The Chaos Tree

Chapter 4

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Dean pulled into Caleb's driveway at precisely eight in the morning. He hadn't slept well last night. After some minor tossing, kept at a minimum to avoid disturbing Juliet, he'd finally slipped from bed near dawn. Over a cup of steaming hot coffee, he'd spent a considerable amount of time at the kitchen table reading the news, searching the Internet for headlines of sufficient enough weirdness to herald a hunt. After reading about the craziness in Houston, he'd wanted to call Ethan or Elijah right away. But since it was before six, he decided to wait until he and Caleb were in the air. Anger that Ethan was hip deep in the crap and hadn't called would help distract him during the flight. Too soon it was time to shower, dress, and head to Caleb's.

Caleb opened his front door and stepped outside, duffel in hand. He leaned in and gave Onida a kiss before jogging down the short front steps and around to the passenger's side of the Impala.

Dean waved to Onida, who stood in the doorway in sleep shorts and one of Caleb's old tee shirts. She grinned and waved back before shutting the door.

"Ready to take on some Rugarus?" Caleb asked.

"Yeah," Dean said shortly, and gunned the engine, sending the car quickly down the drive and onto the street.

Caleb glanced over at his friend. He'd spoken with Juliet last night and knew why Dean was in a mood. But his friend was always prickly when he was busy beating himself up, so instead of tackling the issue head on, he went in the backdoor. "Get up on the wrong side of the bed today?"

"No," Dean grumped. He shot Caleb a look. Slowly he forced his shoulders to relax. "Not really."

Caleb merely nodded.

Dean didn't say anything for a few minutes, just letting the road rush beneath his tires and the silence stretched out. Every once in a while he'd give Caleb a sideways glance. When the other man refused to break the standoff, he finally huffed, "Okay, I'll talk."

Caleb shrugged. "Whatever." If he acted like he didn't care, it would drive Dean crazy and he'd talk sooner.

Dean knew Caleb too, and the man would just sit there acting all superior until he bared his soul. Shaking his head, he muttered something about manipulative people.

"I didn't hear that," Caleb stated innocently, looking over at Dean.

"Bastard," Dean grumbled.

"Oh, I heard that one."

Dean finally smiled. "Okay. Guess there's been some serious outbreaks of violence across several cities."

"Yeah, Sam called me about it yesterday."

"I got a call from Diana Ballard."

"From Baltimore? We haven't heard from her since…"

"Alleghany National Forest."

"Oh yeah. She talk about the violence too?"

"Rocked Baltimore to the core. Similar to the incident in Stillwater." Dean was about to bring up Houston when Caleb beat him to the punch.

"Think that's what's been happening in Houston?"

Dean jerked the wheel, immediately skidding the car to a stop along the side of the road. "What?" he demanded.

Caleb shrugged. "I've been reading the news. Lots of crazy stuff happening in Houston the last couple of weeks."

"And you didn't say anything?" Dean nearly shouted.

Caleb held on to his temper. "There wasn't anything to tell, at least, not then. At times the news reports made it sound like high spirits, then gang wars, then there was the article about fans of the Houston Texans football team, and how crazy they are when their team loses. It wasn't until after Sam called that I gave the news reports a second look."

Dean was devastated. Sam had told Caleb about the violence, and Caleb had taken a second look at the news. He'd gotten the news from Sam and Diana, and he'd been more concerned with working on a car than outbreaks of violence across the country. Turning, he glanced over his left shoulder and pulled the car back onto the road, his thoughts in turmoil.

Caleb could have kicked himself when he saw Dean's face go white. "Look, I'm the Knight of the Brotherhood. I'm supposed to keep an eye on the men in the field. That's my job. I routinely check in on all the hunters, but you know I've always stayed in touch with Ethan and Elijah especially. I thought the riots were more sports or gang related, so I didn't pay much attention because Ethan works Vice. After talking to Sam, I double checked."

Dean swallowed down his emotions; he was an expert at that. They wouldn't interfere with the mission. Nodding, he focused on business. "What happened?"

"The news got a lot wrong, maybe deliberately." Caleb would address Dean's apparent misapprehension that he was the All Seeing Oz once they were on the plane. Let the man spend a few hours as a Yakama guardian with the ability to watch over an entire forest all at the same time, and he had delusions of all-knowing-grandeur. "I gave up the belief that mainstream media told the truth years ago. They may get some stuff right, but reporting actual facts and broadcasting their opinions was not the same thing. Ratings are what they're after. Regarding Houston…," he shook his head, "man, they got almost everything wrong. There were no gang riots, no sports riots, no drug cartels running a rampage on the city. It was just all out pedestrian warfare between pretty much everyone."

Dean frowned. "People just attacking people?" Diana had told him some stuff like this. But hearing Caleb say it made it more serious. "Riots happen."

"Yeah, they do," Caleb agreed. "But this violence was like me walking down the street eating an ice cream humming Zippity Doo Dah, and suddenly turning and punching the woman waiting for the crosswalk light to turn green."

Dean didn't speak for a moment before he commented, "You sing Zippity Doo Dah?"

Caleb rolled his eyes. "It was an example."

Dean smiled before saying, "Ben said there was talk along the medical network about odd things happening in the field."

Caleb frowned, shifting so his back was halfway against the door and he was facing Dean. "Ace give you any examples?"

"Not really. He emailed me over a list and I printed it up this morning." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "It's in my bag. We can take a look when we're on the plane."

"Yeah, okay." Caleb shifted again to face front. "I just wonder if the violence is really anything, or just humanity losing its mind."

Smiling slightly, Dean continued, "So this has happened in Baltimore, Stillwater and Houston."

"A couple other cities that we know of, including Kennebunkport."

"Where the hell is that?"

"Maine," Calen said. "Apparently when Sam called Alison to ask for some help in searching for like incidents around the world, she remembered hearing about a like incident from Syrus and Marlene Walthrope. The two were on a hunt when suddenly their car was surrounded by people hitting it with bats, their fists, and giving each other as good as they were giving the car." Caleb glanced over at Dean and deadpanned, "They thought that was weird."

"But they're okay?"

"They're fine," Caleb assured. "Right now they're working a haunting down in Florida. Syrus said they might take a couple days down time in the sun."

"Good, they deserve it. They've been working nonstop for two years now." Dean knew Syrus and Marlene needed the work so they wouldn't stop long enough to think about their children. They couldn't run from their sorrows, but they deserved to deal with it in their own time. He was glad they'd decided to rest a couple days before they hit the proverbial wall.

Dean pulled into Bowman Field Airport. Since Caleb was flying more often between Kentucky and Washington, he'd found it more convenient to work with a smaller airport rather than the larger Louisville National Airport.

Turning into the private parking area, Dean took a slot near the elevator. Climbing from the car, he went to unload his duffel and the weapons from the trunk. "Sam's going to talk to Elijah this morning."

Caleb nodded. "I sent Ethan a text this morning too. He'll get back to me when he can."

Dean merely nodded.

Together they walked through the terminal doors and Caleb headed directly for the front counter.

"Hello, Mr. Reeves," said the young man behind the desk. "Your flight is scheduled for a ten o'clock departure. The plane is already gassed up and all pre-flight checks are being completed as we speak. There's coffee and a continental breakfast in the waiting room. I'll come get you when it's time to board."

"Thank you, Carter." Caleb handed the young man a tip and led the way down a plush corridor to an even more plush waiting room.

Dean poured himself some coffee and absently picked up a poppy seed muffin.

Caleb got his own cup of java and sat down in one of the cushioned chairs near the large windows opposite his friend. He watched as Dean played with his muffin, staring out at the runway. "No one caught it."

Dean looked over and frowned. "What?"

"Random violence in four to six cities across the entire country; no one caught it. I Googled it, you know. There are almost twenty thousand incorporated cities and towns in the United States, more if you count unincorporated. You can't beat yourself up for not catching short durations of violence in six cities."

"Ben did."

"Yeah, he did," Caleb agreed. "Ben was in a position to come across dozens of hunters from various places across the country needing treatment, and his medical pipeline has almost a hundred and fifty doctors, psychiatrists and counselors. He heard enough to make him curious. If anyone should have picked up on this, it was me. I'm in touch with hunters all over the country. If they were talking, I wasn't listening." He'd been preoccupied with Onida. He needed to get his act together.

Dean watched his best friend's face and knew Caleb was feeling the way he was; like they'd dropped the ball on this one. "How about we both quit beating ourselves up and figure out if there's something here or not. Sound good?"

Caleb huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, sounds good."

Dean took a bite from his muffin. After swallowing, he asked, "Have you ever heard of anything like this sort of violence?"

"Not since War was on the rampage," Caleb said.

Dean nodded. "He'd turn that ring of his and everyone would hallucinate and start attacking each other."

"Slippery bastard too," Caleb declared. "One second he's there, the next he's gone. But the rings weren't returned to War, Pestilence or Famine, so I think we can rule out a repeat of that violence."

"Sam said that Alison asked if this was a drug trial, like a bio-weapon; make people hallucinate and attack one another."

"You'd think the government would really try that out in the open, on the American people?"

"No, I don't. But that doesn't mean a private company wouldn't."

Caleb frowned. "How can we find out about something like that? Do we know a spook?"

"Maybe," Dean said quietly.

"What? We know a spook?"

Shrugging, Dean asked, "Can you put out feelers to the hunters, have them report anything unusual, no matter how small?" The redirect was deliberate, and he knew Caleb understood. There were some contacts that were for the Guardian only.

Caleb did in fact understand, and didn't pursue the question. There had been a few other times when Dean had redirected a conversation when the information was Guardian-only. He wasn't offended, as there were many contacts and connections that were accessible only by him as the Knight of the Brotherhood. He'd learned from John a long time ago that the Guardian had his own resources. "I'll get the word out, have hunters contact either me or Max for weirdness no matter how insignificant. Has anyone checked in with the covens? See if there's some mystical woo woo going on?"

"I asked Sam about that. He said he hadn't gone that route yet, as he wasn't sure the violence was of the supernatural variety."

"But we're going to treat it as if it was…" Caleb asked.

"To tell you the truth, I guess I'm not sure yet either," Dean admitted. "I mean, random violence. Violence in the world has been escalating for decades."

"The world has always been violent," Caleb agreed.

"I took a look at the news this morning, spent a good while going through the Internet, checking out major headlines and leading stories." Dean shook his head. "Truth is, even in my younger days when I regularly checked the headlines for hunts, I don't know that I would have picked up on riots in a few cities as being a job, you know?"

"Violence is ambiguous."

Dean nodded. "There are quirks, signs, clues dad taught me and Sam to look for to identify supernatural creatures. I didn't see any of those tells when I searched, at least not with regards to chaotic violence."

"Seems the randomness of the start and the instant stop are the headliners here."

The door opened and the young man from the front desk walked in. "Mr. Reeves, your plane is ready for boarding."

Caleb and Dean rose as Caleb said, "Thank you, Carter."

The young man held open the door as the pair walked through. Halfway down the corridor Caleb veered right and down another hallway to through the glass door at the end. Outside stood his Hawker 1000. The stairsteps were down and the pilot stood at the bottom.

"Welcome aboard," the pilot said with a smile.

"Thank you, Michael," Caleb said as he climbed the steps, Dean on his heels. Inside, they both stowed their gear and took seats in the plush chairs while the Captain retracted the stairs and secured the cabin door.

Dean swallowed and buckled his seatbelt.

"I hate taking out Rugarus," Caleb commented to distract Dean from takeoff. "If they could only control their hunger, they could live out their lives."

"But they can't," Dean replied. "There's never been one that could."

Caleb huffed out a breath. "I know. But they look human until they feed." Leaning forward, he said, "Let's wait to kill this one until it's eating, okay?"

"You know that means they'll have kill someone, right?"

Caleb rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. It wasn't a serious plan. But maybe we can just toss them some raw meat so they'll change and then I can kill them."

Dean chuckled. "Maybe we can manage that."

The engine ramped up and the Captain's voice came over the loudspeaker. "Welcome aboard, gentlemen. We will be taxying out to the runway in just a moment, and will take off soon after. We will be landing at the Cedar City regional Airport in three hours and twenty-nine minutes. Make sure your seatbelts are secured. Relax and enjoy the flight."

"I've already got us a car rental when we land," Dean said, keeping his eyes away from the windows.

"I booked us into the Springhill Suites by Marriott."

Dean was used to Caleb's snobbiness when it came to hotels, and hadn't even bothered trying to book one. His choices were always deemed wanting. The plane started down the runway, gathering speed, and his hands clenched on the cushioned arm rests.

"You know this plane isn't going to crash," Caleb commented, pulling out his phone and checking it for messages. "After all these years, haven't you gotten a little more used to flying?"

"Once a death trap, always a death trap," Dean muttered, closed his eyes. If he tried really hard, maybe he could pretend he was accelerating in the Impala.

Caleb shook his head. "Pathetic."

"Shut up. I'm not the one who bought himself a luxury jetliner and didn't bother to tell his best friend."

Caleb's mouth dropped open.

Dean opened one eye, then smirked. Closing his eyes again, he forced himself to keep the smile off his face. There was only so much teasing a Knight could take.

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When the aircraft landed in Cedar City Regional Airport, Caleb and Dean deplaned and walked to the rental counter. Caleb stood back with their laden cart, not wanting anyone to ask any questions about the long wooden box Dean had insisted on bringing. Coming on his private jet definitely had several perks, a major one being they could bring weapons of all sorts on board without the authorities shoving them into a deep prison hole. Unfortunately, Cedar City was too small a city to have either an ultra busy International Airport or a private one. The Regional Airport was just large enough to have a good sized security force and small enough for the officers to be vigilant in their job. Caleb needed to be casually confident and nonchalant to keep from attracting the attention of any security personnel.

Dean approached with a set of keys. "They're bringing the SUV to the side door, and we can load up."

Together they walked out the door and stood on the sidewalk until a sharp black Ford Explorer 12 parked at the curb. A young man climbed out from behind the wheel and said, "Mr. Winchester?"

Dean walked forward and showed the rental agreement paperwork, and the kid handed over the keys, saying, "Have a great day."

"Don't find kids with much respect nowadays," Caleb observed, pushing the cart to the back of the vehicle.

Dean shoved his key in the rear hatch and lifted. "You do if their parents raised 'em right."

Caleb smiled and began loading the bags, crate and duffels into the back. When he finished, Dean wheeled the cart to a nearby stand.

"Want to check out the neighborhood, or go to the hotel," Dean asked, turning the key and revving the engine slightly. After a quick look over his left shoulder, he pulled away from the curb.

Caleb glanced at his watch. "It's almost four. How about we get checked into the hotel and have something to eat. We can scout the neighborhood after. I'm starving."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, me too. You bring the city map?"

"Of course. According to the street grid, there's an apartment complex nearby where we can park the car tonight." In small cities, especially tiny ones like Kanarraville Utah, parking unknown vehicles on residential streets was inadvisable. Neighbors didn't hesitate to call the police when they saw suspicious cars.

"How big is the complex?" Dean asked.

Caleb shrugged. "Don't know. But in a city like Kanarraville? I'm thinking not that big."

"Guess we'll see if there are other options."

Dean pulled into the parking area for the Springhill Suites. Stopping by the entry doors, he waited for Caleb to get out before he parked the car. They'd hunted together so long, they had established a routine long ago. Climbing from the SUV, Dean went to the back and pulled a small tarp from his luggage and placed it over the crate. Though the rear and back windows were tinted, he didn't want anyone getting curious and breaking in. After pulling out their duffels and weapons bag, he closed and locked the car.

When he stepped inside, he sighed and relaxed. Caleb always picked great places to stay, and he was pleased to see there was a restaurant on the bottom floor of the hotel so they wouldn't have to go out to eat.

Caleb walked over with their keys and said, "First floor."

"Good." Dean followed Caleb down a hallway to the end near the front of the building and opened the door.

Inside there was a small kitchen area, a dining room attached to a narrow living room with a television. On either side of the room there were doors for the two bedrooms.

"Nice," Dean said, dropping their equipment on the sofa.

"Ready to get something to eat?" Caleb asked, dropping his duffel inside the bedroom to the left.

"Definitely."

They were late for lunch and early for dinner. As such, there were only a few other people in the spacious dining room. After placing their orders, neither spoke for several minutes, each thinking about the hunt, and the possible hunt to come.

"You talk to Sam today?" Caleb asked.

Dean shook his head.

"I got an email from Ethan," Caleb stated. "He said it wasn't until the last few days that he thought something odd must be going on in Houston. Up to then, he said the violence just escalated, and he was so hip deep in, he didn't have time to think."

"Then?" Dean prompted.

"Then there was a fight at a club. He was taking down brawlers when suddenly everyone just stopped, like, mid-swing. Said he'd never seen anything like it. That's when he went to Elijah."

"Instead of you," Dean groused.

"I thought we were putting all that aside?" Caleb studied his friend, and knew Dean was still feeling like he'd dropped the ball.

Sighing, Dean nodded. "Yeah, I know."

"Anyway, he said he planned on trying to comb through the police files, see if anything stands out, or if there's any crime scene photos that showcase anything odd. I guess Elijah spoke with Sam, and they're doing their thing."

"He tell you what their thing was?"

"Finding out more about what caused the violence, I guess," Caleb shrugged. "We'll find out when we get back."

Dean nodded. "You know, I've been thinking … if this is a hunt, what could cause violent outbreaks on that level? If we're ruling out biological weapons and mass hypnosis, that leaves a spell of some kind."

Just then the waitress walked up and put a plate of steak and mashed potatoes in front of Caleb, and a chicken breast with beans and cornbread in front of Dean. After thanking their waitress, they fell to eating.

Caleb eyed the chicken on Dean's plate. He knew his friend. Burgers meant all was right with the world; a chicken plate meant he was bothered and troubled about the widespread violence and dropping the ball with regards to a possible hunt.

"A spell or a curse," Caleb stated, resuming their interrupted conversation.

"Can curses affect an entire city, one as large as Houston?"

Caleb lifted his shoulders. "Don't know, but I'd think so." Taking another bite of steak, he chewed thoughtfully before swallowing and saying, "We need to get everyone under the same roof and pool our knowledge…"

"What little we have," Dean interjected.

"We need to get it on the table, or a whiteboard, so we can see what we got."

Dean put his fork down, his plate of food barely touched. "Violence," he said, leaning in. "That's what we have. How do we work with that? It's like trying to catch smoke."

Caleb blew out a slow breath, setting his own fork down. "It's vague, yeah. But every creature leaves a footprint, a trail of some kind."

Dean nodded slowly. "We just have to find it." Suddenly he straightened his shoulders and said, "Your right; we need to get together. We need to pool what we have and troubleshoot. There has to be a trail."

"Once we finish this hunt, we head back and focus on the next," Caleb said, cutting into his steak once more. "We'll figure it out."

"We always do."

Riley strode down the hall of the Tufts Arts and Sciences Building. He had the unique distinction of being a tenured Professor-in-residence at Tufts University. The Professor-in-resident position was not a tenured track placement for Universities, but Tufts understood Riley Adams' value to their college in terms of research papers he'd had published, his two noted volumes on Archeology, and the one bestselling fiction book that had stayed atop the New York times best seller list for nine months. His digs were also popular with visiting archeologists as well as students, and were meticulously catalogued and run. The Department of Classics and Archeology chair occasionally attempted to strong-arm him into accepting a formal University Professor position, but Riley just couldn't make himself accept; at least not yet. He liked being able to come and go as he pleased, take sabbaticals when needed, and he loved being in the archeological field. He often sponsored student digs to Greece, South America, and the Middle East, notably Israel.

"Afternoon, Professor," said a young man Riley recognized from one of his first-year archeological classes.

"Afternoon," Riley said with a smile. He couldn't remember the young man's name, but with three beginning classes of almost two hundred students each, he just couldn't be expected to remember them all.

When he reached his office, he went inside and closed the door. He didn't usually shut the door, but he wanted to check his tracking program for the Vetalas. He and Bradley needed to take care of them soon, or he would need to pass the hunt off to another team because he would be taking a few seniors to a dig at Cahokia mounds in Illinois for four days. He'd emailed Caleb about the odd behavior, but wanted to check in with his mother. She was a great resource for weird, having spent years behind the bar at Boonedocks, the business she'd run for years with his father. After his father had been killed, she and Ellen had run the bar until Kathleen retired. She'd hired Gaven Wilks to man the business until her grandson, Riley's son Boone, who loved the bar, was old enough to take over. It had remained neutral territory for all hunters.

"Riley, good to hear from you. You still plan on visiting before you take the students to Illinois?"

"Yes, I'll be there next Thursday. How's Boone doing?" Boone Adams, Riley's son named in honor of his father, was a sophomore at the University of North Carolina, Charlotte where he was a double major in Business and Restaurant Management.

"Great. Doing well in his classes at the University, if you ask him, anyway. He's still waiting tables at Boonedocks on weekends."

"He working with Gaven to learn the ropes of running the business?"

As a former hunter, Gaven was familiar with the hunting world and hunters themselves, and had a head for business, having graduated with a degree in financial accounting before he'd been pulled into the hunting world. His contract with Kathleen stated he would run Boonedocks until Boone was old enough to step up, then the pair would run it together until Gaven turned sixty-five. At that time he would receive a generous retirement package set up by Kathleen for all his help in keeping Boone's inheritance profitable.

"Every chance he gets," Kathleen said, chuckling. "He's even written a paper or two on the running of Boonedocks for his business class. He's determined to take over the bar once he graduates."

Riley smiled. He loved that his son adored Boonedocks, had been enamored with the bar since he was small. The kid's greatest desire was to take over bar and grill, and expand it to include an outside barbeque patio and entertainment venue. The kid had no interest whatsoever in the Brotherhood. It was Riley's daughter Madeline who had taken after her father and was like he had been in his youth; obsessed with the secrets and the mystery. She lived in New York and worked in the Brotherhood Research Division under Alison Daughtery's eagle eye. "I'll need to read one of those papers," he said. "Mom, I want to ask you about something else."

"Okay."

"When you worked the bar, did you or dad, or even Ellen ever hear any hunter talk about monsters acting unusually, out of character, something like that?"

Kathleen frowned. "What do you mean, out of character?"

Riley gave her a cursory overview of his and Bradley's hunt. "Vetalas just aren't aggressive like that. They're actually pretty mild and meek. But they're attacking us with extreme prejudice, and..."

"Are you all right?" Kathleen interrupted anxiously.

"I'm fine, we're both fine. It was just weird."

"I don't know," Kathleen answered, frowning in thought. Casting her mind back over the years, she tried to remember conversations from around the bar. "Hunters talked, yes. But I was usually too busy to pay attention."

"But I know you, Mom," Riley said with a smile.

Kathleen chuckled. "I suppose one can't help overhearing conversations when serving. Hunters talk shop. Though honestly, a good beer, a game of darts and relaxing was what most were after. Off the top of my head, I can't remember any conversations about supernatural creatures acting in an unusual manner. But I'll think on it. If anything does come to mind, I'll be sure and let you know."

"Thanks, Mom. See you next week," Riley said, and hung up. With a sigh, he turned to his computer and checked his email; nothing yet from Ben about the Vetala blood he and Bradley had sent over for analysis. Clicking another program, he pulled up an algorithm he'd written to track the Vetalas. After a couple of minutes a map solidified on the screen with only one red dot pulsing. Double clicking the dot, a news brief came up citing a couple missing near Growler Arizona. Near the California border, Riley thought. If the Vetalas were responsible for the two missing - and that was there modus operandi - then it seemed they'd been well and truly freaked by what happened in Texas to get so far away. There was nothing on the other two pairs of Vetalas, but they would show up eventually.

Eyeing the map again, Riley finally sighed and picked up the phone. There was no way he and Bradley could organize a hunt and get to the California border quick enough to save lives. If Alison knew of another hunting team in the area, he would pass off the Vetalas in Growler to them.

Elijah Matthews turned in his chair and placed the heavy book he'd been reading onto a small table beside his larger work desk. Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair. Like Sam, he'd put a couple of his grad students in charge of his classes today and had been searching through historical records. But finding documentation of violence in a violent world was like looking for a four-leaf clover in a clover field. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes. He'd spoken with Sam a couple hours ago and had filled him in about his discussion with Ethan, and Sam had relayed his own conversation with Jody and Dean's with Diana. It appeared something was going on, but was it supernatural? Ethan's logical brain leaned more towards a new bio-weapon of some sort. Of course, as a lifelong member of the Brotherhood, he wasn't about to discount the supernatural. There were parasites that incited violence, there were potions and magics. He also couldn't discount the threat of a returning Apocalypse. It seemed to be their generation's lot to be caught up between the battles of heaven and hell. Yet creating random violence?

So far they'd uncovered recent violence in seven cities: Kennebunkport Maine, Baltimore Maryland, Ashland Wisconsin, Stillwater Minnesota, Rockland Idaho, Anaheim California, and Houston Texas. Caleb had sent out word for hunters to contact him if they came across anything abnormal … at least abnormal for them. Any information was good information.

Instead of continuing to look for new instances of violence that had no documentable cause, Elijah changed direction. Opening his computer's browser, he typed in Houston+violence. Hundreds of links filled the first page, with several others on following pages. Going back to the search line, he filtered the information by entering the dates. They were in a digital age, and even if there were no news reporters or television crews covering a fight, that didn't mean there were no cameras present. Yes, he was the one with the best Ancient History connections, but he could return to that search later. Right now Sam and Alison would make more than enough headway.

Shifting to face his computer, Elijah ignored the news sites and focused on the social media venues. It would take awhile, but if someone or something did precipitate those riots, then there was proof somewhere in the thousands of pictures and videos clips. He planned on finding it.

It was close to three in the morning and a black car, low to the ground, seemed to glide noiselessly through the darkened streets of downtown Louisville, Kentucky. Instead of ultra-bright front headlights, the headlights were halogen that had been dimmed to a cool incandescence. To others on the road, it gave the illusion the lights were floating on their own until the black matte car came into view. As the car passed through the city and the rural suburbs, the driver turned off the headlights and drove noiselessly and undetected toward New Haven. He didn't need the headlights to see in the dark. The world was so bright now, one would need to be blind not to see everything. So much noise, so much light, so much humanity everywhere all the time.

An eighteen-wheel long haul truck roared by, not noticing the sleek black Hennessey Venom F5 until it was nearly on top of it. Blaring the horn, the truck driver shouted as he drove past.

"Stupid idiot," the truck drive yelled from inside his cab. "Fool's gonna get hisself killed, driving without lights like that." Picking up his radio, he made a call to the local highway patrol.

"Highway Patrol."

"Yeah, this is trucker Jake Turnbridge. I just passed a car on US 31E heading south driving without headlights. Almost ran over the damn fool."

"Vehicle without headlights on US 31E/150 going south."

"Yup, about two miles past Hillview."

"Thank you. I'll notify dispatch."

Jake disconnected his radio. Shaking his head again, he muttered once more, "Damn fool."

.

Highway Patrol Officer Lance Baxter passed the city limits of Louisville and headed his bike down US 31E. It wasn't unheard of for someone to drive without their headlights. People got distracted, were tired following a long day, were preoccupied, talking on their cells, sometimes drunk, and with the illumination from the street lights, they simply didn't notice their headlights weren't on. However, it was rare for someone to drive outside the city without lights. And on a night like tonight, where the cloud cover obscured the moon and stars, he wondered how the driver could possibly see.

Pushing his speed, he kept alert eyeing the road, and still almost drove right over the car before he saw it. The matte black paint blended perfectly with the night, making it a phantom on the streets. Without rear lights shining red in the dark night, the car was practically invisible. He flashed his lights and gave one blow from his siren, just enough to let the driver know he wanted them to pull over.

The black car slowed and pulled to the side of the road. Officer Baxter pulled in a safe distance behind the car and climbed carefully off his bike. There was no movement from the black car, no turning on of the lights, no rolling down the window. Slowly he pulled his gun and sidled along the car, keeping out of the line of fire should the driver have a gun. When he got close to the driver's window, he rapped lightly on the glass and said, "Roll the window down." When nothing happened, he said again, "Roll the window down; now."

There was a couple of seconds delay, then finally the window rolled down.

The officer stepped away from the car slightly to get a good look at the occupant. The man inside was older, with grayish white hair, dusky-hued fair skin, dark penetrating eyes and a wide mouth. "Sir, please step from the vehicle," Officer Baxter ordered.

The door opened slowly. A leg appeared out the door followed by a tall, slender man who stood about six foot five. Nodding once to the officer, he said, "Etutu Damiq." (Good evening in Ancient Sumerian).

The officer lowered his gun slightly. Of course, a foreigner who didn't understand the laws. "Do you understand English?"

The man tilted his head slightly.

"English?" Baxter asked again.

Lifting an arm slowly, the man suddenly opened his palm and blew a powder into the Baxter's face. At the same time, he plucked the gun from his hand and tossed it into the roadside bushes.

Officer Baxter froze, his eyes wide, unmoving.

"Ebih lu (apology, sir)," the man murmured. "I speak little English," he continued. "Find ease not till need."

Baxter didn't move, couldn't move. His brain was reeling. He was going to be murdered, he was sure he was going to be murdered.

"Not kill," the man stated softly. "Ebih palahu." (sorry for fright) Walking over to the officer's bike, he lifted the radio, studied it a moment, then pushed the transmit button, saying, "Officer assist; officer assist." He studied the bike once more, then flipped a switch to activate the bike's emergency GPS system. When he returned to Baxter's side, he murmured, "With you, I wait."

Baxter could finally blink, and he did, several times. He's never felt so impotent or so frightened in his life.

Looking at the young man, the older man said, "Μιλάς Ελληνικά?" (Do you speak Greek?) When Baxter didn't respond, he said, "فارسی? (Persian)? தமிழ்? (Tamil)?" Baxter merely blinked. The man nodded and tried once more; "עברית?" (Hebrew) When the young man didn't say anything, the older man nodded and sighed. "Difficile est anglicus." (English is difficult)

Baxter's eyes widened. That sounded like Latin. Growing up in a Catholic home, he'd attended Catholic school through high school and had been forced to take Latin for several years.

The older man noticed and smiled slightly. "Et Latine intelligitis?" (You understand Latin?)

Baxter blinked.

The man nodded. "Noli commoveri. Tu es enim ad extremos comes venire. Mox post te ut excitetur. Te dare veniam pro ipso turbarentur, sed aliqua esse. Intelligere?" (Do not worry. You're comrades are about to arrive. You will awake soon after. I apologize for the fright, but I have somewhere to be. Understand?)

Baxter nodded. He hadn't caught all the words, but enough to get the gist of what the man had said. Though his fear was dissipating somewhat, the echo of sirens in the distance was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. His body was beginning to tingle, and he discovered he could lift a finger or two. Movement. That was almost as good as the coming sirens.

The older man's eyes lifted to view the road over Baxter's shoulder, and he nodded. "Et erit finis." (You will be fine). Turning, he walked back to his car and climbed inside. A moment later the engine fired, and within a second, the car disappeared up the highway.

Officer Baxter moved his arm as the tingling increased around his body. He felt the lights of the oncoming police vehicle warm his back, and a moment later the wheels spun as the car screeched to the side of the road.

"Baxter!"

Baxter closed his eyes, trying hard not to let tears escape.

Officer Craig O'Ryan came around in front of him, touching his face and giving his shoulders a shake.

If O'Ryan was here, that meant his partner, Martin Chen was somewhere behind.

"Can you hear me? Can you move? Baxter!" O'Ryan called, as though speaking louder would make a difference. Looking over Baxter's shoulder, he called, "Chen, call an ambulance." He looked back at Baxter and seemed to pull himself together. Swallowing, he said, "Can you hear me? Blink one for yes."

Baxter blinked.

O'Ryan smiled. "Excellent. Are you in pain?"

Baxter found his throat relaxing, and he was able to murmur, "No." Then, as though a puppet master cut the strings to the marionette, every single muscle in his body relaxed and he dropped. Luckily, O'Ryan caught him before he hit the ground and eased his way down.

"Hey, hey, you all right?" O'Ryan called, urgency and worry in his voice.

Baxter could hear the wailing of the ambulance, and he couldn't stop the tear that slid from his eye. "I'm … okay … I. think."

Officer Chen hurried over and knelt beside O'Ryan. Looking down at Baxter, he said, "Hey, just hang in there. The ambulance is here and we're gonna take care of you, okay? Your partner's going to meet you at the hospital, and we called Madeline."

Baxter's chest heaved slightly with emotion. " .line."

"Yeah, she'll meet you at the hospital."

"And when you get clear," O'Ryan stated, "we'll want a full report of what happened here."

Baxter gave a short nod just as the paramedics knelt at his side. "My … service … weapon…"

"Where?" Chen asked.

Baxter looked to the side of the road, and Chen pulled his police issue torch from his belt and went to search the brush for the gun.

"You're going to be fine," O'Ryan said again.

Then the paramedics where lifting Baxter onto a stretcher and into the ambulance.

.

The matte black Hennessey sped along the naked highway, headlights still off until US 31E met up with Kentucky State Route 52. Slowing its speed, the vehicle exited the state highway and continued along Route 52 until he reached New Haven, Kentucky.

The shadowed road slid beneath the tires of the sleek black car as the man behind the wheel extended his senses out into the darkness. He was close. Shops, churches, store fronts, homes and gas stations passed until the buildings grew sparse and he was gliding silently along a barren rural road. Soon he slowed as he pulled to the side of the road. Pushing open the door, the older man climbed from the car and stood at the edge of a meadowed property. Smiling, he nodded.

The place was a tranquil haven, tall grass waving lazily in the early morning breeze, wet with dew. There were animals grazing in various places; a couple of horses, some ducks near a pond, a few dogs sleeping near a large barn and on the homes' front porch. A battered silver boat sat near other sailing vessels beside the vast pond. He nodded toward the pond before turning his senses elsewhere. The entire property was very well protected; he detected wards and sigils, enchantments and signs. A fairly skilled wizard had added additional layers of security. A decent effort, a very decent effort.

Extending his sense into the home, he detected the person slumbering within. Yet there was only one presence inside, and that one not male. So, where, oh where was Merlin's Child?

TBC