Hey. First of all thanks for the reviews. It's good to hear someone is enjoying the story so far. Here are chapters 2 and 3. Again, hope you like.

Rated:NC-17

Disclaimer: I don't own the charcters of GH, the Whedonverse, or of Supernatural. I just like manipulating them for my own whims.

Feedback: always welcome

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Chapter Two


Harrisburg, Pennsylvania

Dean would rather suffer through another two hours of getting his ass kicked by demon minons before admitting that Sam was right and he needed a rest. He had aches in places that didn't even bear pondering. After checking into the motel, taking the first bedroom and dumping his gear, he stripped out of his clothes cautiously. A glance in the mirror at the blue and purple brusing all over his chest and back that matched the ones on his face had him grimacing in disgust.

Damn.

He had told Sam that hunting was his life and there were very few things that came along to make him question that belief. The first was the scars he'd picked up recently. On his neck, the ragged one that stretched along his side. He didn't care about taking a beating, he could handle that. Couple of bruised ribs, some sore muscle, the damage to his face, hell that was nothing. Added character. Getting close to dying, failing at the very mission he'd dedicated his life to were the things he couldn't stand.

Which lead him to the thoughts that had no damned business on his mind. Sam had done him no favors making sure their room connected to Miranda's, probably had some idiotic idea in his head about matchmaking. The woman on the other side of that door had him twisted in all kinds of knots. Beautiful, strong, hell, she made him think of things he knew he wouldn't have.

It was why he kept his dealings with women superficial. A few drinks, some laughs and a night of good hard sex, zip it up and it was time to move along. Some might think that made him a dog, but he always made sure the women he took to bed felt exactly the same about relationships as he did. A good time was all he had to offer and that was all they wanted.

Miranda had commitment pouring from her veins just the same as that damned scent of hers that was driving him insane. The pull he felt in the beginning, the one he tried to ignore, well that had moved well into obession territory. Traveling for two days in the car with her, listening to her and Sam talk, that gentle voice which was the antithesis of everything dark and evil that tainted his world had left him irritable and mean.

Yeah, he had lashed out at Sammy a couple of times, but his brother was used to his moods by now and hadn't said anything. Just saved it up to punish him now with the thought of Miranda on the other side of that door. Smelling like sweet sin.

Whenever he'd reach the end of his tether, ready to just grab her and pour all this feeling he had racing hot through his blood into her, she'd turn those dark wounded eyes on him and he'd be slapped down. Hard and mean. Blood running cold with guilt.

He was the reason those dark shaows were under her eyes, the reason her slender build was turning almost willowy and ethereal. Gabriel was gone because of him.

Joining the nightmares was that damned useless feeling and the torture of watching Gabriel slip through his grip like smoke. Every time he jerked free of that horror, opened his eyes in the backseat of the car, his heart beating so fast it matched the rumbling of the Impala's tires against the pavement, he would smell her. Hunger and guilt. Both would hit him so hard that he had to bite down on the side of his jaw to keep the moan from pouring free.

Sometimes he wondered if perhaps he hadn't died when the Demon had slid that nasty claw across his throat and now he was just existing in pergatory, damned to suffering because he hadn't saved Sammy like his father had made him vow all those years ago.

It was why he latched on so hard to Sam's vision, he desperately needed to make this right for Miranda. He would do whatever neccessary to get her boy back to her, then he would get her the hell out of his life as fast as he possibly could. She deserved a pretty house with that white picket fence. After everything Miranda had been through, married to a loser, living in the 21st century version of Salem's Lot, being sexually molested by a demon and losing her boy, she deserved a happily ever after the end.

She sure as hell wasn't going to find it with someone like him.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, through his still damp hair, he looked in the mirror at the man he'd become. Sometimes he was perfectly satisfied with his life and if he'd wished for something more, all he had to do was see his brother, all the people he helped and know that he was doing something good and worthwhile.

"And you fuck with Sam's head," he said to the image mocking him. "Do the job, that's what you're good at. You fucked up, you clean it up. Do the job and move on."

He nodded once, then dug through his bag sitting on the toilet, grabbed a bottle of percocet that he kept hidden from Sam and flipped open the cap. It was rare that he took anything stronger than something over the counter but Sam had been right. If he was going to get Gabriel back, he needed to be on top of his game. Nursing the ache in his gut, bruises and pain could get someone killed.

Downing two, he followed up with some water from the sink and stuffed the bottle back out of sight. He would eat, talk through a plan with Sam and Miranda and let the meds do their work. With the pain out of the way, he could work on ignoring the ache in his chest for Miranda.

"Dean?"

The tenative knock on the door, followed by her voice had him mumbling a curse. How the hell did she get inside their room? Assuming Sam was back with dinner, he gripped the towel around his waist and opened the door. His voice, a growl of annoyance, dried up in his throat at the sight of her. "Yeah?"

That scent slapped him first. A tremor ran through his hands, and he gripped the cotton tighter, to keep them from reaching out. Frantic, his eyes searched the small room, feeling a little skip of alarm tighten in his stomach when he realized they were alone. Didn't she know what the sight of her could do to a man?

The woman couldn't be that oblivious. Maybe she had dressed for comfort, the black v-neck tee and those cropped fleece pants could certainly be classified as comfortable. If you weren't staring at how long and graceful her throat looked, that hint of cleavage that teased a man as it revealed warm silky skin. Helpless to resist, his eyes hungrily devoured the sight of her.

The way the material clung to her slim torso, those pants hung low on a slim waist that he figured his hands could completely span. Those hips, legs that he could imagine clenched tight around him while they, "Is something wrong?" He jerked himself out of the thought, his voice loud and awkward.

Then his eyes finally met hers. "Oh, shit."

Because he knew without a doubt in that one moment his face had been naked with hunger and lust but that wasn't the part that worried him. Seeing it reflected back in the pools of those melting brown eyes sent the blood straight to his groin in a entirely different form of torture.

Could she have been any more beautiful. That short cropped hair was damp like his, hung in thick waves around her face bare and pale. He watched her run the tip of her tongue nervously across her sexy mouth and unconsciously took a step closer.

Maybe her hands reached up to stop him, but when her warm skin connected with his, it felt like something had sent a small zing of electricity through his body. She didn't try to hold him away, instead those fingers clenched and he felt his dick grow heavy and full as she seemed to almost melt against him.

He didn't stop and think, just lifted a hand to cup the back of her head and tilt it upward so that he could looking into her eyes. Slid an arm around her waist, towel forgotten crushed between the press of their bodies, and pulled her close. All he wanted was to drink her in, drink her down, surround himself in the tenderness he knew was there.

"What the hell are we doing?" He choked out, scrambling hard to put the brakes on a moment of insanity that was racing toward something wild and forbidden.

"I don't know," she lowered her head, resing it against his chest and the fingers threaded through her hair tightened briefly.

How stupid could he be, here she was, worried sick over her son, grief stricken, and had probably come to him seeking comfort and reassurance and he was two steps away from backing her toward his bed and pounding himself into her.

When he tried to pull away, she shook her head in denial and buried closer. "Damn it," he muttered, and tried to find some of the decency Sam claimed he possessed. Ignoring his protesting muscles, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed and sat down cradling her small form in his arms.

He felt the scalding heat of tears against his skin and it punched into his gut harder than any fist, hotter than any blade. She didn't weep, maybe he could have handled that better, but these silent tears would be his undoing. What could he say to her, when he was the one responsible for his pain? He didn't have Sammy's way with words, that innate consideration for people and his ability to comfort. All he knew how to do was fight. To kill. To protect. And even in that he had failed the woman he held, miserably.

Yet here she was in his arms, seeking something from him that he wasn't sure he had it in him to give. Maybe that emotion had been driven from him years ago.

"I'm sorry." He apologized again. Pathetic words, useless words, and lousy comfort for the pain she suffered.

"You keep apologizing," she sniffed and wiped a hand under her nose, "I don't know why you keep apologizing."

"For Gabriel, for not keeping him safe. For not getting to him in time."

She glanced up then, met his eyes with a heartwrenching blend of sorrow and confusion, "I don't understand. You did everything you could, do you think I blame you?"

"You should," he looked away, unable to withstand the emotion there in her gaze. "It's my fault."

"That's why you stopped talking to me," she murmured, "Why you've been keeping me at arms length, because you think I blame you." Slender hands cupped his face and turned his head around, "Dean, look at me."

At his frown, she ran a thumb across his lower lip, "Look at me." So he did, because he couldn't resist that voice and didn't have the strength in this moment to try. "I don't blame you. This is not your fault. You've done nothing but try to help me. You're helping me now, putting yourself and Sam in danger to help me get Gabriel back."

"It's the least I could do for fucking up so badly. I was careless, I just walked out of that motel room with you, not thinking that she would come personally. I was over confident and I screwed up."

"You couldn't have known-"

"I should have," he cut her off, "I do know!" He lifted her off his lap and set her on the edge of the bed, so that he could stand and pace off the building fury in his gut. "I've been hunting all my life, I know better!"

"You aren't perfect."

"No but if I hadn't been so twisted up with you," he broke off with a grunt of anger at that slip. "Well, shit." he muttered, the words were out now and there was no taking them back.

Dean felt, more than heard, her rise to her feet. When her hands touched his back, he couldn't hide his flinching response but that didn't stop her. Oh, no, she just wrapped her arms around his waist and lay her head on his back and released the heaviest sigh he'd ever known. It was like she had let go a burden she carried around for longer than she could bear.

"I don't blame you," she repeated and he closed his eyes on a wave of anguish, "And I've been twisted up with you too. Feeling guilty because I am, because I should be focused on getting Gabriel back, feeling like a horrible mother because I should have been able to stop this from happening and because I know there's nothing I can do to get my son back without your help. I feel like I'm burdening you and Sam with my problems, making you feel obligated to help me."

She nuzzled his skin and when she spoke again her voice was so low that he almost didn't hear it, "And so afraid that you only see me as an obligation and you don't share any of the feelings I have for you."

"I feel them," he murmured and turned around to enfold her back into his arm, "I feel them and mercy on us both because I don't know what to do with it."

"Just hold me for awhile," she suggested, "If you can't give me more than that, I'll understand, but just hold me for awhile because I feel safe here in your arms. I feel like maybe, somehow, all of this is going to work out in the end when you hold me like this."

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New York City, New York

One thing was certain, Wesley's effciency still ticked her off.

How he managed to get four seats on the ten o'clock flight into New York was still a mystery, and she wasn't buying that connection garbage he spouted as he hustled her to the gate for boarding. She knew who was responsible for this, and The Powers were pulling out all the stops to rush her toward this Port Charles.

So what if she had intended to drag around the Hyperion for another day, she was entitled to her reluctance and her anger.

Now here she sat in the driver's seat of a black Expedition that she might have been able to appreciate in different circumstances, waiting for Spike and Faith to emerge out of the stanky bar they entered in search of weapons. Instead of being safe and secure in Los Angles, she was risking life and limb for a vision that she didn't want, in a part of New York that even people with no sense whatsoever had the brain to avoid.

Drumming nails on the steering wheel in frustration, she ignored the pulsating beat of Godsmack that Spike forced them all to endure. Raising said nails, she noted the small chip in her index finger that was painted a demure bronze and decided to blame that on the Powers as well.

Yes, she was being a bitch, and normally she had no problems in fighting the good fight. Hadn't she been doing just that for the past five years? So why drag her back into this vision crap and the hope that maybe Angel was alive after all. Hadn't she suffered enough?

"Cordy, are you okay?"

She tried not to grumble at the tentative question, because her sour mood wasn't Fred's fault. Faith had ignored her for the entire flight, telling her when she pulled that stiff pole of self-pity out of her ass to let her know. Rather than argue, she had slipped on the earphones of her I-Pod and blasted the bitchings of Alanis Morrisette in her ears until they reached their destination.

She sneered at the woman at the counter who rented them the truck, she snarled at the man who helped with their bags, she growled at the parking attendant and was basically a snarky ass for most of the night. Don't think she didn't miss Spike and Faith's sigh of relief when they got out of the truck. And she didn't just happen to over hear Faith say she really needed to kill something before she strangled Cordelia.

Well, so fucking what. They weren't the ones who had been blindsided with the vision. They weren't body jacked and enfused with that all glowy light and making with the floats off the floor. They weren't the ones who would suffer with regret and guilt if they ignored the message. That was all on her.

"No I'm not," she muttered, "But what else is new Fred."

"I guess this is pretty hard on you."

"You think?"

"I mean, especially now, getting the vision after all this time, when we don't know if Angel is still alive, or what happened when he jumped into that hell dimension. You went and allowed yourself to be turned into half demon just so you could keep the visions and then it's like the Powers punished you for that sacrifice by taking Angel from you, your Champion."

"Thanks for the recap," she cut Fred off, "Don't need the play by play, I was there, remember."

"I'm sorry," came the immediate appolgy making her feel like crap for taking her anger out on Fred, who was only trying to be sympathetic.

"No," Cordelia released a long huff of air, and leaned back into her seat closing her eyes, uncaring that she was supposed to be looking out for trouble. The way she was feeling she would relish a good fight. "I'm sorry Fred, for jumping down your throat like that. And you're right, this is hard."

"I miss him too."

And that managed to shut up her pity party quite nicely. In all of this, she wasn't the only one affected by Angel's loss, and everyone soft stepped around her feelings while she ran roughshod over theirs. Fred loved Angel too, maybe not the same way, but it was love all the same. Angel saved her from Pylea, was like a brother to her. Of course she missed him.

And Faith, she tried to cover it up, but the Slayer trusted Angel like no one else. He had been the one to help her back on the straight and narrow. Angel was the one who understood her journey on the darkside and the guilt she carried around because of it.

Gunn and Wesley, missed him, especially Wesley, who hadn't the chance to make amends for his role in getting Connor abucted by Holtz.

Even Spike, in his own sarcastic way had to mourn Angel's loss. Angel was his grandsire, they were connected to each other, blood to blood.

So she wasn't the only one who had been hurt, she wasn't the only one who had to deal with this jarring development. She was just the only one who had reverted back to her selfish, Queen C days of Sunnyhell instead of actually dealing with the fact that she might discover the truth about Angel during this trip once and for all.

"I know, I'm really sorry for being so stupid about all of this." For five years she had put her life on hold, existing in sort of a limbo, and now when she was probably being offered answers, she was hiding under her cover of sarcasm and anger like a frightened child. She was too old for this. "I promise to be better, and missing Angel and worrying about this vision is no excuse for being such a bitch to you and everyone else."

"You got that right," Spike snorted as he opened the passengerside door and slid into to the truck. Faith followed suit in the back next to Fred. Both looked slightly winded, a rush of heat to their skin and a glimmer of adrenaline in their eyes. "If I had to listen to you Pfft one more time I was tempted to stake myself and put me out of my misery." He tossed a grin and a rakish wink back over his shoulder, "Just a figure of speech luv. I'd never leave you Win."

"I know that," Fred blushed prettily at the attention.

"Jeez, get a room." She ignored the small zing of jealousy and concentrated on making her voice lighter. "And you and Faith can't go anywhere without starting a fight." She muttered, and took the truck out of park.

"Yeah, well, I had to work off some of that aggression," Faith snickered from the back seat, raising the long black bag in her grip. "Otherwise I might have taken one of these axes and chopped your prissy head off when you had another tantrum."

"You can try," Cordelia snorted but the otherwise sullen mood that had hung in the air had begun to dissipate. "So exactly where the hell is this Port Charles?"

"The lady you bitched out at the counter was supposed to program the directions into the navigational system. It'll be your fault if she sends us into Podunk, Jersey instead." Faith chuckled, "If she did, know that I'm kicking you out of the truck and leaving you there."

Three hours later, Cordelia was convinced that Faith's prediction of disaster might have come true as they rode through the silent city that had been blanketed in a layer of snow. "Okay, I'm in Sunnyhell again, minus the warm weather." If she blinked, she would be leaving Port Charles, that's how small the damned city was. Okay, it wasn't that small, but it sure as hell wasn't LA.

"Just find a damned motel before the sun comes up and I'm dust," Spike grumbled at the gradually brightening horizon. "We passed up a perfectly good one back there you know."

"Did you actually take a look at that dump," Cordy sneered, "I wouldn't let roaches sleep in there. There has to be something better around here."

They passed a tall building, probably condos and what passed as the city's business district. The scent of salt on the air told her they were getting close to water. When they passed a row of townhouses, she felt like doing a Wesley and shouting out a gleeful 'Eureka' as the sign reading MetroCourt Hotel appeared.

"This is not exactly inconspicuous," Faith reminded her and recieved a Pffft in reply.

"You and Spike there can go back to the roach infested, flea bag back on the outskirts of the city and sleep in icky beds, and I'll be here, comfortable. We can meet back here tomorrow night, when Spike won't burst into flames." She shut off the ignition and turned a sly look at the vampire next to her, "Better make sure you put something on the windows, I dont' recall seeing any decent blinds up."

"You've made your point, Cheerleader," Spike drawled, "But you're the one explaining the expense to Wesley. I'm just the muscle along for the ride. Just make sure my room as a refriderator, else I might get hungry and start dining on the bellhops."

As if Spike could ever be considered mere brawn and she knew he was joking, but she would make sure that he had someplace to store his blood and maybe a western view with very little sunlight exposure to make up for being such a bitch.

"Just think of it as a mini vacation before we avert a minor apocalyspe."

"Gotta get those small perks from somewhere," Faith shot back and they shared a smile.

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Chapter Three

There were dark evil things in the city of Port Charles.

What he found ironic was most people thought it involved the mob. Yeah, those men and women involved in the organization broke the law but in the grand scheme of life, they didn't even skim the surface of the truly malevolent things that squirmed in the shadows. In any case, ignorance was considered bliss and perhaps that was the way life was intended to be.

The normal everyday people deserved the illusion of shiny happy, where only the very young or the very old remembered the things that went bump in the night weren't always just apart of imagination. Sometimes it made things a bit messy for him, but never dull.

It was just after ten when Jason received the phone call from Father Coats about the missing kid. He finished tucking Kady into bed, gave her a kiss goodnight and a promise to peek in when he came home after his patrol just like always. Back in his bedroom he grabbed his leather jacket, holstering his customized Heckler 9mms, and went downstairs to get the information Spinelli gathered for him.

He'd never admit it to the annoying kid, but Spinelli actually came in handy. He was some kind of wunderkind on that laptop he dragged around everywhere, but Jason would cut out his tongue before saying it. That might go to his head and get him started on another Jackel kick then he'd just have to shoot him in the foot or something to shut him up. Kady wouldn't like that, so best to keep things status quo. Now if he could only get the kid to pick up a book for research as well.

First he planned to do a quick look around the city, just to make sure things were quiet, then he would head over to the house on Mill Road. There was something about the place that made his skin itch and that usually meant trouble. His instincts were rarely wrong.

Only the phone call came in and he would have to wait until tomorrow night, to which Spinelli had given a small sigh of relief and promised to have more information for him by morning.

Taking the SUV instead of his motorcycle like he'd initally planned, he crossed the city into the lower westside, where the crime was just as bad as the neighborhood. He parked in front of a small ranch style house painted a bright yellow, one of the nicer homes on the block, even with the tall metal gate that enclosed the entire yard. The cropped bushes framing the house even looked like the same ones from his Grandmother's rose garden.

A ring at the bell had the door swinging open a few seconds later to the worried face of a woman, looked to be in late thirties, with dirty blond hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her eyes were red-rimmed with heavy dark circles of worry and fatigue beneath, and she pulled the thin worn cardigan tighter around her slim body like armor.

The pale green eyes that looked at him widened briefly in recognition and he figured, she must have seen his face on the news before. Probably wondering what Jason Morgan alleged mob enforcer was doing on her front doorstep.

"Can I help you?"

"Ms. Johnson," he inquired and her head bobbled up and down in response, "Father Coats asked me to meet him here."

"Yes, oh," she stammered and pushed open the heavy security door, "Come in, please." The last of her words finished in a rush.

He stepped past her into what was the living room. Despite the bad neighborhood, it was obvious that Carrie Johnson had put a lot of love and effort into making a home for her family. The place was decidedly feminine, in various hues of blue with the windows softened by sheer curtains of the same rich royal as the large sectional centering the room. Little knick-knacks were scattered on oak tables, much like the ones Sam used to favor and plants bloomed despite the cold season out of clay pots of vivid burnished red.

A quick background check run by Spinelli before he left, revealed Carrie as a single mother of two daughters. From the various pictures around the room, he distinguished DeAnne the eldest at fifteen and Megan eleven, the same age as Kady. Both were blonds like their mother, with DeAnne looking more like her mother and Megan evidently taking after her father. Carrie worked as a physical therapy assistant over at GH and picked up extra hours as a waitress on the weekends over on the Haunted Star.

Ex-Husband, Lenny, was no longer in the picture, hadn't been for over eight years. Spinelli found a trace of him in a little town outside of Nashville. Was still single and owned a little bar that made pretty good money. According to his financial records he hadn't paid any child support since leaving Port Charles.

"Jason," Father Coats set the mug in his hand down on a coaster and stood to shake his hand, "Thank you for coming."

"It's no problem." The Priest was one of very few people in Port Charles who knew about his nighttime activities. If he received word of a problem that lay in his specific field, Jason was the first called. "What can I do for you?"

"Carrie called me this evening, she and her daughters are members of my Parish. She was very disturbed by some things she found in her daughter, DeAnne's room." He gestured for Carrie to come closer, "You can tell him what you found, it's alright. You can trust him."

Father Coats looked at him to reassure the woman and considering the man had called him in to this situation, whatever this woman found must be pretty bad. "Ma'am, if I can help you and your daughter, I'll do everything I can." It was all he ever promised because sometimes bad things happened and not even he could change the outcome.

"Well," she began tentatively, "Last night I went up to DeAnne's room to drop some of her clean laundry off on her bed." Her eyes began filling with tears again, spilling onto her cheeks. Father Coats placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as she pulled a crumpled tissue from the pocket of her sweater and cleaned her face.

"I've never seen anything like that stuff. I wasn't snooping," she for some reason felt obligated to point out. "I wasn't, she had left it," she spat the words out as if they left a bitter taste in her mouth. "She left it on her desk. When I asked her about it, we had a horrible fight. She ran out of the house."

She burst into tears then, and they both moved her to sit down until she was calm enough to continue. Carrie pulled herself together, a strong women were wont to do, stiffened her spine and continued on. "I thought she would just go to her friend's house and spend the night. It's what she always does when we get into an arguement. Sandi Jackson, you know her family Father, they live over on Lincoln."

"Yes, of course," he reassured her.

"I never thought she would just disappear," she looked at him with pleading eyes to tell her that it wasn't her fault. Maybe he could have offered that, and he didn't know her situation well enough to pass judgement, but there was no way in hell he would have allowed Kady to run out of their house into the night alone. He was all too familiar with the dangers that awaited some innocent who didn't know any better.

"So you haven't seen her since last night?"

"No," she shook her head, "Megan covered for her, said she came in early this morning and left for school but when it got so late, she 'fessed up and said she hadn't seen or heard from DeAnne all day."

Jason nodded, "And this friend, Sandi? Has she seen her? Did DeAnne go to school today?"

"No," Carrie's mouth trembled as she admitted that, "It took some doing but Sandi told the truth. She and DeAnne had a big fight last week, over some new boy that DeAnne has been seeing." She sniffed again, wiping a fresh wave of tears, "I didn't even know she liked a boy. She never said anything to me. I know I work a lot, but DeAnne's always been a good girl, I just don't understand how this could happen."

All too easily, unfortunatley. Young girl falls into a bad crowd, cuts herself off from her usual friends. Screamed cult unfortunately.

"Maybe I should see her room now," Jason suggested and they both stood. Carrie led him up a couple of stairs and down a narrow hall to the last bedroom. He pushed open the door, noting the usual girl stuff. Some of the same things he'd seen in his own daughter's room.

The bed was unmade, and it seemed DeAnne Johnson was a bit of a slob. Clothes were everywhere, papers and books tossed haphazardly on the desk and floor. She had completely covered the mirror with pictures, mostly of her and another girl around the same age which he guessed was the Sandi friend Carrie spoke of. He took down one with DeAnne standing in front of a large gate, dressed in a floral sundress and a smile of innocence on her face.

When all of this was done, that smile would probably never be the same.

"Do you mind if I take this?"

"No," she shook her head, "Go ahead." she glanced down at the picture, "That was taken for the Fourth of July picnic last year."

"And the things you saw, on the desk?"

"Yes." came the tremulous reply.

He flicked through the papers on the desk, noting an address book and setting it aside to take with him. The calendar on the wall was turned to the current month with each day ticked off as though she were counting down to something with tonight's date marked in a star.

Then he looked a bit closer. No not a star. A pentagram.

Frowning, he started digging through the little glass containers, which the mother had probably just assumed were those incense things. He rubbed one, brought his fingers up to his nose, "Frankincense."

"What?"

"This is frankincense," he picked up another jar, sniffed, "Camphor." and another, "Eucalyptus."

"I don't understand," she looked so confused but he ignored her and took another look around the room.

"Used in casting." He opened the desk drawer, found a small journal and flipped it open, scanned the pages quickly, "Got yourself a Wiccan here. Or at least playing at being one."

"I don't understand, what's a Wiccan?"

"A witch," he stated plainly, and turned the book around so that she could see the words written, "Spells. Or what she thinks are spells. She's playing around in something she truly has no idea about."

"But we're Catholic," was all Carrie seemed to be able to think of.

"I need to see what you were worried about Ms. Johnson."

"It was right there," she blinked several times, and walked to the desk scattering papers around. Finding nothing, she said, "She must have taken it with her."

"Can you remember was it was? An address, some names maybe. Or just symbols?"

"Symbols, one like that one on her calendar there. It was drawn in red, but it didn't look like marker, or paint. That's not why it scared me so much. It looked like blood. I work around enough injured people that I know what dried blood looks like, that's why she was so angry when I confronted her."

"Was it on regular paper, construction, something heavier?"

"Um, something heavier. It was beige."

Most likely parachment paper. "Did Sandi say what this new boyfriend's name was?"

"No," she shrugged, "I didn't think to ask. I was just so shocked."

"Ma'am, I'm going to need to look through the room a bit more throughly, could I ask you to step outside for a minute?"

"Um, sure."

"You don't have to close the door, if you don't want to, I just need to be in here alone," he reassured her as best he could and she backed into the hall watching him with fearful eyes.

Well, lady, it was going to get worse before it got better.

Taking a deep breath, he removed his jacket and set it on the back of the chair, worrying the thick silver band on his thumb. Carrie gasped at the two guns in their shoulder holsters but said nothing. Jason closed his eyes, rubbed a nervous hand over his stomach and focused inward.

If there was dark magicks in this room he would sense them. He concentrated on slowing his breathing, listening to the thumping of his heartbeat, the rush of blood flowing through his body. He felt the hum begin in the seal, just a small trace, which meant whatever DeAnne had in this room, it wasn't evil simply misguided.

"Can you turn off the light for me, Ms. Johnson?"

"Of, of course," her voice shook alittle but he felt darkness fill the room just the same.

When he opened his eyes, it was almost like looking through infrared goggles. The light from the hall made it difficult to see, but those little signatures were there just the same. He didn't understand why he could see shadows like this, maybe it was part of the choice he had taken when the Powers brought him back from death. Maybe it was the seal. Either way, he saw the traces of it coming from the closet.

He walked over and jerked open the sliding door, noting it was on some of her clothes especially those in the floor of the closet. Like specks of dust almost. "Can you get the light now," he asked as he raised a hand and placed it on the largest source. When the light returned, he noted the storage box in his hand and the vibrations humming through his fingers.

Removing the lid, he noted the burned down candles, herbs and jars that had been used but not properly cleaned. He found a book on witchcraft and drawing of circles but nothing evil. Just ignorance. And sometimes ignorance could be just as deadly.

Whatever DeAnne was into, today's date was important. He mentally went through the Wiccan calendar, the Druid calendar, every Mystic date of importance that he could think of and found nothing. "It doesn't make any sense." He said more to himself than Carrie Johnson.

He dropped the box on the bed, ignoring the woman's gasp of alarm at her first glimpse of the contents and went back to the address book. Paged through quickly seeing if he would note something familiar. "Nothing," he bit his lower lips, trying to think quickly. A glance at his watch told him it was after eleven, and most novices associated midnight with the ideal time for casting spells, which meant he had less than an hour to find DeAnne Johnson before she did something stupid.

"I need to speak to your other daughter, Megan."

"Why?" she asked almost defensively, "She doesnt' know anything."

"If she's anything like my daughter Kady, I'm sure Megan might be aware of a lot more than you're giving her credit for."

They sat in the livingroom with Megan Johnson looking as if she were facing a firing squad instead of her mother, her Priest and, well, perhaps she was more aware of his reputation than he thought she might be. "Now Megan, we need you to tell Mr. Morgan anything you know about DeAnne," her mother instructed which caused the young girl to clam up tighter if possible.

"I told you, I don't know anything," she whined softly, "Now can I go back upstairs?"

"Young lady, your sister could be in trouble," Carrie began but he held off the burst of anger with a gentle hand at her elbow.

He stood and sat down on the edge of the table in front of Megan and noted those dark brown eyes looked everywhere but at him. "Hello Megan."

"Hi," she answered quickly.

"Do you mind if I ask you some questions?" Instead of speaking she raised a shoulder and bit the side of her lip fidgeting her hands in her lap. "So what school do you go to?"

Megan blinked and finally looked up at him in suspicion, knowing these weren't the questions he wanted to ask, and unsure of where he was going. "Port Charles Academy," she answered carefully.

"That's the school my daughter attends," which told him a great deal about Megan Johnson. This family obviously couldn't afford the exorborant fees of the private school, which meant that Megan was probably on scholarship. Judging from the caginess in her young eyes, he would bet it was an academic one and not a needs based one. "She's in Mrs. Torres' class."

"You're Kady Morgan's Dad?" she asked carefully. It was a small school and both girls were the same age, so it was a probability that Megan had at least seen or spoken to Kady at some point.

"Yes I am," he nodded once.

"Oh," she frowned sadly, "Kady's really popular." Which meant that Megan wasn't. Kady was naturally exuberant and people were drawn to her. She wasn't spoiled or selfish, there was just a goodness in Kady that shone from her eyes and smile. "Mr. Morgan?"

"Yes, Megan?"

"Is DeAnne in trouble," she asked softly.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because I saw her papers and stuff, the ones that Mom's angry about. I was in DeAnne's room and when she caught me she got real mad."

"Do you remember what the papers said?"

She nodded slowly, "But it wasn't words, just that funny looking print," then she lifted a hand and pointed to his arm, "It looked like that."

Jason blinked once, then lifted the sleeve of the black t-shirt he wore up higher, "Exactly like this?"

"No, but that one," she pointed to one word. Megan wouldn't know that they were words and not symbols and neither would Carrie. That made things very different.

The word she pointed to was of the old language that translated vaguely to daemon.

"Megan," he leaned a bit closer to give her a good view, "Do you know what this is?"

"No."

"About seven years ago I was in Tibet, do you know where Tibet is?"

"East Asia right?"

"That's right," he nodded with a small smile, "I was traveling in the mountains and spent some time in a monastary. The monks there allowed me to study with them for a few months."

"Study what?"

"How to meditate, clear my mind, find peace within myself." Calm the screaming in his head, control the madness that was taking over his life but he couldn't tell the young girl that. It had taken weeks to get Kady to understand why he was leaving, it was a good think she had been young at the time.

"So what's that?"

"It's for protection," he answered. The monks had known of his destiny and offered the small bit of help they could for him while he walked his path.

"So that symbol that I saw on DeAnne's paper is a good one?"

"Maybe, but I need to talk to DeAnne to make sure. Do you know where she was supposed to be going tonight?"

"She made me promise not to tell," Megan glanced nervously at her mother.

"Baby it's alright, you won't get into trouble and neither will DeAnne. We're just worried about her," Carrie sat down next to her daughter and pulled her into a hug, but Jason saw the way she eyed his arm. Nervous. Fear.

"She went to the catacombs on Spoon Island with her boyfriend." Megan admitted finally.

"What's her boyfriend's name?"

"Eric," she murmured, looking away again which probably meant trouble.

"Can you tell me what Eric looks like, Megan?"

"He's not as tall as you. Kinda skinny. With dark hair and blue eyes. He was always dressed in black, with a hoodie on, so I couldn't really see his face. He would only come over at night while Mom was at work on Saturdays," she trailed off.

"Is there anything else Megan. Do you know what kind of car he drove maybe?"

"No. I mean, everytime he came over, he was in this pickup truck but there was two other guys in the front seat. DeAnne would climb into the back with him."

"Thanks Megan," Jason stood, wanting to get to the catacombs right away. "You've been a big help."

He slipped into his jacket and Father Coats rose to shake his hand again, "Thank you for coming over Jason."

"It's no problem. I'll call you if I figure something out tonight."

Before he could leave however, Megan called out again, "Mr. Morgan? I dont' know if this is important."

"You think of something else?"

And she nodded, her face anxious, "When Eric came over he never came in the house, just stood on the porch and waited for DeAnne to come out because Mom always said no company while she was gone."

"Okay."

"No, that's not it," she frowned, "He came over the other night and it was snowing and DeAnne wasnt' dressed yet so she ran down stairs to get the door. I was watching Teen Titans but I remember her opening the door and starting to rush away. She said it's cold as," she broke off and looked at her mother and he figured what DeAnne had said.

"She said why are you just standing there it's cold and he said, I'm waiting for you to invite me in and she said, well come in stupid and close the door behind you and Eric smiled."

Jason frowned, "He said I'm waiting for you to invite me in, Megan, those were his exact words?"

"Unhun, and then he smiled, I remembered because of the smile. I was scared so I went up to my room before they left."

The kid had great instincts.

It took him twenty minutes to get across town to the docks, grab one of the speed boats from the Corinthos/Morgan warehouse and get over to the island. By the time he was hitting dry land, it was five after midnight and he was cursing his stupid brother in law for not closing off the damned catacombs like Jason had suggested months ago. Nikolas had security patrolling the area but nothing was fool proof and anyone with enough determination could get past his rent-a-cops.

It was bad enough the regular teenage nuisance that messed around in the caves playing at dares and forbidden excitement, but then there was the criminal element who tended to utilize the hiding spot to store smuggled merchandise until it could be brought into the harbor.

He didn't want to consider the whole Helena Cassadine aspect of the equation.

And now, unless he was mistaken, there were a damned group of vampires skulking around with a teenaged wannabe witch who was probably in way over her head. Hopefully said head was still attached to her very alive body.

By the time he made his way into the inner tunnels, he could hear the weeping and the pleading to be let go. "Damn," he groaned. He had hoped he was wrong. Hoped that all he would find down here were a bunch of teenagers screwing around with things they didn't understand. He would scare the shit out of them, give them a lecture about being idiots and take DeAnne Johnson home to her worried mother. Evidently things weren't going to go that well for him.

Slowly approaching the edges of the darkest cave, he heard the rhythmic chanting of masculine voices, the flickers of shadows against the walls from the fire torches lining the walls. There in the center of the cave was a flat stone with DeAnne Johnson strapped down, nude and crying for help. Surrounding her, were four figures draped in black robes.

From what he could make out, they were offering a tithe. His obscure languages was a little rusty but he recognized something about a door. The figure closest to DeAnne's head reached beneath his robe, revealing the long gleaming blade of a dagger. Gripping it in both hands he held it over her chest.

"Well, fuck me," Jason grunted, pulling the Hecklers from their holster, firing off several shots. Two caught the knife wielder in the chest jerking him into the air, two more entered his neck the force almost severing it from it's body with a bright spill of crimson into the air and three went dead center forhead. The body flew wide, hit the ground and bounced once, quaked violently then disintergrated into dust. Leaving the knife to clatter once on rock and roll into a corner.

"Nothing like good old fashioned liquid sunlight." Jason stepped further into the room as the three remaining vampires yanked off their hoods and shifted into their demon visage.

"Kill him," one growled through jagged fangs, moving so fast that the human eye could never track it.

Good thing he didn't have normal human eyes and had the instincts of a hunter.

Two went for the ceiling, scaling across like human bugs, fast and nasty and the third dove straight at him. The movement was designed to confuse him but did just the opposite. He pulled the trigger of the gun in his left hand, firing off a line of shots to the walls of the cave in direct thirty degree diagonal to his line of sight.

With the right, he caught the vampire diving at him in the gut forcing him back as he listened to several bullets ping against stone driving one vamp to the ground. Instinct told him the other would be on him faster than he could turn, so he relaxed, felt the punishing grip of claws bite into his shoulders, through the leather of his jacket and rolled into the shove.

Together they grappled in the dirt and he dropped one gun to free the grip on his right hand and delivered a stinging fist to the jaw. In return his head was slammed back with enough force to make stars swim before his eyes because he had needed to maneuver the vampire on top of him. Teeth razor sharp snapped viciously in his face for a second, before he caught the vamp by the neck.

The howl of pain the demon released made his ears ring, even as the silver on his thumb began to burn and the vamp began to struggle. Muscle burned in his arm, and he tightened his grip "Stupid son of a bitch," he snarled through gritted teeth, "What the fuck are you? A fledgeling?" Jason brought the Heckler up and fired a point blank head shot. Tapping the heel of his boot to release a long silver blade from the tip, Jason lifted his leg and shoved the demon back far enough to impale it watching as it burst into dust.

"Gonna eat you," came a growl from overhead, "Drain you dry and break your neck."

Before he could spin to his feet, he was dragged off the floor into the air. The room spun wildly for a second and then he was flung into the ceiling. With a grunt of pain, he felt the grip release and then a moment of weightlessness before that stomach dropping slam to the floor. He watched through blurred vision as the torches blew out one by one.

"Should have minded your own business."

The growl came from directly over him and Jason lifted the gun to fire off a shot and then heard the empty click of the clip. Horrible laughter echoed bouncing through the dark, making the kid tied down cry even louder. "Now what are you going to do?"

Grunting he rolled to a squat, hands braced against the floor, while he waited for his head to clear. When he opened his eyes, he almost smiled. If the traces of magicks in DeAnne's bedroom seemed to shine in the dark, the pure evil in this demon was bright like a heat signature. The thing had actually did him a favor.

Moving slowly, he slid his hand beneath his pant leg, waiting for the right moment. He knew the vampire could hear his heart beat, the blood racing through his body, the adrenline, it would all be too much of an allure to resist. All he needed was the right moment.

"What? Nothing to say?"

Jason watched the vampire skim along the wall like a deadly spider, waiting for it's victim to get trapped on his web before leaping in to feed. He knew the instant the vampire tired of the game and his lack of response. When it shifted, he ejected the empty clip, freeing the one on his ankle and rolling to his left, slamming it in place.

The vampire hit the floor and leapt back into the air unaware that Jason could sense his every move as he pulled the trigger, hearing the scream of pain then nothing as the demon was pumped with a lethal dose of concentrated UV fluid and disintergrated.

Standing, he noted the remaining demon squirming on the ground the poision from the bullet racing through his bloodstream. If the vampire had been stronger, older, the gut shot would have wounded it, but never have put it down as hard as this one was. He walked over to one of the torches that had traces of the demon's essence on it. Murmured a soft, "Fyrian," and watched it glimmer to life.

Good thing Fiona had been willing to teach him a few elementary spells before he left Ireland. Jason rubbed the back of his right hand over the triquetra on his chest giving a silent gratitude to the fire-haired witch he'd met years ago. He couldn't do much but light a candle. Yet, trapped in the dark with a vampire he wanted to question and a terrified girl who was alternately weeping and screaming, any little bit helped.

First things, first. He needed silence if he was going to learn anything. Bending over he removed the dagger from it's ankle holster on his other leg, and cut the girl free, removing his jacket and drapping it over her. "Are you okay?"

By this time she was trembling violently but she still managed to nod. "I need you to sit here for a minute, then we'll leave. I have a boat right outside. Can you do that?" Again, she nodded her teeth chattering so loudly he hoped she didn't snap off the tip of her tongue.

He gave her a look of reassurance, and turned to the squirming body spilling blood all over the floor. He reached down, taking the demon's neck in a right handed grip and ignore the loud roar of agony as it's flesh connected with the ring on his thumb.

"Tell me what I want to know, and I'll put you out of your misery."

"Fuck you." Was the growled response, teeth snapping like a rabid dog.

"Wrong answer," he squeezed a bit harder and watched the body on the ground begin to flop like a fish out of water. "Now, let's try this again. Why did you kidnap the girl? What tithe are you paying? And what the fuck is the door you're talking about?"

"Master's coming, turn the day to night, kill you all and blood will run the earth." It began to chuckle, hideously childlike, "And there's nothing you can do about it."

He could have gotten more, but the girl curled into herself on the rocks had been through enough tonight. He had a new mystery for Spinelli to begin to decifer and the boy genius was about to earn his keep because this bastard's words didn't sound good at all.

"Too bad you're going to miss all the fun." Jason released a heavy breath, taking the Heckler in a firmer grip. He stood and pumped four bullets into the vampire's chest, watched as it dissolved into dust.

Going back to the girl, he frowned, and stripped off his t-shirt. It was cold as hell and they still had to travel across the lake. They both would freeze before making it back to his truck. "Here, put this on under the jacket," he turned around giving her the privacy to do so. "We're going to have to head up to the house to get you some clothes."

"We can't," she finally spoke up, "Cassadines."

"Yeah," he grunted, "There's no accounting for my sister's taste in men."