Chapter 9

After getting redressed, we tooled around the back roads a little longer before returning to the salvage yard. Bobby quirked a knowing eyebrow at our rumpled appearance but was pleased when I thanked him effusively for his help with the GTO. Dean spent the rest of the afternoon demonstrating the car's features, including the secret compartment in the trunk and the same protective symbols as on the Impala.

Jody joined us for dinner the following night. Dean prepared Italian pepper steak and stuffed shells, and we both cleaned up the house beforehand. We'd noted earlier that Bobby seemed to be keeping the house tidier than usual. And he was taking better care of his person as well—his hair and beard were trimmed, his clothes were neat, and even his hats were clean. With great effort, we managed not to rib the older man, but we couldn't keep the goofy grins off our faces while watching him interact with the sheriff.

Over dinner, we told her about our honeymoon (the G-rated version, of course) and our trip back. She was thrilled with the gifts we got her, which included a fine robe from the resort shop and a delicate necklace of gilt-edged seashells. She was equally excited at the news that we planned to get a house and offered her assistance with the search and any renovations.

Although we did spend some time helping Bobby out around the house and salvage yard or with research, most of the next few days was devoted to the house hunt. Neither of us were interested in simply a starter home, so we had to ensure that whatever we chose would not only meet our current requirements but also could handle future needs. Finding the right property was turning out to be a rather daunting task because there were so many variables to consider and also so many choices to sift through.

One afternoon, we decided to blow off some steam by sparring out back while waiting to hear back from Frank regarding some final changes. After working up a good sweat, we ended up flopped down in the shade of a nearby tree. My husband eyed how my shirt was clinging to my chest and started to lean over.

"Hello, boys."

We both shot up into sitting positions and saw Crowley standing a few feet away.

"Sonofabitch!" Dean swore. "I swear I'm gonna put a fucking bell on you!"

The demon smirked for a moment. "Nice to see you too, Squirrel. I'm stopping by because I may have a solution to your housing dilemma."

"How do you even know about that? Did you bug our car again?" I demanded.

Crowley carefully dusted off a nearby stump with a handkerchief and sat before replying. "Hardly. I popped into your hotel room to chat while you were in Galveston, but you weren't around. Before I left, I happened to notice you'd left your laptop on. I then happened to see your wish list for your new home and decided to keep an eye out. I believe I've come across something quite promising."

I sighed, knowing there was no point in protesting the invasion of privacy. "Okay, so what have you found?"

"The property is in Veneta, Oregon, which is a small town just outside Eugene. It has all the usual things—shops, restaurants, banks, blah blah—and an auto shop which specializes in classic car restoration and maintenance," Crowley explained. "It's also half an hour from the University of Oregon, which I believe is a respectable research institution, even if it's not in Stanford's league. If Moose chooses to enroll as well as work there, they have a Graduate Employee program which covers tuition and pays a part-time salary. There are other smaller universities in Eugene too, if that one doesn't suit.

"The house itself seems to have everything on your list—Craftsman, three bedrooms and bathrooms, study, reasonable-sized kitchen, space in the basement for a workshop and vault or panic room, et cetera. The house is rather charming, or will be once it's fixed up, and still has most of the original features. The lot is about a half-acre and includes a garage, pond, and gazebo.

"There is a catch, of course, but even that works in your favor. The property is currently bank-owned and has been on the market for nearly six years. Before that, it went through five owners in eight years. Multiple witnesses have reported strange noises, cold spots, electrical fluctuations, and objects flying about. There've been a number of injuries, and the last owner, one of those ghastly real estate flippers, was nearly killed. The asking price is significantly below value as a result of the house's condition and reputation and probably can be negotiated even lower." The demon looked proud as he finished.

"So we're thinking poltergeist, right?" I asked. "Have you looked into the history of the place?"

"I have not yet, no. I assumed you would prefer doing that yourself. Though I'd be glad to assist if you need it," Crowley said.

Dean frowned. "How shitty is the condition of this place? We don't wanna be stuck with a giant fucking money pit."

"From what I could tell, most of the damage is superficial or merely neglect. But you should insist on getting an expert's appraisal. And if you need to walk away, I won't be upset," Crowley assured him.

My brother and I exchanged a glance, and then I turned back to the demon. "It certainly sounds really promising, man. You—you didn't have to do something like this for us."

"Of course I didn't have to. But it is what friends do for each other," Crowley responded. "Besides, I rather owe you lumbering piles of flannel, and I always pay my debts."

Dean looked puzzled. "What the hell are you talking 'bout? We helped each other out with taking down Lucifer. You don't owe us anything for that, Crowley."

"Perhaps not directly for that, but I've been able to move up in the world significantly since then, thanks to you two," he admitted.

We both looked even more confused, and I had to say, "Okay, now we really don't know what you mean!"

"You locking Lucifer up again, presumably this time for good, left a rather large vacancy at the top of Hell's hierarchy. Added to which, you'd previously killed his chief general, administrator, and torturer, as well as any number of other high-ranking demons. I first went to Azazel's fellow Princes of Hell to see if any of them would take up the mantle, but they'd retired eons ago and had no interest in returning.

"So I decided to take over instead. Now, you might think I'm an unlikely candidate for the King of Hell. But you see, most demons are big on the chaos and destruction but not so much on the organization and planning. I, on the other hand, have the backing of all the crossroads demons and the majority of the hellhounds. The fact that I'm friends with you both carries no small weight either. So here we are." Crowley spread his hands.

"The fuck? You—you're what?" Dean spluttered in shock. I felt equally flabbergasted.

Crowley said calmly, "Now hear me out before either of you overreact! If you stop and think about it, this is a good thing for everyone involved. Somebody has to take over Hell, and as I said, most other demons are only interested in causing the maximum amount of mayhem possible. Whereas I'm what you might call more 'lawful evil.' Like any crossroads demon, I'm all about setting rules and following them. Under me, there'll be no more demons running amok, doing whatever they bloody please. I have no problems throwing any demons who disobey to you hunters for summary justice.

"The important thing to understand is that I have absolutely no interest in destroying or taking over the world. I rather like it exactly as it is, full of you crazy, flawed, creative, wonderful mortals. Nor do I have any desire to cause unnecessary conflict with you or any of your violent compatriots, since that rarely turns out well for us in the end. I'm perfectly happy to manage my fiefdom and keep the status quo.

"So there'll be significant changes going forward. No demons will be allowed topside anymore—other than yours truly, of course—unless they've been summoned, are on a specific mission from me, or have received a temporary pass as a reward. Those who do come here will have very firm restrictions on their behavior, including on killing mortals. And in honor of what your family's suffered, I plan to relax the penalties for those who make deals for altruistic reasons. Plus I don't want to risk the possibility of some other wanker breaking the first Seal again and starting this sodding mess all over!"

"And we're supposed to buy what you're trying to sell us right now?" Dean asked skeptically.

"As I told you months ago, my word is my bond—it's bad business if people can't trust us when they make their deals. Also, while we demons may not have consciences as you know it, we still have feelings. The fact that you and I are friends does mean quite a lot to me," the demon replied seriously.

I gazed contemplatively at him for a moment before I said, "You do understand that this is a lot for us to take in, right? But you've always tried to be upfront with us, and you are our friend, so we'll try."

You sure 'bout this, Sam? Dean asked in concern. I like Crowley and all, but we ain't exactly had good experiences with any of the previous douchebags in charge downstairs.

I think I would've gotten a bad vibe if Crowley had ill intent behind what he's saying, but I didn't. I think he actually does mean well, or at least as much as he's capable. Whether things will turn out the way he plans is an entirely different question, I replied.

I suppose we gotta give him the benefit of the doubt for now. I just hope this don't come back to bite us in the ass later.

If it's any consolation, I did get a good feeling about the house he was describing, I offered.

Dean sighed. "I guess congratulations or something are in order then, man. You can come to us for help though if anything goes south and you're in trouble, okay? And, uh, we do wanna check out this house."

"After we've had a chance to research the place first. We need to know what we're dealing with regarding this poltergeist before we step foot inside," I added.

"In the meantime, follow us back to the house here. We got something for you," my brother said.

Once we got to the back door of Bobby's house, Dean dashed inside and came back with another bottle of aged Jamaican rum. He handed it to the demon, saying, "We dunno how this compares to that Scotch you like, but here."

"You got a gift for me?" Crowley looked surprised and touched.

"It's what friends do, right? We tried to get something for all our friends and family," Dean told him.

"I'm honored. Perhaps we'll open this at your housewarming party? I'll leave you to your research for now. Here are the particulars on the property. Call me when you're ready to go visit it." He handed me a piece of paper and then disappeared.

After talking to Frank on the phone, Dean and I hit the research. I focused on the history of the house and the identity of the poltergeist, while Dean checked out the neighborhood, town, and potential employers to see how they suited our needs. We looked up as much as we could online and made calls as well, some as legitimate potential homebuyers and some posing as reporters and the like.

We met up with Bobby in his study the following afternoon to pool our findings and get his input. We'd already informed him of what Crowley had passed on to us. He was still skeptical, as he'd never warmed up to the demon as much as we did.

"So get this," I said, opening the relevant files on my laptop. "The house was built in nineteen twenty-seven by a local lawyer named Jonah Warner. It was supposed to be for him and his new bride, but she died after a couple years from TB. He was heartbroken and threw all his energy into his career and his house. He never remarried and eventually became a judge, and the place, which everyone calls the Warner House, became a local landmark. He lived there for over sixty years, initially alone and then with a live-in caretaker, Tony Marcos, for the last dozen years of his life. He was killed there in ninety-one in what was initially thought to be a home invasion gone bad. Turned out some punks he'd sentenced showed up on Marcos' night off for some payback and didn't expect their victim to fight back.

"Since Warner had no living family by then, he left his house to the caretaker. Marcos kept the house in the same pristine condition as the judge had, and everything seemed fine. Visitors did report cold spots and things moving about, but nothing violent—the spirit seemed to be helping more than anything. Marcos died in a car accident about six years later, and a young couple bought the property after it cleared probate. The trouble seemed to start after they decided to update the house. The spirit chased away every contractor they hired, and they sold the place after two years. They were the first owners the poltergeist drove off, followed by four more, as well as multiple contractors, vandals, thieves, and thrill-seekers.

"The poltergeist has definitely been escalating over the years. Initially it only reacted when someone actually started to change or damage the house, but recent reports claim it'll attack if you merely talk about it. And the violence has ramped up as well—it started out with just scaring people off, then injuring them, and that last owner Crowley mentioned was nearly killed when he was thrown down the stairs."

"Definitely sounds like Warner's our man," Bobby said. "Is there any angle to the assholes who offed him, or is it all 'bout the house?"

I shook my head. "His killers weren't exactly the sharpest tools in the shed and were caught red-handed after neighbors heard the ruckus and called the police. There've been no attempts to go after them or their families or anyone similar to them. He seems to be entirely focused on protecting the house. And the place was gorgeous at one time—I found a couple articles the local newspaper did on the Warner House before the judge's death, complete with pictures. There aren't any recent pictures of the interior—not even the realtor will go inside—so I'm not sure how bad it is now."

"The rest of Crowley's intel seems to check out too," Dean said, pulling out some papers. "Veneta's a small town, maybe forty-five hundred people, though they've been throwing up a lotta new developments and shit in the past decade. But there's still a smattering of older homes like this one 'bout. Old man Warner's family used to own the whole cul-de-sac, though the rest of the properties have been sold over the years. The street is supposed to be pretty quiet, mostly young families, and the Warner House is the only one on the end, so it's got a bit of distance and privacy from the others. The town itself seems to have all the basics, and it's less than ten miles from the outskirts of Eugene for whatever else we want.

"The potential employers he mentioned are also legit," he continued. "The auto shop's been in business for over fifteen years and has a solid reputation. Place is called Halliwell's Classic Restoration, which means I should get along great with this guy—I love that movie!"

I rolled my eyes. Of course he did—it was car porn and had Angelina Jolie. "Maybe it's just his name, dude."

My husband smirked at me. "Nope, owner's name is Collin Atkinson. Anyways, this place's definitely my first choice, but there are several other garages in the area if he ain't hiring. And the U of Oregon is a solid choice for you, Sam. It's considered a 'very high research activity' university, so there's gotta be a lotta opportunities there. And if you decide to attend, the GE program will cover your tuition up to sixteen credits as long as you take at least nine a semester and let you work part-time too. They got a law school if you still wanna go that route, or they've got lots of master's and doctoral programs. I really think you should consider this, kiddo."

'That is very tempting. And the house looks promising on paper. But first we have to check it out in person to determine its current condition and see if we truly like it," I pointed out. "And regardless of whether we decide to get it, we have to deal with the poltergeist. We can't risk it hurting more people."

Bobby said. "You'll hafta see if salting and burning the old man's bones will do the trick, or if you hafta plant hex bags in the house."

"About that . . . I'm wondering if there's another option besides banishing it. Maybe convince it that we're there to restore the place, not gut it? I mean, we met all those different supernatural creatures at Chavah Island, so it just seems like—"

"Those were sentient people who could be reasoned with! This thing's gone well beyond vengeful, man, which means it's running on nothing but fucking rage! It ain't gonna turn into a nice roommate like Phantom Dennis," Dean interrupted irritably. "And even if your crazy-ass idea did work, I don't wanna worry 'bout it flipping out later if it doesn't like a change we're trying to make."

"Listen, it can't hurt to try. After all, we can protect ourselves against anything it can do. If this doesn't work, we can still fall back on the salt-'n-burn option," I argued.

"Personally, I ain't comfortable with the fact that you're trusting information from Crowley. He's a snake-oil salesman and a demon, and now he's the frigging King of Hell! Tell me again how he ain't bad news?" Bobby groused.

"Bobby, we're well aware of what he is. But he's never intentionally led us astray, and he's been a better ally than any of the angels except Cas. Plus there's really no ulterior motive for him here. We didn't ask him for help—he came to us on his own," I explained.

"And as far as the King of Hell gig, better the devil you know and all that shit," Dean added. "We're gonna keep an eye on him if we can, but we gotta give him a chance first."

Bobby sighed. "Balls! Well, I hope you idjits know what you're getting yourself into. Just holler for me when things go pear-shaped, and I'll ride to the rescue."

"We'll be fine, at least in this case. I told you I got a good feeling about this house, and so far this precognition vibe thing hasn't been wrong," I said.

"If you say so, kid. You want me to come along?"

"Until we get a better handle on how to deal with our undead friend, the less people I have to shield the better," I replied. "Once the poltergeist is neutralized, I'm sure we'll want your input on the condition of the house and stuff."

"Poltergeists are tricky to deal with, even with your woo-woo powers, boy, so you're gonna need my help," the older hunter scolded. "And I ain't exactly quaking in my boots over a damn spook after facing down Lucifer, ya know. Besides, I ain't letting Crowley poof me over there afterwards. Bastard's liable to leave me stuck halfway in a tree!"

"We ain't traveling that way either, man. Unless it's an emergency, I'd rather take a fucking plane than do that again!" Dean shuddered. "Besides, we're gonna wanna check out more than just the house while we're there, and I ain't gettin sulfur all over my Baby. Let him come, Sam. He can always stay outside if we really decide it's too risky to all go in."

"Alright, alright. If we leave in a couple hours and drive in shifts, I think we can get there by tomorrow afternoon. Then we crash in a motel and visit the house the next morning. I'll call Crowley and have him meet us there," I said.

"Sounds like a plan!"