neal said. "I was stretched out on a gurney, feeling fine—"

"No, you weren't!" Dean and Peter protested in unison.

"As I said, feeling fine, and the two of them were fighting over who would donate blood. In the meantime, Mozzie was standing off to the side, growing paler by the minute. He looked like he was the one needing blood."

"I was determined to be there for support," Mozzie said. "Even with the number of germs that were present, and who knows when that place had been sterilized last, what with half of the personnel out of commission for the past several days."

"Neal, finish your burger," Peter ordered. "You still have a slice of banana cream pie to eat, and we're not leaving until you're done. I gotta admit that fun as this has been, I am so ready to leave."

Neal obediently resumed work on his cheeseburger. Peter had also ordered a milkshake for him. Did the fact he now had Burke blood circulating in his veins give Peter carte blanche to dictate his eating habits? But he didn't mind. So far, Peter hadn't thought to ask Janet about photos. Neal had discussed them with her earlier in the day when Peter wasn't around. Based on her description, he knew El would want to see them too. It wasn't often that Peter could share the details of an investigation with his wife, but this wasn't an FBI case. In the interest of harmonious marital relations, Peter would want to give a full and detailed account, and Neal aimed to be present to help Peter out if he forgot anything.

Peter nudged him. "Private joke?"

He smiled and shook his head. "Just looking forward to returning home."

"We're in agreement, right?" Sam asked. "You're not going to report this incident to the authorities?"

Peter rumbled his acknowledgment. "I'm not happy about it, but until the FBI has a Demonic Crimes Unit, there doesn't seem to be much point."

Dean turned to Chloe. "Will this adventure appear in one of your stories?"

She gazed into his eyes. "You'll have to wait and see."

"How large a role will Ravensword have? If you'd like me to provide technical advice, I could be persuaded. Your weapon descriptions could be improved."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"In fact, why don't we let the others finish their meal while you and I sit over there to discuss equipment?" Dean stood up and called the waitress over for a couple of beers.

Janet watched them saunter over to another table with an approving smile on her face. "Mozzie and I decided we're going to stay another couple of days."

"We'll make up for lost time," Mozzie said. "But no more evening trips to the swamp."

"Instead we'll look for butterflies. It's been an early spring. Perhaps meadow fritillaries or painted ladies . . ." Janet's eyes grew dreamy.

Neal leaned over to Sam and asked in a low voice, "Any reports of demonic butterflies in the area?"

"I think they're safe, but then again, you never know." He got out his wallet and pulled out a business card. He scribbled a phone number on the back of it and gave it to Neal. "This is my cell phone, just in case."

Neal looked at the front of the card and grinned. It was for Elwood Blues of the Butte, Montana Police Department.

#

"Where are you off to now?" Dean asked, leaning against the door of the Mustang as Chloe finished packing the trunk. She forced herself to act nonchalant.

He'd offered to help with her luggage, but he could have inadvertently crushed some of the herbs drying in the back. He didn't insist, saying he knew all about respecting the privacy of trunks.

He and Sam had already packed their car and were about to leave. Chloe glanced over at Sam who was sitting in the Impala parked a few yards away, and studiously absorbed in his laptop. "I landed a job with a company in Boston. After I stop in at the office, I'll work in Salem."

Dean smiled. "You plan to check out the local coven scene, don't you?"

"My next novel, Monkshood by Moonlight, will be about witches and my ancestors are from that area. I intend to prowl through the old cemeteries for atmospheric color. The job sounds like a long one and it's a good location. I may be there for a while." She slammed the trunk lid and moved in close to him.

"Sam and I occasionally have a job in that part of the country. I might look you up."

Careful, girl. Don't look too happy. She shrugged. "Could be interesting. Izzy and Baby will miss each other. I already have my inn picked out. It's called the Curwen House. The rooms have canopy beds and whirlpool baths."

"Whirlpool baths, huh." He shrugged. "Ravensword would like that. He could give you a few pointers about weapons and fighting techniques."

"You need any help with herbs or spells, you know who to call." She opened the door and slid behind the wheel. "See ya around, Ravensword."

Once she was alone in the car, Chloe indulged in a grin. If Janet were in the car, she'd be teasing her about pheromones. She bet she wouldn't have to wait long to hear from him.

She and Janet had exchanged contact info. She was looking forward to keeping in touch. They hoped to make a joint field trip in the summer when the summer butterflies would be out and hyssop would be in bloom.

Chloe wheeled out of the parking lot, turned on the car stereo, and started singing along to "Sisters Are Doin' It for Themselves." As she sang, the first tantalizing ideas of a plot danced in front of her. Her publisher kept reminding her to keep the sizzle dialed up for Zoe and Ravensword and she aimed to deliver. The scenes she was planning would cause third-degree burns.

#

Sam looked over at Dean as they pulled away from the inn. "Dude, I thought I was going to have to hose the two of you down."

Dean tapped his foot on the accelerator. "I was simply helping her out with plot ideas."

"Yeah, right."

"Chloe could be useful. She's joined quite a few witch chat rooms. Next time we run into a witch, I may need to look her up . . . delve into her database."

Sam snorted. "Is that what you're calling it now?"

Dean smiled.

"I hope we see Neal and Peter again sometime," Sam said. "Peter could have caused us a lot of trouble and he didn't."

"Yeah, and their wacky friend Mozzie is someone to cultivate. While you were sleeping this morning, I talked with him. He offered to supply us with better IDs. Says he has a good source. He also told me not to mention it to Peter."

"Neal also has skills that aren't FBI approved." Sam pulled out the roadmap from the glove compartment. "While you were smooth-talking Chloe, I called Bobby about the nest. I told him we'd check it out to make sure they'd left, but he said he'd handle it. He knows a hunter in south Jersey who'll take care of it. Bobby said that since the vamps have our scent, someone else should follow up."

"Had he heard of any vamps playing Dr. Kildare?"

"He was particularly interested in that. A hunter had told him of a similar situation in Rhode Island last month. Bobby thought he was making it up. But now— two nests with a similar M.O.—he's going to look into it. Bobby believed vampires were almost extinct, but in the past few months, he's been getting more and more reports. Something to watch out for."

"Where we off to now?"

"I found a report of what sounds like a werewolf in Scranton."

Dean nodded with satisfaction. "Good times." He glanced over at Sam. "You feeling okay after last night?"

Sam flexed his arms. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"No visions? 'Cause you know it hasn't been that long you were having those nightmares."

"Stop worrying. I'm fine."

Dean chuckled. "Okay, don't get twisted . . . bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean turned on the stereo and stepped on the gas as the opening chords of "Bad to the Bone" blared out. Dean started slapping the steering wheel to the music and singing along.

Sam smiled. The family business had its moments.

#

Peter tossed his bag into the back seat and slid behind the steering wheel. "You ready to go home, Sundance?"

Neal fastened his seat belt. "Yeah, Butch, I've had enough of rural America to last me for several months. New York City's calling to me. You don't mind if I roll down the window, do you? The service station did an adequate job, but there's still a slight whiff of rotting meat."

"If that's all you're concerned about, I'd say you're in good shape. I checked the map, though. There's a hospital on the way. We could stop for a quick blood test—"

Neal waved it off as Peter knew he would. "What are you worried about? I got Burke blood in me now." He paused and stroked his chin, "On the other hand, if I start exhibiting unusual symptoms like a love for paperwork and deviled ham . . . Perhaps we should make a stop. I may need a full transfusion."

"Not a chance. That's the good stuff you got now." Peter stopped at the light. "You know, I don't see any reason to tell anyone at the office about what happened here, do you?"

Neal grinned. "No jokes about Peter the Dork? It will be a sacrifice but I can suppress myself. They wouldn't believe me anyway. What happens in Buttonwood—"

"—Stays in Buttonwood, thanks. Just for that, I'll let you pick all the music on the way home. Any requests?"

Neal made a production of pondering the question. "It's a funny thing. I have a sudden craving for Foreigner. That Burke blood must be rising up in me. How about 'Hot Blooded'?"

"You got it," Peter said happily, slipping the CD into the player.

Neal started bellowing the song at the top of his lungs and Peter joined in. Why not? Nobody was around to record them.

#

"Delicious." Maia held the wine glass up to the light coming in from the stained-glass window. The blood was a crimson pool of seductive pleasure within the sparkling cut glass.

Electra watched her sister drink, her long blonde hair cascading down the velvet back of the sofa. When she'd drained the glass, she tilted her head to ask, "Could I have some more?"

Electra smiled. "Of course, dearest. Which would you prefer?"

Maia eyed the two crystal decanters on the mahogany cocktail table. The silver labels had been flipped over, preventing her from reading the names. "The first one is captivating, but my preference is for the second. There's a smoky sweetness to it that I find irresistible. A kindness tempered with sadness." She licked her lips as she considered. "There's an additional spice to it. Could it be a hint of something demonic?" She smiled radiantly. "I can't remember when I've been so excited."

Electra nodded with satisfaction as she refilled Maia's glass. "You've chosen well. The first one is mine and I don't plan to share him with anyone." Sinking into the cushions of the wing chair, Electra took another sip. The blood, a sensual caress, slithered down her throat and filled her with warmth. "His potential is the highest I've encountered for decades. Yes, this one I'll savor for a long time to come."

"How fresh is the blood?"

"The shipment arrived this afternoon—from New Jersey of all places. Who would have imagined New Jersey held such delights?" She traced the etching on the glass with her fingernail. "It was worth all the hours of training we had to give those thralls. They barely deserve to be called vampires."

Maia sighed in sympathy. "The world has been drained dry of pure-bloods. We must make do with table scraps."

"These two were an unexpected gift. We may not have any others till the new generation arrives."

"And what is the name of my chosen one?" Maia asked.

Electra flipped the labels. "He was a challenge. The boy had several IDs in his wallet, but he can't hide his true identity from me. His name is Sam Winchester."

Maia rose from the sofa and strolled over to the cocktail table, bending low to read the Gothic script. "Neal Caffrey. That's Irish, isn't it?"

"Yes. I prefer the original spelling—Niall." Electra let her mind drift back through the centuries.

"As I recall you were once passionate about King Niall," Maia said. "How many years ago was that?"

"Twelve hundred? Eleven hundred? The years are inconsequential. Niall means champion in Irish. This boy may turn out to be my new champion." She liked the sound of that. A new champion for a new age. And didn't that new age need a new business manager? She'd been on the fence about offering Crowley the position, but she decided the fresh outlook he advocated was precisely the way to move forward.

Electra turned to Maia. "I've decided to appoint Crowley to manage our affairs. He has the right combination of avarice and intelligence to perform well."

"When will he start?"

"As soon as I've chosen a new person for him to possess. The demon's vessel is currently a literary critic. Crowley's become bored with him, and my preference is also for someone with more panache. Our sister Alcy believes she's found an appropriate substitute."

"What's he like?" Maia asked eagerly.

"He's an artist, dearest. Alcy initially fed off him till she realized he produced few original works, preferring to create forgeries. She said he has an excellent technique and that could prove useful."

"Will Crowley be able to access his abilities?"

"That's often not the case, but I intend to ensure the possession will resemble more of a union than Crowley expects." Demons weren't normally influenced by their vessels, or meatsuits as they called them. Personally, she found the term vulgar. And that, in a nutshell, was the problem with Crowley. He had no refinement. Curtis Hagen, though, was different. His knowledge of art was impressive. His mind was also unusually receptive to other voices. Alcy had tested him by having him paint forgeries of two of their former protégés—Goya and Titian. In both cases, he'd proven sensitive to the artists' essence.

Electra had perfected a potion that once slipped into Crowley's beloved Glencraig would result in a blended personality such as no demon had ever experienced. This would be her first time to test the potion. Based on the results, it could prove a useful tool for her to employ on others.

Maia appeared to be lost in a pleasant dream of her own making. She ran her finger along the inside of the glass and licked it. "Perhaps I shall visit Sam tonight."

Electra strolled over to the oak-paneled wall ablaze with the light cast by the stained-glass panels. Seven sisters in the firmament. Their hour was once more at hand. "Patience. The time is not yet come for these two."

"But I've waited so long," Maia said plaintively.

Electra sat beside her and took the glass from her hand. "You can wait a few weeks more. Once the bonds are strengthened, our pleasure will be all the greater."

Notes: It won't be long before the Winchesters have another job with Neal and Peter. Their paths will next cross in mid-May 2005 (a month later in their timeline) for the second story in the Crossed Lines series, Witches' Sabbath. As for Electra and Maia, they will also insist on making a return appearance. Electra is advising her sister to hold off for now. Will she? Much more about their story is revealed in Witches' Sabbath.

In the meantime, Neal and Peter are wise to head back to New York City. In a few days, there will be a major breakthrough in their investigation of the theft of a Raphael masterpiece. The next Caffrey Conversation story, Raphael's Dragon, is about to start. It's not necessary to read Raphael's Dragon before Witches' Sabbath. Neal and Peter are trying to keep their supernatural encounters separate from their lives in New York.