The Chaos Tree
Chapter 06
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Dean dodged past the massive dining room table and ducked behind a high-backed, double armed chair at the table's head. Sweat ran in rivets down his face as he gripped the flamethrower. The rugaru had turned out to be two: a husband and wife. They were living in suburban splendor, hiding in plain sight. If anyone in Kanarraville even heard of murders the surrounding cities, no one suspected the genial couple; they were far too well known and liked in the community.
Chancing a quick glance around the chair, Dean immediately pulled back as a bullet winged past and hit the wall behind him. He peeked again, but this time the male rugaru was taking aim at Caleb's back. "Behind you!" he shouted.
"I know that," Caleb groused, already behind a large column in the foyer. He leaned out from around the pillar and shot at the female, who returned fire. A click told him the female's gun was empty, and he immediately dodged around the backside of the pillar. Running toward the rugaru, his blade was already in motion. He took off her head just as she aimed her reloaded gun. Her body dropped as her head rolled into the entryway.
A roar from the male in the dining room near him had Dean taking cover alongside a large china cabinet.
"Now…" Caleb panted, pulling lighter fluid from his pocket and dousing the still-moving body of the female, who was attempting to reach for her head. "How about the B-Team deal with his own problem." A flick of his wrist had his Bic lighter flying five feet across the floor and landing on the soaked body, which burst into flame.
"Smart ass," Dean grumbled. Whipping around the chair, he tightened his finger on the trigger. A length of fire lapped out toward the male rugaru.
"Quit playing around and shoot the bastard already," Caleb snapped.
"Bullets," Dean stated with asperity, "don't do anything."
"They would if you'd have let me bring the explosive rounds."
Dean sprayed another spout of flame at the rugaru. "Overkill, man."
"Says the one setting the house on fire around our ears," Caleb barked. "I'd like to be out of Kanarraville before morning, preferably without head-to-toe burns!" He darted behind a column as a hail of bullets whirled in his direction.
Growling, Dean suddenly ducked beneath the table and scrambled to the other side while the male was firing at Caleb. Grabbing the monster's ankles, he jerked, pulling the rugaru off his feet where he landed heavily on his back.
Seizing the opening, Caleb rushed over and used his blade to lop off the male's head.
Dean shoved a pair of chairs aside and crawled out from under the table. Once he was on his feet, he turned his flame thrower onto the body and it quickly went up in flames.
"Bout time," Caleb muttered, turning to retrieve his duffel.
"Don't whine," Dean remarked, grinning.
"I shoulda brought Sam."
"Yeah, you should of. Then I could have finished work on the Trans Am."
"This was your hunt!" Caleb exclaimed. Turning and sizing up Dean. The Guardian stood poised for action, his face sooty and wet with sweat, flame thrower balanced casually in his hands. Only his teeth shone white as he grinned over at Caleb. He looked like an extra in a Mad Max remake. "You just wanted to play with the flame thrower," he accused.
"Don't get many chances," Dean stated without one iota of quilt, turning and placing the flame thrower back into its fireproof case. "Rugarus can only be killed with fire…"
"And certain knives," Caleb countered.
"And," Dean continued loudly, "we don't often hear about rugarus anymore. They tend to keep a low profile." Standing, he continued, "I thought you'd be excited."
"I was," Caleb admitted with a sigh.
Dean eyed his best friend and suddenly felt bad. He had wanted to use the flame thrower again. It wasn't often they confronted a monster that could only be killed with fire, and he loved using the weapon. But he'd pulled Caleb in on the hunt, and that meant away from Onida. Caleb had never had a true significant other before, and it was still very new for him, despite him and Onida being a couple for over a year. "I'm sorry."
"No," Caleb sighed. "You don't need to be. We have a job to do, and using the flame thrower was a good idea."
"So was just chopping off the head and setting the body on fire," Dean countered.
"It was quicker," Caleb said with a smile.
Dean took the olive branch and nodded. Glancing at his watch, he said, "It's almost two in the morning. You want to set the gas leak while I take everything back to the car?"
Carrying their equipment back on his own was Dean's way of apologizing. Smiling, Caleb said, "Let's load the car first. Its three blocks away. Then I'll come back and set the gas leak."
"Deal."
Together, both men slipped out the back door and hoofed it across the dark backyard of the residential neighborhood. Though the houses were not set close together, they still kept to the shadows as they went. Soon they reached their rental, which was parked in one of the visitor spaces at a nearby apartment complex. Once their gear was stowed, both men jogged back to the house. Working quickly, Dean moved the bodies closer to the kitchen while Caleb set up what would look to the fire department like an accidental gas leak. Once he was finished, Dean went to the back kitchen window and pulled on his night vision glasses, making sure all was still quiet.
"Let's go," Caleb murmured once he'd finished his task.
Dean checked out as many of the neighboring homes as he could see before he nodded, and he and Caleb slipped out the backdoor. After securing the door lock, both men jogged across the yard and returned to their vehicle.
Once they were on the road, Caleb relaxed back in his seat.
Dean glanced over before focusing back on the road. "When's take off?"
Caleb yawned. "Six. I'll see if we can get it moved up."
"Yeah, sounds good. Want some breakfast?"
"I could eat," Caleb said, pulling out his phone and making a call to his pilot. After a minute of conversation, he disconnected. "Michael will ring us back if we can get a new flight time." He yawned again.
Dean eyed his friend again. "You want to head back to the plane; get some sleep instead of stopping for food?"
Running a hand over his face, Caleb suggested, "How about we get some food then head back, eat it there…?"
"Sounds good." Ten minutes later Dean pulled into a Denny's and shut down the engine just as Caleb's cell rang.
"'Lo," Caleb said. After a couple seconds he smiled and said, "Thanks, Michael. We'll be on board when you get there." Disconnecting, he turned to Dean and said, "We've got a five AM take off."
After ordering their breakfasts, Dean collected the to-go bags and returned to the car, where Caleb had remained. He was leaning against the passenger door with his eyes closed. Quickly Dean covered the last few miles to Cedar City Regional Airport. "I'll drop you at the Terminal and return the rental," he said. "I'll meet you on board."
Caleb climbed out with the food and unloaded their personal duffels and most of their gear from the SUV, leaving the flame thrower for Dean to bring once the plane was ready to board. Giving his friend a casual salute, he walked into the terminal. He was tired, and could admit that. Thoughts of turning the Knighthood over to Max flittered unbidden through his mind. He loved being the Knight of the Brotherhood, but it was times like this when his eight years on Dean and twelve on Sam were most felt. Shutting those thoughts down immediately, he straightened his shoulders and strode purposely through the barren terminal. Of course he was tired; it was almost three in the morning. But he wasn't out of the game yet, not by a long shot.
Stepping up to the lone airport attendant behind the terminal desk, he said, "I'm Caleb Reeves. My Hawker is on the flight deck for a five AM take off. My friend and I will be boarding early."
The young man typed on his computer a moment, before saying, "Of course, Mr. Reeves. I can have a member of the flight crew pull down the steps if you wish."
Caleb nodded and handed over the Hawker key. "Thank you."
"I'll call as soon as you can board."
Caleb walked away as the young man picked up the phone. Stopping before the terminal windows, he stared out at the barren sidewalk that would be filled with travelers in a few short hours. Most airports were rarely empty. But in a small locale like Cedar City, the place was practically a ghost town at three in the morning. Yawning again, he checked the time. He supposed calling Onida in the middle of the night was outside the bounds. Dean didn't usually call Juliet during their hunts. But then Juliet preferred to look the other way on most things supernatural. Smiling, Caleb reached out psychically and gently touched the warm, white light that was Onida. Within a minute his cell rang.
"Sorry," Caleb said, though he wasn't sure he actually was.
"Yeah, peddle that rubbish somewhere else," Onida stated.
Caleb grinned, hearing the humor in her tone. "I wanted to hear your voice."
"I'm glad. Are you on your way home?"
"Soon. Our flight takes off at five."
"Mr. Reeves?"
"Hang on," Caleb said to Onida as he turned.
The young man from the counter was standing a few feet away. He handed Caleb his key, saying, "Whenever you're ready, Sir."
"Thank you." Turning back to the windows, Caleb said, "Looks like the plane is ready. I'll let you get back to sleep."
"I'll be waiting," Onida said, infusing her essence with the soul of her words and sending it out to Caleb as she hung up.
Warm, white light curled through Caleb's mind and coursed downward through his body. Smiling, he shook his head. Nothing like a woman that could literally warm a man to the bone. Tossing the key in the air, Caleb walked with a lighter step through the gate behind the terminal desk; to his plane, and to home.
"Welcome to Crossing," said the scantily clad young hostess. Around her the dim lights, loud music and too wide smiles from the crowded dance floor made her seem as though she were welcoming newcomers to a brothel rather than a bar. Smiling, she asked cheekily, "You sure you're in the right place?"
"Oh yes," said the tall, silver-haired man over the barrage of sound and vibration, flashing lights and gyrating bodies.
Cocking her head to the side, the hostess said, "I like you're accent. Where are you from?"
"Very far away."
After considering him for a moment, the hostess stuck out her hand. "Zoe," she stated, as though daring him to contradict her.
Taking her slender hand in his own, the older man bowed low and murmured, "Piruz." Though he'd noticed a variety of female forms since he'd come to this continent, this young woman was of the type that seemed to define beauty; almost alarmingly slender with a painted face and too wide smile. She needn't have tried so hard, as she would have been remarkably beautiful au natural. Yet each era throughout time held their own definitions of beauty. He preferred the woman of yesteryear; softly rounded, sloe-eyed and only lightly painted.
"Piruz," Zoe said, frowning. "Is that Mexican?"
The older man didn't bother to correct her. Another discovery he'd made was the knowledge that most people of this age had little awareness or appreciate for the past. "Of course."
When he said nothing else, Zoe shrugged. "Let me show you to a table. Usually I let people fend for themselves, but I think you need a little protecting from this crowd."
Finding her statement amusing, the man merely inclined his head and followed her to a small round table in the corner of the large room.
As he sat, he let his eyes adjust to the darkness and gave the room an idle survey. He'd chosen this bar because of its reputation for violence and unsavory characters. There was no need to test the rudiments of his plan further, and he was close enough to his final destination that additional travels on this continent were neither needed nor desired. He'd seen enough. But Merlin's child was nearby, and he thought that was intriguing. Did the young mage know of the stronghold? Is that why he had chosen that particular dwelling in this very new land? He had questions, so many questions. But for now…
Putting a hand inside his pocket, he pulled out a small, intricately carved box. Without a conscious thought, a smile ghosted across his lips.
"Looks interesting."
Glancing up, the silver-haired man looked into the eyes of a light-haired woman in a low cut red dress. Wide, intense blue eyes and a painted mouth accompanied her naturally blond tresses. That her coloring was hereditary was confirmed by the lack of chemical smell that often accompanied those who altered their hair color. He found this color combination interesting. Having grown up in the Middle East, most of the population had dark or black hair with dusky skin and gray or brown eyes. Blue was still diverting. But he had other places to see and to be, so instead of indulging himself, he murmured, "Move on."
The words echoed slightly even in the din and noise of the club. The girl's eyes lost their focus as she turned and walked away.
Focusing once more on the box in his hand, he brushed his hand against and murmured a word or two. Looking up, he watched for any reactions. People nearest him shoved others, and the noise level rose as arguments broke out.
At the long, dark wood bar, a young man with brunette hair carefully set his beer bottle down. With a calm nonchalance, he turned and slammed his fist into the face of the man at his side.
Stumbling back with the force of the blow, the second man managed to retain his footing, though he nearly sent the woman on his right to the grimy floor. One hand going to his bleeding mouth, the injured man quickly snatched the arm of the lady at his side to steady her, saying hurriedly, "I'm so sorry."
Startled, eyes wide, the woman didn't look at him, but instead stared over his shoulder at the man who'd thrown the punch.
"Are you all right?" the man with the bloody lip asked.
"Yes, thank you," the woman murmured.
"Good." He raised a finger to the bartender. "Please provide the lady with a drink, on me."
"Thank you," the woman said, looking steadier by the minute.
Turning back to his assailant, the second man practically yelled, "What the hell?!" Quickly he picked up a napkin and held it to his mouth.
"David, I'm so sorry," the brunette-haired man stuttered, his eyes wide and remorseful. "I don't know why I did that."
David Lassiter's gaze moved past his friend to another fight that had broken out near the pool tables. Suddenly he spun around to view the small table in the corner where a silver-haired man had sat. The table was empty. He'd felt power when the man entered the club. As the head of one of the four major monster families in Chicago, he survived by knowing a powerful force when he came across one. Glancing toward the door, he said, "Brian, come on," and he moved quickly toward the club entrance as the fighting around the bar and the pool area increased.
Stopping just inside the entryway, David focused on the dark green paint and deepened his skin tone so he could blend in as he searched the front of the club. The man couldn't have gone far, he hadn't been that far behind. Suddenly the silver-haired man emerged from around the far left corner of the club. A small, non-humorous smile donned the older man's face as he walked to a sleek, black car David recognized as a Hennessey Venom. The engine purred to life and within seconds, car and driver had disappeared down the road. Shifting again, the young man he'd been inside the club transformed into a handsome forty-something man with distinguished lines branching out from his warm, dark eyes. There was no longer a cut marring his mouth.
"David…?"
"Hang on," David murmured as he stepped slowly away from the doorway. Frowning, he stared into the darkness, though the car was long gone.
"Look, I'm sorry, all right?"
David finally turned toward his companion, who was no longer the dark-haired youth he'd been inside the bar, but a man closer to his own age. "There's no need to be sorry, Brian. It wasn't your fault."
Brian sagged in relief. "I'm not sure what happened. One moment we're talking about the ancient languages conference, and then the next I'm hitting you." He ran a hand over his hair, making it stand on end.
"It was the man."
Brian frowned. "Man? What man?"
"The tall one, with silver hair. He's a … sorcerer of some kind." David walked slowly toward the corner of the building where the man had emerged. Scanning the area, he sharpened his vision until he saw disturbed earth near the corner under a darkened window.
"A sorcerer? How do you know? How could you tell?"
David gave the other man an amused smile. "Even after all these years, you can't tell when you see a sorcerer? Pathetic."
Rolling his eyes and huffing indignantly, Brian declared, "It's not all that easy, you know. They don't have Sorcerer stamped on their foreheads."
"This one pretty much did," David mused. Squatting, he dug around a bit until he saw a small, intricately carved wooden box. "Curious." Pulling it out, he studied it as he rose.
"What is it?" Brian asked, leaning in close.
"I'm not sure," David said slowly. "But it feels strange. It shouldn't be here." Pensively he slipped the box into his pocket. "Why don't you check inside, see if the fighting has subsided. Then we can head back to the hotel."
"Already? We didn't even finish our drinks."
"I've lost my thirst, for the drinks or the fun," David murmured.
Brian looked downcast. "Man, we don't pass by here very often," he stated with a sigh. "Shame to duck out on the fun." Crossings was known as a club where nightly fights were expected, and to some extent, encouraged. Shapeshifters often used the mayhem to blow off a little steam. Sighing again, Brian shifted his appearance back into the young, innocent looking man with dark hair and a handsome face. Quickly he ducked back inside the club.
David pulled the box back out and studied the carvings on the weathered but beautifully maintained surface. While he wasn't a linguist by any means, he'd been to enough conferences with Brian through the years to recognize that the writing on top was ancient. If he were to hazard a guess, he'd say the box itself was as old as the writing. He felt knowing how old was going to be important. Slipping the box back into his pocket, his gaze shifted to the long empty road again, as though by wishing, his curiosity about the man's identity could be satiated. He'd been a mysterious accumulation of contradictions; silver hair indicating an older man, but the smooth face with sharp eyes heralded someone younger. The clothing was new, classical; an odd mix of modern with some dated motifs thrown in, like the pocket scarf in the jacket pocket, the tassels on the loafers. But it was the aura of power that was the tell; the essence was centuries old, maybe millennia. One thing he knew without a doubt, knew with instincts honed through years of experience with non-humans – the man was trouble.
"The fights are winding down," Brian said, coming out of the front door.
"Is anyone heading for the door?"
Brian shook his head. "Here? Everyone is used to rabblerousing. They're all bellying up to the bar for another round."
David chuckled. "Then let's get to the hotel. I want to see what you think of the markings on the lid of this box."
"Are you going to open it?"
"I don't know," David said slowly. "We'll see what the inscription says."
They fell into step as they headed toward their car. "At least you have me to translate the inscription," Brian commented. "Aren't you glad you came with me to the conference on ancient languages?"
"To tell you the truth, Bri, I'm not sure."
Dean drove up to the farmhouse at half past ten in the morning to find Sam waiting on the porch. It had been a three-and-a-half-hour flight from Cedar City Regional Airport back to Louisville. He and Caleb had boarded the luxury jet early, eaten their Denny's specials and gone to sleep. Though he'd pretty much slept the entire way, he still felt the lack of zzzzs. After dropping Caleb off at home, he'd driven the half hour back to New Haven with the intention of getting another three or four hours shut eye before heading into the shop. Seeing Sam put a stake in those plans. Climbing out of the Impala, Dean pulled his duffel from the trunk before heading up to the porch.
"Where's the flame thrower?" Sam asked with a grin.
Dean huffed out a laugh. "Knew I took it, huh?"
"Of course." Sam pushed against the porch floor boards, restarting the rocking of the porch swing. "Why else would you hightail it out to fight some rugarus when we had four hunters in the area who could have taken care of them two days ago."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Still in the trunk. I'll take it to the storage unit later."
Years before when he and Juliet were expecting JT, Dean had wanted a safe place to secure many of the tools used for hunting. Of course, he wouldn't be Dean Winchester if his home was completely devoid of weapons. Several guns, sawed-offs, salt and canisters of holy water were kept in the Tomb. And though he and Juliet had purchased a new bed, the nightstands Ms. Emma had brought to the farm decades before still remained. They'd been refurbished by Pastor Jim after her death to neatly hold weapons, rock salt and holy water. But there were additional weapons, blades, machetes and tools used to fight evil that needed to be stored somewhere curious little hands wouldn't touch. Since the barn had adequate space for Sam's horses, as well as any animals Juliet chose to board, he'd demolished two large stalls toward the rear right and built in an iron vault replete with sigils and protections, embedded salt lines and protection traps for the larger gear, the shotgun shell reloading press and a work station for his experiments, though he hadn't had time to do much of that in the last several years. That's where he kept the flame thrower, bags of rock salt and any other large equipment.
Stepping onto the porch, he dropped his duffel and dropped onto the swing beside his brother, causing it to wobble slightly. "You all right?"
Sam smiled. No matter how old they were, Dean's first words to him were always the same. "Yeah. Spent the last couple of days looking into the occurrences of violence. Since it was Friday and I needed to clear my head, I took a personal day and came here. I'm staying downstairs."
"You just want to use my awesome shower," Dean stated with a smirk.
Sam laughed. "It is second to none. Have you called Juliet yet?"
"Yeah, when we landed. She'll be at the clinic until later this afternoon."
"Then we can go over what we have and haven't found so far."
Kissing any thoughts of rest away, Dean rose and opened the front door, following Sam inside. Dropping his duffel near the staircase, he walked into the kitchen and started fixing some food. "No historical record of outbreaks like this?"
"Sure," Sam said, picking up the coffee maker and washing out the pot to make a fresh batch. "Problem is, there are too many. Humans are a violent bunch."
"I was afraid of that."
"So me, Elijah and Alison started looking into social media, seeing if we could find anything in the footage that could lead us to whatever is happening." Setting the coffee to percolating, he pulled a bag of chips from the cupboard and dumped them in a bowl before sitting at the kitchen table. "People just can't help recording everything."
Dean pulled slices of browned bread from a small toaster oven and started assembling turkey sandwiches. "Any luck?"
"Not yet. Alison is doing most of the cities. Elijah is working on Houston, and I thought you'd like to help me with California."
Dean stopped his lunch assembly and looked around. "California? There must be millions of social media uploads."
Sam grinned. "There are," he laughed. "But I've already started, so you won't have to do too much."
"Great," Dean muttered, putting the sandwiches onto two plates and bringing them to the table. "So, what else?"
"Ethan is gathering information from the police footage of the violence in Houston while Diana Ballard is collecting official footage from Baltimore and from a contact in Kennebunkport, Maine. For Idaho, do you remember Sheriff Macready?"
After taking a bite of his sandwich, Dean chewed for moment before he mumbled, "From Hope Springs?"
"Yeah. He's retired, but he still lives there. He's going to reach out to law enforcement in Rockland. Jody, Mark and Donna are checking through any vid footage in Stillwater, and Alison contacted Sheriff Barrett Bishop from Wisconsin. He's reaching out to some contacts in Ashland." Sam took a large bite of his sandwich and hummed his enjoyment.
"So," Dean said as he grabbed a handful of chips and put them on his plate. "That leaves, what?"
"Anaheim," Sam stated. Popping a chip in his mouth, he crunched a moment before saying, "You know anyone who can check out police footage there?"
Dean eyed his brother then nodded. "Yeah, I think I know a couple people who can help."
Sam didn't question him further. He knew there were some things that were only for the Guardian. "Then we'll look through the millions of social media entries for Anaheim and get our findings to Alison and her team."
"She put more people on this?" Dean asked.
Sam nodded. "There are way too many social media entries for us to research without help. Add in the official police records…"
"And there's a crap ton of footage," Dean said with a sigh.
"Yeah."
Dean finished his sandwich and sat eating chips as he thought.
Picking up their plates, Sam put the dishes in the sink and grabbed the chip bag. At the table he picked up the bowl of chips and poured them back into the bag.
"Hey, I was eating those!" Dean groused.
"You were just putting off the work," Sam retorted. Clipping the bag shut, he shoved it back into the cupboard and refilled Dean's coffee mug. "Come on, let's get it done. Tomorrow we've got the barbeque, remember?"
"Yeah, I remember," Dean muttered, shoving himself to his feet. Yawning, he picked up his mug and took a deep drink.
Sam frowned. "You get any sleep last night?"
"Some," Dean said, giving himself another refill. "Slept about four hours on the plane before we landed." Seeing the look on Sam's face, he smiled. "I'm good for a couple hours before I'll need a few more."
"Then we shouldn't waste any time," Sam stated, turning Dean by the shoulders and shoving him in the direction of the Tomb. "Let's get on it."
"Pushy," Dean muttered.
"I'm your younger brother," Sam stated. "Pushy is my middle name."
"You wish," Dean stated with a smirk.
"Shuddup."
David Lassiter groaned as he turned onto his side. Opening his eyes, he looked over and saw his friend Brian Mayfare sitting at the large table near the suite's window, which overlooked the pool below. His computer was open and he was bent over a sheath of papers, frowning. "Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked.
His concentration shattered, Brian looked over at David with a frown on his face before his expression cleared and he smiled. "Kinda. I slept for a couple of hours before the intrigue of this box forced me up."
"Forced you, huh?" David stated, sitting up and scrubbing his face with his hands. "You make coffee?"
"Over there," Brian said, waving a hand vaguely behind him.
David poured himself a cup before walking over to the table and refilling his friend's mug. "So, what have you found?"
Brian finally leaned back in his chair and tossed his pencil atop the stack of papers. "Well, one of the languages is almost Sumerian."
"Almost?" David took a sip of coffee. "And one of…"
"I'll start at the beginning," Brian said with a smile. "There are several languages carved into the top of the box. One of those has several features in common with Sumerian. At least, Sumerian is as close as I can find to the main text. It's the oldest written language in the world. This," he picked up his pencil and tapped it excitedly on the pages in front of him, "might be a written precursor. It could replace Sumerian as the most ancient language in the world."
"Okay, yay for history and all that," David remarked, "but the guy that buried this at Crossing was not a nice man. Does the lid tell us anything useful?"
"Not a nice... How do you know that?" Brian asked, perplexed. "You saw him for a second, and could sense he was powerful. Why does that make him or this box bad?"
David gave his friend a familiar look of tolerant exasperation. "Brian, a powerful Sorcerer," he stressed, "buries a box with carvings older than any known language ever, a box that's probably worth thousands of dollars, outside a seedy club known for violence and mayhem, and you think he wasn't up to something?"
Brian had the grace to look a bit chastened. "Okay, when you put it that way."
David laughed. Instead of pushing the question of a translation, he asked, "So, can I help?"
"Maybe." Leaning forward, Brian sighed. "While these symbols are closest to Sumerian, they're not exact. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to find anything closer in the ancient languages database, and I can't reach out to any of my other contacts because I didn't think we wanted this to get out."
"No, I don't want this getting out."
Brian nodded. "There are enough similarities to Sumerian that I've been able to decipher some of the script one letter at a time." Shuffling the pages slightly, he picked up a very thin sheet of parchment and handed it across the table. "This is a rubbing of the top of the box, and this," he handed over another page with symbols, "is some of the symbols I've identified as letters. See if you can write them all in order as they are on the rubbing."
David tilted the frail paper up to the light. "There's a lot here," he commented, squinting slightly. "More than I thought there was at first glance."
"Yeah, there is. It's a pretty intricate carving. There are also a lot of little glyphs and symbols I don't recognize."
David stared at the rubbing. After a moment, he said, "There might be someone who can help with the glyphs you can't decipher. But that's for later, after we've tried our best to work it out."
Sam glanced up from his computer search when Dean's snoring finally penetrated his research haze. Looking across the table, he laughed at seeing his brother's face planted on the Tomb's large table, his mouth open. "Dean," he called, and when his brother didn't respond, he repeated in a louder voice, "Dean!"
Dean jerked into a sitting position, his eyes spiraling around the room before they settled on an amused Sam. "What?! I'm working here."
Laughing outright, Sam said, "Go and get some sleep. How far have you gotten on Facebook?"
"Too far," Dean mumbled, running a hand over his face. "People share way too much personal information. No one, no one wants to know that much about someone else."
"Apparently two-point-one billion people disagree."
Dean goggled. "Two-point-one billion people are that chatty? Seriously?"
"Yup."
"People so need to get a life," Dean grumbled, pushing himself up. "Give me a couple hours and I'll be back."
"Sure."
Dean turned, affronted. "I will."
"I believe you," Sam stated calmly.
"Bitch," Dean muttered as he walked out.
"Jerk!" Sam called after him, smiling. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his search. Dean was right; people shared way too much about themselves on the Internet. They just didn't realize how dangerous the world really was, not just from the monsters, but from pedophiles, child traffickers, identity thieves and so much more.
Shoving those unpleasant thoughts aside, he abruptly rose and headed for the kitchen. He needed more coffee and something to munch on if he were going to finish trolling through Instagram. Twitter would be so much worse.
Taking a seat at the well-worn kitchen table, Sam waited for the coffee to brew. Anaheim was the second largest city in Orange county, the tenth most populous in the state. The Los Angeles-Long Beach-Anaheim Metro area was home to almost fifteen million people. He just couldn't search that whole area alone. Making a decision, he slipped his cell from his pocket.
"Sam," Joshua said with a smile. "How are your classes going?"
"The classes are going well, but I'm not at the University right now. I'm in the Tomb."
"Really…"
Sam knew Joshua was waiting for him to elaborate. "I need some help; we need some help."
"Something's happening?"
"I think so, but I'm … not sure," Sam confessed.
Joshua frowned. "Excuse me?"
"Can you come over?"
"I'll be there in an hour. I need to call Carolyn and take Nicholas over to Adam's."
Sam closed his eyes and sighed. "Thank you. I'll see you when you get here."
"Should I bring Ryker?"
"He's back in Louisville?"
"Returned from a hunt yesterday."
Sam hesitated only a moment before saying, "Yes, bring him too."
"See you soon," Joshua said, and disconnected.
Closing his phone, Sam got up and poured himself another cup of coffee. Bringing in Joshua and Ryker made this officially a hunt. But he supposed it had been one for the last couple days anyway, since Alison had assembled her team. Ambiguous as nearly everything was about the situation, it was up to them to find out what was going on.
.
An hour almost to the dot, Sam heard the front door opening. During the daylight hours, no one really knocked on Dean's front door anymore. The Guardian's home was always open, and they all spent so much time here anyway. Rising, he met Joshua and Ryker in the front hall.
"Sam…" Joshua began.
"Shhh," Sam whispered, motioning for the two to follow him past the living room and down the hall to the Tomb. Once they were inside, he said, "Dean got back from a hunt this morning. He worked in here for a couple hours and is now asleep."
"The Rugarus, right?" Ryker stated. "Did he take the flame thrower?"
Sam chuckled. Everyone knew about Dean's love for the flame thrower. "Yeah, he took the flame thrower, though I don't know the details."
Joshua took a seat at the table and looked at Dean's research. "He was searching through Facebook? Dean?"
"Let me tell you everything," Sam said.
Almost an hour later, Joshua looked irritated. "Why didn't you tell me about this before now?"
"We didn't know what this was," Sam stated. "The first I heard of anything was a phone call from Donna Hanscum telling me about some riots in Stillwater. She said she'd never seen anything like it in all her years on the force. She called Jody Mills, and Jody and Mark went to Stillwater to check things out. Then Dean hears from Diana Ballard about violence in Baltimore. We decided to check it out, or rather Dean decided I should check it out," he said with a smile. "After that, we heard about the all out violence in Houston, and it sort of spiraled from there."
"And yet you didn't bring me in," Joshua remarked stiffly.
Sam controlled his guilt and frustration. "We didn't know what it was or if it was anything; still don't." Sighing, he continued, "But you're right, I should have called."
Ryker broke in before Joshua could respond to Sam's admission and asked, "What, exactly, are you researching? I mean, random violence isn't a lot to go on. Society is violent, humanity is violent. What was it about this violence that made you want to research it at all?"
Joshua stared at Ryker while Sam sighed in relief. Ryker had cut through any hurt feelings and hit the nail on the head.
"It's not the violence, really," Sam said. "Well, I mean, it is. More so it was the way it started and how it stopped."
"You mean suddenly," Joshua said.
"Yeah. According to Diana in Baltimore, violence just broke out in weird places. Ethan said fights were breaking out everywhere. When he was trying to contain an upheaval at a club downtown, the fighting just stopped…"
"Like someone threw a light switch," Ryker inserted, repeating what Sam had said earlier.
Sam nodded. "Yeah. And then there was the yin to the yang. People being usually altruistic."
"People often rise to the occasion when there is the need," Joshua pointed out. "Americans are some of the most generous people in the world."
"They are, but like in Stillwater; usual donations to the police benevolent society hovers around twenty-five thousand. During the period of violence, the sum donated was over three-hundred thousand."
"Oh," Joshua said, his eyes wide.
"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Since Elijah knew about what happened in Houston through Ethan, we decided to see if there were any instances in history where violence broke out without reason and suddenly stopped."
"Bet that went well," Ryker remarked.
Sam decided to make a full confession. "Ethan, Alison and I did a search through much of the world's recorded history and came up with nothing. So we decided to abandon searching for acts of unexplained violence and search social media accounts to see if someone caught anything or anyone odd on video."
"Alison," Joshua said with a sigh. If Alison knew, he had no doubt whatsoever that Caleb knew as well. And that hurt. He felt left out, like he had in earlier years when it was Dean, Sam and Caleb against the world and he was the odd man out; always the odd man out. But while those early years would always leave a scar, he and his Triad had come a long way through the decades they'd worked together. If he looked at the situation with unbiased eyes, he could see how random acts of violence would be difficult to pin a hunt on. "Okay, so you began looking into this because three cops said it was hinky, not because there was any evidence that something supernatural had occurred."
"Hinky?" Sam asked with a smile.
"In this instance, it seemed appropriate."
Ryker rose and said, "I'm going to get us some coffee."
After he'd gone, Sam said, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away. I wanted to, but I just wasn't sure it was anything. The few reports we got from Jody and Donna were intriguing, but when pressed even they couldn't say whether this was something supernatural. We looked into this on the strength of the sources, not the evidence. It sounded weird, but not supernatural weird…."
Joshua held up a hand. "Sam, stop. I was caught off guard, that's all. It felt like…"
"Back before we were officially the Triad," Dean said from the doorway.
Joshua and Sam both looked startled, not having realized Dean was there.
Moving into the Tomb, Dean walked straight over to Joshua and said, "I'm sorry I didn't bring you in sooner. Truth is, it sounded so weird I didn't think it was much of anything. And you've got a very special young man who needs your attention. I didn't want to take you away unless it really was something." Holding out his hand, his face earnest and sincere, he said, "I'm sorry."
Joshua felt the tension and hurt drain from his body as he smiled and took Dean's hand. "Forgiven."
Dean finally relaxed and returned the older man's smile.
"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Joshua asked, taking in Dean's pale face.
Waving his hand, Dean said, "I got an hour. I'll get more later." Looking at the piles of paper on the table, he said, "I think we should call this an official hunt."
Sam nodded.
"There's a lot going on if this is spread out over the entire country," Joshua said. Looking over at Sam, he suggested, "We should use the white boards, get ourselves organized."
Ryker walked in carrying three mugs and a carafe of coffee.
Sam pulled two white boards out from against the side wall and started writing the cities where the riots and violence had occurred as well as their populations and who was helping to gather information.
Joshua took over for Dean and focused on Facebook accounts of the violence in the Anaheim area while Ryker began on Twitter. Dean stared around the table at the three men diligently working, and finally rolled his eyes and walked out. Jogging upstairs, he went into his and Juliet's closet, knelt and pried up two one-foot lengths of floorboard. Reaching inside, he lifted out a thick, iron box and carried it over to the bed. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told him it was close to four. If the day's workload was light, Juliet could be home at any time. He needed to hurry.
Opening the drawer on his nightstand, he lifted the false bottom that perfectly matched the interior of the drawer and took out a tiny, intricately designed key. Sitting on the bed, he inserted the key into the lock and murmured, "Per donum Merlini sunt secreta psalmorum. Merlini per magica, scientia est inventus est. Per Merlini ingenio, viribus factum est novum." (Through Merlin's gift are secrets revealed. Through Merlin's magic, knowledge is found. Through Merlin's gifted, strength is made new). The key turned slowly to the right, then disappeared into the lock as the lid on the box lifted. Inside were several sheaths of paper, an old scroll, antique coins, a thick roll of bills, some additional keys, a satellite phone and a cell phone. Picking up the cell, he typed The Guardian and sent the text. Thirty seconds later the phone rang.
"I am the air and darkness, a word, a promise," Dean quoted as he answered. He always felt rather silly quoting the The Hollow Hills by Mary Stewart, but Jacob insisted on the tradition.
"I watch in the crystal and I wait in the hollow hills."
Dean smiled. "How are you, Jacob?"
Jacob Whittell was a member of Dean's personal guard, just as his uncle had been a member of Jim Murphy's. The Whittell family had been touched by the supernatural back when Jacob's great, great grandmother had been killed by a Nachzehrer, a cross between a vampire and a ghoul. They were difficult to kill, and his great, great grandfather – a Los Angeles Police Detective and a former member of the United States Armed Forces - had needed help to kill the creature. Julian and Maxim had stepped in with a copper coin and an axe to kill the thing. After lengthy discussions about the supernatural and what was out there in the world, Martin Whittel had joined the Brotherhood as Julian's personal guard. The family had been involved in the Guardian's personal guard ever since. And like his father, grandfather and several family members, Jacob Whittel was in law enforcement: a special agent in the FBI.
"Well, Sir. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. I need some help only you can provide."
"Tell me."
Dean explained what he wanted.
"That will take some time, Sir. Anaheim is a large city with multiple police precincts; there will be hundreds of official reports to comb through. I'll bring in two more operatives to speed the process. You'll have the information by midnight in the usual place."
"Thanks," Dean said, then added, "Oh, and one more thing."
"Yes, Sir?"
"Have you heard anything about a Corporation or Company doing biological warfare tests?"
"Biological warfare?"
"Chemical warfare tests," Dean repeated. "Testing new bio-weapons on the population."
Jacob felt his blood run cold. "No, I haven't. But I'll send out feelers. You'll have that information as soon as I can get it."
"Thank you, Jacob."
"Anything for the cause. Night, Sir."
Dean stared at the cell a moment, then put it back into the iron box. Closing the lid, he waited until the key emerged from the lock. It twisted once and glowed bright white before floating out and landing lightly in Dean's open palm. Quickly he returned the key to its hiding place, then slid the box back beneath the floorboards in the closet. He'd just finished replacing all their shoes when he heard the front door open and knew Juliet was home. Rising, he went down and met her at the bottom of the stairs.
"Your home," Juliet said with a smile and a kiss.
"We got company, so I didn't go into the garage."
"I saw the cars. Sam and Joshua?"
"And Ryker. Sorry, I forgot to call."
Juliet gave a soft snort. She knew her man, and knew the lifestyle. "Lucky for you, I am always prepared." Dropping her medical bag and purse onto a nearby chair, she went into the kitchen and looked in the freezer. "You want lasagna?"
Dean leaned in from behind and pulled her to him, nuzzling her neck. "I am very lucky."
"Watch it, Mister. We're not alone."
"No, you're not," Sam agreed as he walked into the kitchen. Dean stepped back and huffed as Sam grinned and gave Juliet a quick kiss on the cheek. "How was work?"
"Quiet today. The Mitchner's pure bred had her pups, and that was the extent of the excitement."
"Some days it's good for things to be quiet."
"What about you? We weren't expecting you until tonight," Juliet said as she pulled the family sized lasagna and frozen Italian garlic bread from the freezer.
"I wanted to do some work in the Tomb, so took a personal day," Sam said, taking the garlic bread and placing it on the kitchen windowsill to thaw. "Change of plans for tonight. Joshua is going home for dinner, and Caleb and Onida are coming over. Ryker's staying."
"So we lose one and gain two," Juliet stated.
"Caleb and Onida plan on staying the night?" Dean asked. "Cause that means Sam's upstairs in Ben's room."
"Ben has a double bed, they can sleep there. The room used to be Caleb's anyway," Sam stated, frowning. "First come, first serve."
"You're taking on the Knight, then."
"Where's the pepper spray," Sam muttered, stalking out of the kitchen.
Juliet grinned. "Maybe we should build a steam shower upstairs too. Cut down on the mayhem."
Dean chuckled. "I'll have Caleb design one. He's the architect."
Coming into his arms and smiling, Juliet said, "I get design input rights."
"Anything you say," Dean murmured, lowering his lips to hers.
.
Following a raucous and laughter-filled dinner, Onida and Juliet went into the living room to talk while Dean, Sam, Caleb and Ryker reconvened in the Tomb. Joshua had gone back home before dinner, saying he would continue combing through the remainder of the Facebook accounts. That left Sam finishing up with Instagram while Dean joined Ryker in searching through Twitter and Caleb worked his way through Snapchat. However, before they got started, the Knight brought them up to speed on the emails he'd received from hunters over the last day.
"I've gotten a few emails talking about monsters doing weird things. One new thing; Joel Neubridge and Daniel Rios were hunting a couple of black dogs near Carthage Mississippi, and they said a fog so heavy they couldn't even see a foot in front of their car rolled in."
Dean frowned. "Heavy fog, in Carthage Mississippi?"
Caleb nodded. "Exactly their thoughts. Daniel said they'd almost decided not to bring it up, but finally figured why not. Also, Riley and Bradley had a weird run-in with some Vetalas. Vetalas are usually fairly benign in nature. They…"
"We know about Vetalas," Sam interrupted.
"Anyway," Caleb grumbled, "Three pairs of Vetalas got together and attacked Bradley and Riley, and they had to fight tooth and nail to escape."
"They're all right?" Dean asked, anxiety lacing his voice. The very first hunter rings he'd given out as Guardian were to Riley Boone and Bradley Lowell. He'd created them out of whiskey, and then had wondered if that medium were appropriate for the task.
"They're fine," Caleb said hurriedly. "They were making a strategic retreat when the Vetalas stopped fighting all of a sudden."
"Like someone had flipped a light switch," Ryker murmured.
Caleb nodded. "Then the Vetalas just hightailed it out of there."
"How many were they able to take out?" Dean asked.
"They were rather vague on that point," Caleb said with a smile.
Sam and Ryker exchanged amused looks as Dean smiled and shook his head.
"Anyway, there seems to be some unusual things happening, though not enough to alarm anyone," Caleb finished.
"Then we're back to social media searches," Sam said. "For your searches, try putting in words that will create a broad Google search. Clubs, bars, sports, riots, violence, words like that. Then put in the dates we want highlighted. The search engine will pull up posts both before and after the dates you stated, but let's check them all out."
"I think we know how to do a Google search," Dean muttered, typing on his laptop.
"Really?" Sam asked, staring at his brother. "Since when?"
Dean glanced over and glared. "I've researched hunts since I was eight, Sam. You think I did that by the air method?"
Looking up, Ryker frowned and asked, "The air method?"
Sam rolled his eyes as Caleb chuckled and explained, "Just looking up into empty space and asking for the answer."
"Osmosis," Sam supplied grudgingly.
"Oh," Ryker said with a shrug as he returned his focus to the computer screen.
"I know," Sam said to Dean, wincing. "Sorry. I was in teacher mode."
"Yeah, yeah," Dean mumbled, typing again. "So, violence, huh? How do you spell that…?"
"Shut up and get to work," Sam retorted.
.
After a couple hours of typing, pencils scratching on paper and the clink of mugs on a table surface, Ryker sat up. "I think this is something."
Caleb, Dean and Sam all looked up, eager to hear about anything that might put some meat on the bones of this hunt.
Moving aside some of the table clutter, Ryker turned his computer screen around slightly and pointed to a Twitter photo. "Do you see this? Right here in the corner of this photo… It's a black car. I've seen it thirteen times before."
"Thirteen?" Caleb repeated, brows raised.
Ryker smiled. "I was keeping track of outliers in the photos. For the record, there was a red corvette in five of the photos, license number 2BCF129 driven by Robert Kirkland, who is a bad boy. He's been arrested three times for drunk driving and has spent one night in jail." Looking up, he said, "He likes to party. I also spotted three of the same police cars, and two fire trucks from the same station. But there's been only one sleek car with matte black paint. It's practically invisible."
"Nice job," Dean murmured, leaning over to see the computer.
Sam pulled out a pair of reading glasses and put them on while Dean squinted at the photo. Caleb smiled and sat back, watching.
"Where is it…" Sam asked, frowning.
Ryker rose and leaned over the table. After staring at the photo a moment, he pointed. "Right there. It's really difficult to see."
Sam nodded slowly. "Wow, at night it's practically invisible."
"Matte black paint," Ryker repeated. "This paint job appears to be a deeper black than anything I've ever seen," he looked up and added, "though I haven't done any official research on matte paints."
Caleb chuckled. "Good to know. You said you found thirteen photos like this? You're sure it's the same car and not just cars in shadows?"
Ryker gave Caleb an offended look. "Of course." Going into his computer's bookmarks, he began pulling up the photos one by one. "You can compare the bumper shape, outline of the hood, hubcaps, the shape of headlights and taillights. It's the same car." He opened another bookmark and a car appeared. "I think it's a Hennessey Venom F5."
"Really?" Caleb leaned forward and stared at the showroom model. "That car is a thing of beauty." Sitting back, he said, "We can't go back and re-examine every photo we've already checked for a black car. We've already looked at thousands of photos."
"We refocus our search on videos, whatever platform they're on," Sam said. "Let's see if a video captures whoever is driving."
"Did you see the license plate?" Dean asked.
"Not yet," Ryker stated, shaking his head. "Even catching the car was a fluke. I think whoever is driving it has been very careful to keep in the background. But with so many people recording sensational events, some photo or video was bound to capture him at some point."
"Okay, email a copy of your findings to Alison, Ethan and Elijah," Dean said as he opened his own email. "In the morning Alison can forward the information to our law enforcement friends."
"Don't you think that's premature?" Sam asked with a frown. "I mean, we don't even know if the car has anything to do with the violence."
Dean rubbed his eyes and sighed. "We've gone through thousands of photos and clips without seeing anything. Ryker's find has legs enough to spread the word. We've moved on less before."
"We'll still be looking through the videos, Sam," Caleb said. "Hopefully we'll find some video of the car, now that we have something to look for."
"Okay," Sam said. "Then I'll go back over Facebook. Dean, Instagram; Ryker, continue on with Twitter and Caleb still has Scapchat."
"Joy," Dean muttered, turning back to his computer.
"Just get on it, Princess," Caleb said. "Hopefully this won't take all night."
"Just remember who gets the downstairs bedroom," Sam stated, glowering at Caleb.
Smiling, Caleb merely shrugged. He had an ace up his sleeve named Onida, and she loved the steam shower too.
TCB
Author's Note:
I haven't heard much from those reading this story, so I hope you guys are enjoying the tale so far. I know I take a lot of time setting up the story. I'm detailed that way. Hang in there!