John slammed the door shut behind him rattling the metal rings on the motel's thin hideously patterned curtains. Two hours they'd spent in that cheerless office and they'd got precisely nowhere. On the surface Sheriff Johansson had been co-operation itself but in real terms he'd given them nothing, no speculation, no theories, no leads.

Thumping the thick case file onto the cracked tabletop John pulled at his tie. "I need a coffee. Then a shower…no a shower first," he shuddered. "I've got a little too much dirt on me…"

Bill barked out a laugh. "Yeah that bullsh**t'll get ya every time."

XXX

When John returned to the main room, towelling himself dry, the smell of coffee was bitter and strong. He poured himself a large mug full and sipped it. He'd taken his coffee black since Mary died, not by choice but because there never seemed to be any milk left once Dean stopped using formula for Sam. It either, when he remembered to buy some, went on the boy's breakfast cereal or shakes or anything that wasn't his coffee. He nodded over at the pile of paper Bill was sifting through.

"Anything?"

"Not much more than we already knew." Sighing Bill turned another sheet. "You get some shut-eye John, I'm going to go through this lot one more time."

XXX

"John…" His name penetrated the layers of sleep and John stirred not really ready to be pulled fully from his slumber, "JOHN, pass the map." Running his hand through his tousled hair the younger hunter blinked momentarily disorientated. "John, I think I got something." That woke John fully.

"Yeah….What?"

Bill by this time had retrieved the map for himself, spread it over the table and was searching for a pen under the strewn papers.

"It's just a hunch…I was reading over the evidence about the Datura…if this is witchcraft then maybe…" He left the sentence hanging as he concentrated on the map.

"Maybe….maybe WHAT." John pushed himself from the bed straightening his rumpled clothes.

"Read out the map references for me." Bill shoved his spider-written notes at his partner, "I wanna mark where the bodies were found."

"You think that's significant?"

Bill didn't answer.

"Bill?"

"Just read."

John read and Bill carefully ran his fingers over colours and folds of the chart until he pinpointed the reference and noted it with a cross. Once all six were marked he stood stretching the crick in his spine rubbing his hand on the back of his neck as he stared at the black crosses.

"Well?" John was still at a loss as to what his partner was thinking. Had the hunter seen some kind of pattern?

Suddenly Bill started forward and grabbed a folder. He laid it across the map lining up two of the crosses. Swiftly he drew a line from cross to cross. Then he moved the folder and joined two others. When he'd finished it was obvious to both men what they were looking at.

"It's a six pointed star." John turned to Bill. "A Star of David?"

"Kinda, but I think, if I'm right, in this context it's a Seal of Solomon. King Solomon is supposed to have had a seal-ring which had the name of God engraved onto it. It gave him power over spirits and other evil creatures. According to Arab writers the seal was in the shape of a six-pointed star."

"You don't say." John turned back to gaze at the black lines scored across the map. "So how does that help us?"

"Because if you burn certain oils and incense in the centre they say you can attract spirits and those spirits can manifest by using the smoke from the fire."

"A summoning, the sonofabitch is doing a summoning."

Bill nodded his confirmation. "That would be my guess and he's using the skin…"

"…to write the ritual." John finished his friend's sentence. "But why human skin?"

Bill shrugged, "My best guess is that he's not going for you're average spirit but for some heavy duty badass."

"Then we gotta stop him."

"And now we know where." Bill indicated, finger pointing at the centre of the drawn seal, at the Sheriff's Office. He looked up at John,

"Why lay the bodies out in the pattern of a summoning circle, if you not going to use it."

Bill was right. The Sheriff's Department was dead centre and there wasn't much else around it apart from retail outlets, diners and a park. Plenty of comings and going during the day for cover and no one to see or hear weird noises at night, apart from the duty cops and the drunks in the cells making strange noises of their own.

John went cold the blood draining from his face as his brain made connections. "Sonofabitch." His hands went up to push his hair back.

"What?" Bill turned on him.

"It's the Sheriff."

John knew there'd been something off about the man. Both he and Bill had surmised that Johansson was lying but there was nothing concrete and his partner had put it down to an innate officiousness but what if the Sheriff was hiding something and that something was the murder of six children.

"He told us nothing and all these case notes tell is that the inquiry is going nowhere." Bill was nodding his agreement. "The guy's in a prime position to stall any investigation 'cause," John swallowed. "…who's gonna suspect the Sheriff."

The more John thought about it the more it felt right, he had a gut instinct for these things and who knew how many other cops were in the coven. Crap.

"The damned Patrol Car. That's how he got them away."

The utter simplicity of it stunned John but the horror of how easy it had been for the Sheriff to snatch the six children made him sick to his stomach.

"Okay so we know who, why and where but we still don't know the hell when." John shoved the wooden chair in frustration sending it scraping and skidding across the floor.

The seat rocked on its back but even though Bill was staring at its swaying legs he wasn't seeing it. John not wanting to break his partner's train of thought held his tongue although his mind was a whirlwind of questions.

At last Bill spoke.

"Do you have that personnel data."

"What?" That surprised John.

"Those records your friend at the Police Department got. Is there one on Johansson?"

The hunter strode to his duffle, hauled it up yanking on the handles and extracted a blue pocket file. This he handed over to his partner.

"What's the date today?" Bill glanced up at John waiting for the answer.

"The 16th."

"Well…" Bill grinned, "…I think we have when."

John stared at Bill now thoroughly puzzled. "What?…how?"

"If he is the leader, the high priest of a Coven then his birthday is a significant date, a date when important rituals other than those already on the Satanic Calendar are performed. If the Sheriff's birthday is sometime this month then I'd say it's more than a good bet that's when its gonna happen."

Rifling through the records Bill scanned page after page. John's heart beat hard in his chest but he reigned in his excitement. If his friend was right about this then they might have a chance to stop the ritual, and rip the murdering sonofabitch's lungs out.

"Yatzi " Bill brandished a sheet in triumph. " Johansson's birthday is the 17th. If I'm right then its more than probably that the sonofabitch is gonna perform the summoning tomorrow."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Crouched John was aware that Bill was right behind him keeping watch. He'd already disabled the alarm surprised at how unsophisticated the system was and relieved that he didn't have to spend precious time tracing a secondary network.

John twisted his wrist as the lock pick met resistance, pushed and then grinned with satisfaction when the tumblers clicked into position and the rear exit door of the Sheriff's Department sprang open.

Johansson had spent the day in his office. John had shadowed the man closely from the moment he'd left his pristine weather-boarded house to the time he'd entered the municipal building having observed a morning coffee pick-up ritual at May's Diner and collected a newspaper at the stand.

It had all seemed very leisurely and frighteningly ordinary and by the time John had waited outside the mini-mart and watched the Sheriff buy fresh vegetables, a steak and a quart of milk on his way home, he was beginning to think he might have got it wrong.

John's doubts, however, had been dispelled when at ten thirty the upstairs light had snapped off and a few moments later Johansson had emerged carrying a large holdall. Able to keep a good distance between them John had followed Sheriff back to the Offices and watched as the man had parked and disappeared inside. No lights had come on but he'd seen three others enter while he'd waited for Bill.

His partner had been glued to the police scanner all day monitoring the movements of the patrol cars. There had always been the horrific possibility that the Sheriff would require another victim for sacrifice, black rituals could be greatly enhanced by fresh blood but fortunately everything had been quiet. Now, together, he and Bill were about to enter the 'lions den'.

Not wanting to cause a temperature change inside the building John hadn't opened the door wide but checked the immediate area inside was clear and then eased himself through the narrowest gap possible. He took care not to scrape his duffle on the frame as he passed through. The coven was bound to have a guard of some sort and he didn't want to alert anyone to their presence not until he and Bill were ready.

It was not totally dark in the corridor and John pressed against the wall had a good view through an open doorway into the foyer. The soft glow of a desk lamp spilled across the floor from the main desk running over the marble tiles to where John was standing. He stepped back from its brightness and keeping to the shadows he slid further along the passageway. The Deputy on duty remained oblivious to their presence and only the tinny noise of his TV disturbed the quiet surroundings as John and Bill searched for the basement doors.

The previous night, after their brainstorming session, two beers in the Liberty Bar had bought Bill the information, amongst other juicy titbits, that Talbot and Sons had carried out a rewiring job on the building several years ago. Bill had paid a surreptitious visit to the local electrician's, rifling through their records and finding a plan of the building.

Underneath the main building's ground floor were two separate areas. One contained the cells and custody suite and the other was a fall-out shelter, hollowed out in the hysteria of the 1950's, when the threat of immanent nuclear destruction was a constant presence in the populous mind. Most of these types of bunker had been abandoned in the mid 60's and filled in or used for storage this one was serving another purpose. It was an ideal space for a coven to use; one heavy security door and feet thick concrete walls.

Various doors led off the passageway's length and John knew from the plans that each section of the basement had its own individual staircase. To the right was the cellblock area and to the left no doubt behind a locked door was the bunker entrance. He gripped his lock pick ready to step in but when Bill tried the door it swung open on well oiled hinges.

Glancing at his partner John pushed his head forward indicating with a wry grin for Bill to go first. The older hunter rolled his eyes and shrugged before holding his handgun ready and stepping from the polished wooden floor onto the concrete steps.

Their footfalls sounded on the stone treads echoing loudly in the stark bare brick space. Bill paused and John held his breath but, after a few moments of heart hammering apprehension, when no one came to investigate they resumed their descent.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The mood was sombre as Johansson slowly slid the heavy material of his robes over his head. These were special, unspoiled, beautiful and perfect. He smoothed his hands over their rich deep purple folds, lost in the sensual feel of the silk. They made him feel strong, forceful and he savoured the feeling drawing in a deep breath closing his eyes against the banality of his surroundings. The bunker afforded the coven with a certain amount of privacy but was not ideal. It had none of the aura or the natural harmony required for a ritual of this magnitude but he would change that, he and he alone would create the resonance that would call forth his future.

Moines and Kingsley were already setting up the altar and preparing the protection circle, he trusted them but he would perform the purification ceremony himself. Tonight was too important, he couldn't afford for there to be even the smallest mistake; a word spoken out of place or mispronounced could destroy all that he'd worked for.

The smell of incense filled the void as the two acolytes intoned the verses required for the Circle of Protection. Four pillar candles were lit, to the North one representing Earth, the West, Water, the South, Fire and to the East, Air. Finally the men's voices lifted calling on the four Archangels; Michael, Gabriel, Raphael and Lucifer to give freely and provide protection to their servants.

These last sonorous tones fled into the darkened arena of the bunker as Johansson watched Beaks, Mendes and Horton step into the circle's confines. These men were not full initiates like Moines and Kingsley but they were a necessity. Later during the height of the summoning he would draw on their energies adding to his own purpose as he called out for the spirit to actualise.

The process might cause them a little pain but what the hell they came into this with their eyes wide open, the promise of money and sex saw to that. Johansson despised the pettiness of the human psyche. It disgusted him that they couldn't see beyond their own greedy egos but he could turn that to his advantage. So what if they were consumed and left empty, they were nothing, mere maggots wallowing in the filth of humankind.

The irony of his righteousness did not deter him; his was a purer, higher design and so far above his mother's pathetic attempts at atonement and salvation that he would be able to crush her God with the flick of his wrist.

Closing his eyes, anticipating that moment, the Sheriff took a deep breath and reigned in his excitement, directing it, using it to fuel the power growing in his body. His skin pricked the hairs rising as he felt the pressure building in the confined space. Gone was the dank sense of abandonment, the deadened dusty taste, now the air around him was charge laden and heavy with heat and tension.

Johansson struck a match. The phosphorous flared burning its image onto his retina. Deftly he threw the blazing stick onto the brazier, standing ready outside the circle of protection. For long moments nothing happened then with a crack a flame rose, blue and orange flickering, spitting, sending a steady drift of smoke curling upwards.

Crossing into the protected area Johansson raised his hand; the same ornate athame he'd used for the sacrifices gleamed reflecting the candle flame as he swung the knife down, point to the floor. Sparks arced from the blade as he drew it across the concrete scribing, following the nine foot circumference drawn around the altar. Behind him the five men chanted following Johansson's litany exactly their voices rising and falling in practiced concord as he closed the circle with a prayer.

"O Lord Lucifer, we know that You are everywhere, And nothing happens that You cannot see, But even so, we pray that You will come and join with us directly at this time as we seek our communion now with You."

Turning the Sheriff lifted a small bowl from the altar. Raising it high above the bowed heads of the kneeling Deputies in acceptance of their obsecration he took up the lighted taper from its holder and fired the herbs resting in the curved hollow; cedar for banishing, mint for cleansing and rosemary for purification

"We give ourselves to You and now we now pray that You will give us your protection during this ceremony and purify us your willing servants so that we may call upon the spirits under your control to do our bidding."

Head bowed, heart pounding, Johansson finished the supplication.

"In the name of Lucifer's holy name we pray, Amen."

He was trembling not with fear but with exhilaration this was what he'd been working towards, the culmination of all his aspirations, this was his time, his future. He stood for a moment in silence relishing the potency of the moment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

John's trained ear heard voices up ahead and he grabbed onto Bill's arm but the seasoned hunter had already come to a standstill having heard the sounds himself. Flicking off their flashlights both men froze straining to hear, to distinguish words from the general hum but frustratingly nothing was clear only a jumble of deep rumbles, rising and falling. The rhythm was steady and the even tone belied a conversation. To John it sounded more like a prayer; he shivered could it be that the Sheriff had already begun the summoning.

Sliding the flashlight switch to on once again but holding the beam down John shook his head indicating to Bill that he'd caught nothing then he motioned his partner to move on but to take it slowly. John had seen four men enter but there could be more and he didn't want any nasty surprises.

Rounding a bend the velvet blackness gave way to a golden light haemorrhaging through the slight gap in a doorway. Someone had failed to close the reinforced door properly and the candlelight beyond spun across the floor dancing gleaming fingers out into the passage. Squinting through the crack John couldn't help but breath in the heady incense which cloyed the air. Retching slightly at the overpowering perfume he leaned forward to see a tall shadow silhouetted against a glowing brazier raise its arms; Johansson he could tell by the build of his body. Beyond that he could see very little.

Scooting backwards he let Bill close the gap between them.

"Well?"

The edge to the elder hunter's voice showed that he was impatient but he held himself in check as John leant forward lips to his friend's ear.

"I can't see a damn thing. Johansson's there but I'm not sure how many oth… " The scented smoke escaping through the aperture suddenly caught at the back of his throat and his body convulsed as he tried to suppress the developing cough. He gulped in air but only that made things worse. Tears streamed down his face and he clutched onto his friend, fisting the plaid shirt in his fingers.

Eventually, with the cloth of his shirt pressed to his mouth and nose, the irritation subsided and John was able to calm his rapid breathing. Bill mouthed 'You okay' at him and receiving a nod pulled back.

Wiping his face with the back of his hand John pressed himself to the wall enjoying the coolness through his sweat soaked clothes before once again turning to the metal door. Thankfully there was no light in the corridor save their flashlights and praying that someone had oiled the hinges he splayed his fingers out, pushed slightly and swung the door back. It was heavy and he could feel it shuddering beneath his fingertips but the hinges moved smoothly widening the gap enough for Bill and then himself to slip into the bunker unnoticed.