Locket and Leave It 2/3
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NOW
Chapter 1
January 1992
Ann Arbor, Michigan
“Sure appreciate you fellas working with us on this,” said the detective. “Especially you, Agent Norris.”
John Winchester shrugged as he and Klaus Wulfenbach sat down at the conference table. “All part of the job. But this is the fifth case in three months we’ve worked that’s followed the same pattern. We’re anxious to know what information you’ve been able to get from the surviving gang members.”
“Whole lot more than we expected, frankly. Seems whatever happened during that shootout turned ’em into regular canaries.”
John carefully didn’t look at Klaus, and not just because his old gunny was 6'8", had the steely eyes, chiseled features, and fearsome hooked nose of an action hero, and had always had the knack of menacing his enemies when he wanted to. The idea that Klaus’ wife Zantabraxus might be the Southeast Asian equivalent of a member of one of the Seelie courts—and a high-ranking one at that—seemed more and more plausible all the time. Not that this particular gang’s leader had been terribly serious about using witchcraft, but his spells had visibly bounced off of Klaus and rebounded with terrible effect on their caster, and the bullets hadn’t made any sort of dent in him, either. He hadn’t even noticed that his marriage mark was glowing green by the time he trashed the leader’s altar. John didn’t blame the gang members for being scared out of their wits... hell, if he didn’t know Klaus, he’d be seriously asking himself whether or not to hunt him.
Then again, Klaus seemed to be just as carefully not looking at John, so maybe he’d been scarier than he’d realized himself.
“From what they’ve said so far,” the detective continued, “they’d been drawn into a network of gangs being developed by a syndicate that’s run out of Detroit. It has two main branches. The gang’s contact was a member of the Knights of Jove, slogan: ‘We bring the lightning.’ Used to be rum-runners during Prohibition. Their chief concerns now seem to be drugs, vice, and gambling. The enforcers are known as the Knights of the Smoke—real cloak-and-dagger outfit, may be getting some recruits who are ex-KGB. Both branches report to the syndicate’s central council. And the head of that council, if my sources aren’t lying to me, is—”
“Aaron William ‘Wild Bill’ Sturmvoraus,” Klaus supplied, spinning his pen between his fingers.
The detective blinked. “You know him?”
“We’ve tangled before.” Klaus flipped the pen in the air and caught it. “Sturmvoraus has a penchant for sampling the wares; seems his father’s philosophy was that you had to know the quality of the product intimately before you could sell it adequately. And he’ll deal in anything that’ll make him a quick buck—guns, diamonds, information, you name it. Almost had him for selling weapons to Hezbollah a couple of years ago, but he made it out of the warehouse before ATF arrived.”
John hummed thoughtfully. “If he’s the kingpin, we take him out, should put a big enough hole in the organization to knock it out of the game.”
“Yeah, but nobody can get to him. And it’s not even that he’s that good. He’s just that fast and that lucky.” Klaus shot John a sidelong look that said he suspected now that there was less luck than magic involved.
“Nobody’s luck holds out forever,” John replied with a hint of a wink and stood. “Thanks for the help, Detective. We’ll see what the Bureau can do from here.”
After a round of handshakes, the two hunters left. But before they could begin discussing the case outside, Klaus’ pager went off—and he scowled at the number it showed.
“What?” John asked.
“Better answer this one from a pay phone,” Klaus replied. “It’s Sturmvoraus.”
“Speak of the devil, eh?”
“Not sure if it’s that or if someone got word to him that we’re closing in. Not that we’re close, exactly, but still. We’re in the same state, literally and metaphorically.”
“Hrm.” John looked around and spotted a phone booth across the street from the police station. “Well, no time like the present,” he said, pointing to it.
Klaus sighed, nodded, and stalked across the street, while John ducked into the coffee shop next door for some better coffee than the PD had had. (He’d managed to refrain from asking where Sgt. Yemana was, but only just.) No sooner had he paid for the coffee and accepted a free cheese Danish, however, than Klaus came back across the street, scowling even more deeply than he had been. John quickly collected both cups and pastry and hurried out to Klaus’ ’87 Crown Vic, which they’d been using in their “official” capacity because it was less conspicuous than the Impala.
“Danish?” he offered as he reached the car.
Klaus shook his head but accepted the coffee. He waited until they’d gotten in, however, before stating, “He wants me to help him find someone.”
John blinked. “He what?”
“Sounded pretty stoned. I can’t tell if it’s a trap or if he’s serious. He did mumble something about scrying, but I couldn’t understand most of it.”
John sighed and checked his watch. “Detroit’s only an hour away. We can get there and back before dark.” When Klaus raised a questioning eyebrow, John continued, “Hell, we’re not gonna have a better chance to get in. If he is pushing the sorcery along with the drugs, we need to stop him ourselves. If he’s just a crook, and he’s stupid enough to do this, we can swipe enough evidence for the real Feds to take him down.”
“What is this we business, Corporal? He asked for me.”
“Not knowing you now have a partner. Look, you know him; I know witches. Besides, if it is a trap, you’ll need backup.”
Klaus grumbled but took a drink of coffee, started the engine, and got on the highway to Detroit without going back to the motel first, which John decided was a sign he’d won this particular argument and celebrated by eating the Danish before Klaus could change his mind.
Getting to the Sturmvoraus mansion in Grosse Pointe turned out to be easy—almost too easy. Traffic was lighter than John had expected, and although it was snowing slightly by the time they arrived, the streets weren’t bad. Getting in the gate was too easy; the gatehouse was unmanned, and the gate had been left open. Now on high alert, Klaus parked in front of the front steps, and John accompanied him up the steps and in the unlocked and unguarded front door.
“Something’s wrong,” Klaus murmured.
John nodded his agreement, and they both paused to listen and look around. Then raised voices from behind one of the closed doors caught their attention, and they edged toward it.
“...nine years old!” shouted a young woman, probably early twenties.
“Anevka, please,” pleaded a boy, voice cracking on the edge of puberty.
“Stay out of this, Tarvek!”
An adult male voice slurred something John couldn’t make out. Klaus pointed to the door and signed AWS, meaning that voice belonged to Sturmvoraus.
“No!” the woman—Anevka?—insisted. “You are not gonna do to her what you did to me!”
“Dammit, ’Nevka!” Sturmvoraus roared. “I broughchoo inna this world; I c’n take you out of it!”
Anevka’s response was a chuckle that made John’s hair stand on end. “That’s just what Mother said. Back in ’86, remember? Remember what I did to her?!”
The boy—Tarvek?—tried again to intervene, but he’d barely gotten out half a word when there was a gunshot, followed by a startled female squeak and the thump of a body crumpling to the floor.
“ANEVKA!!!” Tarvek wailed.
“Teejer ta talk back ta me,” Sturmvoraus snarled. “An’ azzz fer you—”
He was interrupted by a bone-chilling baying from outside. Klaus shot John a startled look.
Hellhound, John mouthed, and Klaus’ eyes widened further.
The hound bayed again, closer this time, and both hunters drew their sidearms. John tried the door but found it locked. Klaus motioned him back and kicked it open, revealing what appeared to be a study with a seedy-looking man, undoubtedly Sturmvoraus, standing terror-stricken behind the desk. But before they could charge in, a gust of wind that stank of death and sulfur rushed past them with a blood-curdling snarl, and they froze in the doorway as invisible claws tore into Sturmvoraus’ belly and invisible fangs sank into his neck, choking off his scream. Then he was shaken like a rag doll and his neck snapped. The hound bayed once more in triumph and rushed out again, leaving Sturmvoraus’ mangled body slumped forward on the desk.
“No,” Tarvek’s voice breathed, finally drawing John’s attention to the boy—about Dean and Gil’s age, with auburn hair so dark it almost looked maroon—standing stunned a few feet away, in front of another door. “No, that’s... that’s not how it was supposed to go....”
“Son?” Klaus asked, which snapped the boy out of his shock. “What happened?”
Tarvek swallowed hard. “Are you Mr. Wulfenbach?”
“I am.”
“He was... he was going to ask you to find someone for him. A girl. The, uh... the daughter of a lover. He’s been making me do Internet research, but he doesn’t—didn’t know enough about computers to know I was lying when I told him I couldn’t find anything. Anevka came home today from a business trip, and when I told her about it... she just snapped, dragged me in here to confront Father, and....” Tarvek faltered to a stop, looking back at the corpses.
“We heard part of it,” John admitted as he followed Klaus into the study, both stowing their guns. “Why did the hellhound attack? Had he made a deal?”
Tarvek blinked, startled, then sighed heavily. “Yes, sir. It was... about eight years ago. He was really high, and he... he called Anevka in here and... well, he almost killed her. But when he realized what he’d done, he ran straight to a crossroads and... brought her back. I’m not sure she came back right.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, Father told me once that a condition of his deal was that he couldn’t even touch Anevka again, and especially if he ever hurt her again, he would die. I guess... I guess he forgot.”
Frowning, John began scanning the room for an altar.
“Reason they call it dope,” Klaus quipped, then sighed. “Well—Tarvek, is it?”
“Yes, sir,” Tarvek answered.
“You have any relatives we should call, or—”
“No!” Tarvek yelped, shrinking back. “No, please don’t make me stay with my family!”
“They all in the business?”
“Yes, sir. Both sides. Mother’s family is in the Russian Mafia.”
“And where is your mother?”
“Dead. Anevka killed her.”
“Oh, great,” John groaned, stepping around the growing pool of blood behind Sturmvoraus’ desk. Then he noticed that one of the curtains beside him was covering something.
“We’ve been planning to run away,” Tarvek confessed. “My cousin Violetta and I, I mean. I’ve been trying to get myself emancipated, but Father’s got—had so many judges bought off, I haven’t even gotten as far as the application.”
“What have we here?” John murmured and pulled back the curtain to reveal not only a low altar but also what looked like some sort of shrine, the focus of which was a photo of a strawberry blonde with grey eyes and pouty lips set in a face that was basically a sideways oval in shape.
Klaus approached the desk cautiously to look over John’s shoulder, inhaled sharply, and hissed, “Lucrezia!”
John blinked and turned to him. “That’s your ex-girlfriend?”
Instead of answering, Klaus rounded on Tarvek. “How did your father know Lucrezia Mongfish?”
“I-I don’t know, sir,” Tarvek stammered. “I just know he did.”
“And she was the lover whose daughter he wanted me to find?”
“Yes, sir. He always said he’d never get over her. He said she’d taught him everything he knew about... that.” Tarvek waved a hand toward the altar.
John kicked the altar over and looked at Tarvek again. “Where’s everyone else?”
“At the docks. Father ordered everyone out of the house for an hour.”
Klaus frowned. “And they all went? Even the guards?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And nobody asked any questions?”
Tarvek looked down at the ground. “Nobody ever questioned him. Nobody could, except... Anevka and Violetta and I. At first, it was because we were kids. After the deal, I don’t think he dared try anything on Anevka, and... I... I found a way to protect Violetta and myself.”
John’s skin crawled. “Thrall. That’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it?”
Tarvek nodded miserably. “He said he learned it from Lucrezia.”
Klaus swore bitterly in Vietnamese. Tarvek flinched.
“All right,” said John. “We need to get out of here before that hour is up. Where’s your cousin?”
Tarvek turned back to the door behind him. “Violetta?”
A younger girl with short, spiky hair the same shade of auburn as Tarvek’s poked her head past the doorframe. “What?”
“We’re leaving.”
Violetta ducked out again briefly, then came all the way into the room with two backpacks. One she handed to Tarvek; the other she slung over her own shoulder.
“We can have another hunter clean up anything that needs burning later,” John said and grabbed the desk phone, now glad both that Klaus had insisted on his getting a pair of Isotoner gloves and that he’d kept them on when they came inside. He quickly dialed 911, reported the shooting, and hung up.
And with that, Klaus herded the kids out to the car, with John covering their six, and once everyone was in, they sped off. They’d gotten half a mile down the road when a line of squad cars raced past them, headed toward the mansion. But no one stopped them, and they made it through Detroit without incident.
When it became apparent that they’d made good their escape, Klaus finally relaxed and glanced at John. “What do we do about them?” he asked, nodding toward the back seat slightly.
“I’ll call someone when we stop for gas,” John replied.
Klaus took the hint and stopped at a gas station in Canton. While he made a show of filling up, John found a pay phone and called Jim Murphy.
“John!” Jim replied. “I was just on my way out the door. What’s up?”
“Got a couple of orphans I need to place,” John told him. “Dad violated a crossroads deal, and mom died years ago. Rest of the family’s no better, and you know what the foster system is. Was hoping you’d take ’em, at least temporarily.”
“Ages?”
“Boy’s probably 13. Girl’s... I dunno, eight, nine. They’re actually cousins but don’t want to be separated.”
“Hm. Well, I’m not saying no yet. But the fact is, I’m about to head down to meet Bobby at Harvelle’s. There’s a couple whose daughter is having some strange problems. Would you mind joining us? Bring the children, of course; if I can’t take them, maybe Bill and Ellen would.”
John sighed. “Yeah, all right. Might be better if we leave the kids at the motel while we meet your case at the Roadhouse.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Oh, and Jim... I picked up a partner a few months ago.”
“So I heard. Who is it?”
“Gunny Wulfenbach.”
A beat passed before Jim yelped, “He’s alive?!”
“Wild story. We’ll tell you later. I just... thought I should warn you.”
“I’m glad you did. Wouldn’t do to pass out when I see him!”
John laughed in spite of himself. “All right, see you tomorrow.”
As he hung up, Klaus walked over. “Who’d you call?”
“Murphy. Wants us to meet him in Nebraska tomorrow. I know the place; you can follow me.” John didn’t think they would have been followed this far by anyone who wouldn’t accost them right away, but just in case, he didn’t want to say too much where anyone might overhear, even by accident.
“Fine.” Klaus paused. “Gil rides with you.”
John understood perfectly; he wasn’t sure he wanted Aaron Sturmvoraus’ kid anywhere near his own sons, either. “Sir, yes, sir.”
Klaus snorted in amusement, and they went back to the car.
The boys had known since breakfast that the plan was to leave town that day, so they already had the Impala packed and Zoing’s tank prepped for transport by the time Klaus and John arrived back at the motel. John checked both families out while Dean got the Impala started to warm it up and Gil and Klaus got Zoing situated in his usual slot in the Crown Vic’s trunk, and five minutes later they were headed west, Sammy trying to read in the front seat with John and Dean and Gil chattering in the back. Upon learning that Klaus wasn’t entirely sure of Gil’s exact birthdate, Dean had offered to let Gil share his birthday, and now they were planning not only what to do for their first joint party on the 24th but also how they’d spend the rest of their lives as best friends forever. Some of their ideas gave John a pang of regret because he knew they’d never come to pass unless he could find and kill the yellow-eyed demon soon, but still... it warmed his heart to know that Dean probably had found a friend for life in Gil.
“How come nobody wants to share my birthday?” Sammy finally interrupted sulkily about the time John started scouting for a place to get supper from a drive-through.
Dean leaned forward, tapped the top of Sammy’s head, and waited until Sammy turned to glare at him to say sincerely, “’Cause you’re so cool, you deserve a day all to yourself.”
Sammy’s eyes widened as he considered that perspective.
“I second that,” Gil stated, his grin audible in his voice.
“All in favor?” John asked, unable to keep from smiling himself.
“AYE!” three young voices chorused.
“Sounds like the ayes have it!”
Sammy giggled, and Dean tousled his hair and sat back.
The boys dozed off somewhere west of Joliet, which was just as well because the roads in Iowa were treacherous enough that John needed to give his full attention to driving. Outside Iowa City, he radioed Klaus on the CB to ask whether they ought to stop for the night and continue at first light, but Klaus pointed out that the roads would only be worse then, so they pushed on, getting the biggest cups of coffee they could every time they stopped for gas. And in the end, it was just about daybreak when they pulled into the nearly deserted parking lot of the Beetleburg Motor Inn. The clerk was only too happy to let them check in that early and didn’t even hesitate when they asked for adjoining rooms, and after adults and kids alike filled up at the continental breakfast, John set salt lines in his room, turned the TV on quietly for the boys, and stretched out on one bed for a nap.
It felt like five minutes later when Dean’s quiet “Hi, Pastor Jim!” roused John, but a quick glance at the clock showed that he’d slept just over an hour. As he sat up, he saw the connecting door standing open and two red heads in front of the TV along with Gil and Sammy’s brown heads. Well, at least they’re not getting in trouble, John thought and stood with a groan.
“You all right, John?” Jim asked, coming in to shake hands.
“Yeah, just stiff,” John answered and smiled in spite of himself. “Good to see you.”
“I see you’ve got a new basketball team!”
“Oh, allow me,” Dean said before John could, and the other kids stood. “Gil Wulfenbach, Tarvek Sturmvoraus, and Violetta Mondarev. This is Pastor Jim. He’s cool.”
Jim chuckled and shook hands. “Nice to meet you all.”
“Heard a lot about you, sir,” Gil replied.
“I bet you have! Where’s your dad?”
“Next door,” John supplied, pointing to the connecting door with his thumb.
“Still asleep, last I checked,” Gil added.
“Not anymore,” Klaus rumbled and ducked through the doorway. “Hi, Murph.”
“Of all the voices I never thought I’d hear again,” Jim replied with a grin and went to shake Klaus’ hand. “Good to see you, Gunny.”
Klaus blinked and pointed to Jim’s clerical collar with his free hand. “You’re a padre?”
“Pastor, technically. Sacrament Lutheran, Blue Earth, Minnesota.”
“Huh. Never figured you for a sky pilot. Then again, I never figured John for a hunter.”
John huffed and turned back to Dean. “We need to talk business for a while, Champ.”
Dean nodded his understanding. “Yes, sir.”
“You kids need anything, knock.”
“Yes, sir.”
With that, Klaus ushered Jim and John through the connecting door and locked it behind him. “I’ll start the coffee,” he said, waving the other two men toward the table.
Jim turned to John. “Tarvek—that’s not Aaron Sturmvoraus’ son, is it?”
“Yup,” John replied. “Begged us to bring him and his cousin with us.”
“They’re the orphans you called about?!”
“You got a problem with that, Murph?” Klaus asked, filling the coffee pot from the bathroom tap.
“Only insofar as the Detroit police think they’ve been kidnapped. It’s been all over the radio this morning.”
“Look, the Ann Arbor police can vouch for us,” John stated as they sat down. “We’d just helped them take down a gang that had ties to the Knights of Jove, and I’d told them we’d try to go after Sturmvoraus next. Plus, Tarvek swears he’s been trying to get himself emancipated so they could run away. When we’re done here, you can take them back to Blue Earth and let them talk to the fuzz from there.”
“And say what?!”
“They were rehearsing their story in the car last night,” Klaus supplied, switching on the coffee maker and coming to the table. “The true part seems to be that Sturmvoraus was trying to groom Tarvek to take over the business when his deal came due in two years. That included pushing him to try drugs, alcohol, and sex—and learn how to cast thrall spells, although I recommended leaving that out. Violetta was to become a Smoke Knight and be Tarvek’s servant and personal bodyguard. Both of them had been resisting as best they knew how. Sturmvoraus hadn’t gotten around to using force yet, but it was only a matter of time.”
Jim paled. “Dear Lord.”
“Tarvek’s planning to claim Anevka convinced him to take Violetta and run, making sure they left the house before she went in to confront Sturmvoraus. The order Sturmvoraus gave his men included shutting down the security cameras, so there won’t be any tape to contradict him. And if he calls from a church, it’ll be all the more plausible.”
Jim nodded slowly. “We won’t call the Detroit police, then. We’ll call the FBI. If he’s willing to testify against his family, that is.”
“I think he might be. Violetta suggested they contact another cousin named Martellus, since he was out of the business, but Tarvek said he wasn’t about to trust a man who breeds werewolves.”
“Breeds werewolves?” John and Jim chorused incredulously.
Klaus held up his hands. “That’s what he said.”
Jim turned to John. “Sounds like a job for Turner.”
“I’ll say,” John replied. Rufus Turner wasn’t the only black hunter he knew, but he was one of the best, and he was also more likely than Gordon Walker and his ilk to recognize that weres, even though they needed killing, still had human sentience and deserved not to be treated like dogs. He’d probably find a way to bust this Martellus character for owning slaves, whatever happened with the weres themselves. “But enough about the mob. What’s the story with your case?”
“Well, I don’t know much yet. We’re supposed to meet the father at Harvelle’s at 10. He’s Bill’s favorite mechanic, says his daughter’s suffering from headaches the doctors can’t treat and having some other strange problems.”
“And Singer?”
“Got in last night, stayed with the Harvelles. Bill said he figured more heads would be better on this one. Turner’s snowed in somewhere in Ontario, but Bobby said he thinks the six of us should be able to figure it out.”
Klaus blinked. “Six?”
“Bill and Ellen are both hunters,” John explained. “Ellen usually stays home to run the bar and look after their daughter, but she’s no slouch herself.”
“I see.” Klaus checked his watch. “Guess we do have time for coffee, as long as we drink fast.”
“Roadhouse is only five minutes from here. We’re okay.”
Just then the coffee maker’s automatic shutoff popped, and conversation turned to more general catching up. All three men kept an eye on the time, however, and soon they were washing their coffee mugs and getting ready to go.
John opened the connecting door and called Dean over. “Gotta go to a meeting,” he said. “You kids stay here. We should be back before lunch.”
Dean nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“If you need anything before then, call my pager.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sammy hurried over with John’s jacket. “Be careful, Dad.”
John smiled and accepted it. “We will, Sport. Be good for Dean.”
“Yes, sir.”
John closed the door again, and the three men left in Jim’s car.
The Roadhouse looked deserted when they arrived; only Bill’s truck and Bobby’s Chevelle were parked out front. Ellen came out as they parked, however, and after shaking hands with Jim and John and introducing herself to Klaus, she reported that the man they were to meet was in fact there. “He parked in the back,” she explained. “He seems pretty embarrassed to be meeting you guys here—Bill says he’s real active in church, and I get the impression he doesn’t drink. But like I told him, there’s not really a safer place in town to talk shop.”
Jim nodded. “And what did he say to that?”
“Nothing. He’s mute.”
“Huh,” said Klaus. “I grew up with a mute—good friend of mine. I can interpret if you need.”
Ellen nodded. “Might help. Thanks. C’mon in.”
They followed her in to find Bill and Bobby shooting pool while a big dark-haired man—at least as tall and broad-shouldered as Klaus—sat at the bar with a mug of coffee, the hunch of his shoulders broadcasting his discomfort with the surroundings. He didn’t stir while Jim and John traded greetings with Bill and Bobby. But the second Klaus spoke to introduce himself, the man at the bar straightened in surprise and whirled around to look at them.
“And this is—” Bill began but broke off when he saw the stunned look on the big man’s face.
Klaus did a double-take and stared back. “Adam?!”
The man at the bar stood—he was bigger than Klaus, easily 7' tall—and the two of them took a few steps toward each other, still staring. Then suddenly the big man’s face twisted in fury, and he slugged Klaus, knocking him down.
“What the hell was that for?!” Klaus asked.
You not call! the big man—Adam?—signed sharply.
“How could I call? Nobody back home had your phone number!”
Adam huffed, but that seemed to mollify him, and he pulled Klaus to his feet and into a hug.
“Missed you, too, you big lug,” Klaus said, muffled by Adam’s chest but sounding happier than he had since John had caught up with him in October.
“Didn’t see that coming,” John murmured to Jim, who raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. They’d both heard a million stories about these two and the Sanders brothers from Klaus back in ’Nam, but somehow John’s mental image of Adam Clay had... fallen well short of reality. And he really hadn’t expected this reunion to happen at all, let alone here and now.
Suddenly Adam released Klaus and started signing, small and close to his chest. Klaus’ expression grew grave as he replied in kind, and when Adam nodded once and signed something else, Klaus swore in Hmong.
“What?” John asked. “Is his daughter....”
“Adopted,” Klaus explained with a nod, turning back to the other hunters. “She’s the girl Aaron Sturmvoraus wanted me to find.”
Adam stared incredulously, and Ellen took a deep breath and said, “I think we’d better all sit down.”
Next
Chapter 1
January 1992
Ann Arbor, Michigan
“Sure appreciate you fellas working with us on this,” said the detective. “Especially you, Agent Norris.”
John Winchester shrugged as he and Klaus Wulfenbach sat down at the conference table. “All part of the job. But this is the fifth case in three months we’ve worked that’s followed the same pattern. We’re anxious to know what information you’ve been able to get from the surviving gang members.”
“Whole lot more than we expected, frankly. Seems whatever happened during that shootout turned ’em into regular canaries.”
John carefully didn’t look at Klaus, and not just because his old gunny was 6'8", had the steely eyes, chiseled features, and fearsome hooked nose of an action hero, and had always had the knack of menacing his enemies when he wanted to. The idea that Klaus’ wife Zantabraxus might be the Southeast Asian equivalent of a member of one of the Seelie courts—and a high-ranking one at that—seemed more and more plausible all the time. Not that this particular gang’s leader had been terribly serious about using witchcraft, but his spells had visibly bounced off of Klaus and rebounded with terrible effect on their caster, and the bullets hadn’t made any sort of dent in him, either. He hadn’t even noticed that his marriage mark was glowing green by the time he trashed the leader’s altar. John didn’t blame the gang members for being scared out of their wits... hell, if he didn’t know Klaus, he’d be seriously asking himself whether or not to hunt him.
Then again, Klaus seemed to be just as carefully not looking at John, so maybe he’d been scarier than he’d realized himself.
“From what they’ve said so far,” the detective continued, “they’d been drawn into a network of gangs being developed by a syndicate that’s run out of Detroit. It has two main branches. The gang’s contact was a member of the Knights of Jove, slogan: ‘We bring the lightning.’ Used to be rum-runners during Prohibition. Their chief concerns now seem to be drugs, vice, and gambling. The enforcers are known as the Knights of the Smoke—real cloak-and-dagger outfit, may be getting some recruits who are ex-KGB. Both branches report to the syndicate’s central council. And the head of that council, if my sources aren’t lying to me, is—”
“Aaron William ‘Wild Bill’ Sturmvoraus,” Klaus supplied, spinning his pen between his fingers.
The detective blinked. “You know him?”
“We’ve tangled before.” Klaus flipped the pen in the air and caught it. “Sturmvoraus has a penchant for sampling the wares; seems his father’s philosophy was that you had to know the quality of the product intimately before you could sell it adequately. And he’ll deal in anything that’ll make him a quick buck—guns, diamonds, information, you name it. Almost had him for selling weapons to Hezbollah a couple of years ago, but he made it out of the warehouse before ATF arrived.”
John hummed thoughtfully. “If he’s the kingpin, we take him out, should put a big enough hole in the organization to knock it out of the game.”
“Yeah, but nobody can get to him. And it’s not even that he’s that good. He’s just that fast and that lucky.” Klaus shot John a sidelong look that said he suspected now that there was less luck than magic involved.
“Nobody’s luck holds out forever,” John replied with a hint of a wink and stood. “Thanks for the help, Detective. We’ll see what the Bureau can do from here.”
After a round of handshakes, the two hunters left. But before they could begin discussing the case outside, Klaus’ pager went off—and he scowled at the number it showed.
“What?” John asked.
“Better answer this one from a pay phone,” Klaus replied. “It’s Sturmvoraus.”
“Speak of the devil, eh?”
“Not sure if it’s that or if someone got word to him that we’re closing in. Not that we’re close, exactly, but still. We’re in the same state, literally and metaphorically.”
“Hrm.” John looked around and spotted a phone booth across the street from the police station. “Well, no time like the present,” he said, pointing to it.
Klaus sighed, nodded, and stalked across the street, while John ducked into the coffee shop next door for some better coffee than the PD had had. (He’d managed to refrain from asking where Sgt. Yemana was, but only just.) No sooner had he paid for the coffee and accepted a free cheese Danish, however, than Klaus came back across the street, scowling even more deeply than he had been. John quickly collected both cups and pastry and hurried out to Klaus’ ’87 Crown Vic, which they’d been using in their “official” capacity because it was less conspicuous than the Impala.
“Danish?” he offered as he reached the car.
Klaus shook his head but accepted the coffee. He waited until they’d gotten in, however, before stating, “He wants me to help him find someone.”
John blinked. “He what?”
“Sounded pretty stoned. I can’t tell if it’s a trap or if he’s serious. He did mumble something about scrying, but I couldn’t understand most of it.”
John sighed and checked his watch. “Detroit’s only an hour away. We can get there and back before dark.” When Klaus raised a questioning eyebrow, John continued, “Hell, we’re not gonna have a better chance to get in. If he is pushing the sorcery along with the drugs, we need to stop him ourselves. If he’s just a crook, and he’s stupid enough to do this, we can swipe enough evidence for the real Feds to take him down.”
“What is this we business, Corporal? He asked for me.”
“Not knowing you now have a partner. Look, you know him; I know witches. Besides, if it is a trap, you’ll need backup.”
Klaus grumbled but took a drink of coffee, started the engine, and got on the highway to Detroit without going back to the motel first, which John decided was a sign he’d won this particular argument and celebrated by eating the Danish before Klaus could change his mind.
Getting to the Sturmvoraus mansion in Grosse Pointe turned out to be easy—almost too easy. Traffic was lighter than John had expected, and although it was snowing slightly by the time they arrived, the streets weren’t bad. Getting in the gate was too easy; the gatehouse was unmanned, and the gate had been left open. Now on high alert, Klaus parked in front of the front steps, and John accompanied him up the steps and in the unlocked and unguarded front door.
“Something’s wrong,” Klaus murmured.
John nodded his agreement, and they both paused to listen and look around. Then raised voices from behind one of the closed doors caught their attention, and they edged toward it.
“...nine years old!” shouted a young woman, probably early twenties.
“Anevka, please,” pleaded a boy, voice cracking on the edge of puberty.
“Stay out of this, Tarvek!”
An adult male voice slurred something John couldn’t make out. Klaus pointed to the door and signed AWS, meaning that voice belonged to Sturmvoraus.
“No!” the woman—Anevka?—insisted. “You are not gonna do to her what you did to me!”
“Dammit, ’Nevka!” Sturmvoraus roared. “I broughchoo inna this world; I c’n take you out of it!”
Anevka’s response was a chuckle that made John’s hair stand on end. “That’s just what Mother said. Back in ’86, remember? Remember what I did to her?!”
The boy—Tarvek?—tried again to intervene, but he’d barely gotten out half a word when there was a gunshot, followed by a startled female squeak and the thump of a body crumpling to the floor.
“ANEVKA!!!” Tarvek wailed.
“Teejer ta talk back ta me,” Sturmvoraus snarled. “An’ azzz fer you—”
He was interrupted by a bone-chilling baying from outside. Klaus shot John a startled look.
Hellhound, John mouthed, and Klaus’ eyes widened further.
The hound bayed again, closer this time, and both hunters drew their sidearms. John tried the door but found it locked. Klaus motioned him back and kicked it open, revealing what appeared to be a study with a seedy-looking man, undoubtedly Sturmvoraus, standing terror-stricken behind the desk. But before they could charge in, a gust of wind that stank of death and sulfur rushed past them with a blood-curdling snarl, and they froze in the doorway as invisible claws tore into Sturmvoraus’ belly and invisible fangs sank into his neck, choking off his scream. Then he was shaken like a rag doll and his neck snapped. The hound bayed once more in triumph and rushed out again, leaving Sturmvoraus’ mangled body slumped forward on the desk.
“No,” Tarvek’s voice breathed, finally drawing John’s attention to the boy—about Dean and Gil’s age, with auburn hair so dark it almost looked maroon—standing stunned a few feet away, in front of another door. “No, that’s... that’s not how it was supposed to go....”
“Son?” Klaus asked, which snapped the boy out of his shock. “What happened?”
Tarvek swallowed hard. “Are you Mr. Wulfenbach?”
“I am.”
“He was... he was going to ask you to find someone for him. A girl. The, uh... the daughter of a lover. He’s been making me do Internet research, but he doesn’t—didn’t know enough about computers to know I was lying when I told him I couldn’t find anything. Anevka came home today from a business trip, and when I told her about it... she just snapped, dragged me in here to confront Father, and....” Tarvek faltered to a stop, looking back at the corpses.
“We heard part of it,” John admitted as he followed Klaus into the study, both stowing their guns. “Why did the hellhound attack? Had he made a deal?”
Tarvek blinked, startled, then sighed heavily. “Yes, sir. It was... about eight years ago. He was really high, and he... he called Anevka in here and... well, he almost killed her. But when he realized what he’d done, he ran straight to a crossroads and... brought her back. I’m not sure she came back right.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, Father told me once that a condition of his deal was that he couldn’t even touch Anevka again, and especially if he ever hurt her again, he would die. I guess... I guess he forgot.”
Frowning, John began scanning the room for an altar.
“Reason they call it dope,” Klaus quipped, then sighed. “Well—Tarvek, is it?”
“Yes, sir,” Tarvek answered.
“You have any relatives we should call, or—”
“No!” Tarvek yelped, shrinking back. “No, please don’t make me stay with my family!”
“They all in the business?”
“Yes, sir. Both sides. Mother’s family is in the Russian Mafia.”
“And where is your mother?”
“Dead. Anevka killed her.”
“Oh, great,” John groaned, stepping around the growing pool of blood behind Sturmvoraus’ desk. Then he noticed that one of the curtains beside him was covering something.
“We’ve been planning to run away,” Tarvek confessed. “My cousin Violetta and I, I mean. I’ve been trying to get myself emancipated, but Father’s got—had so many judges bought off, I haven’t even gotten as far as the application.”
“What have we here?” John murmured and pulled back the curtain to reveal not only a low altar but also what looked like some sort of shrine, the focus of which was a photo of a strawberry blonde with grey eyes and pouty lips set in a face that was basically a sideways oval in shape.
Klaus approached the desk cautiously to look over John’s shoulder, inhaled sharply, and hissed, “Lucrezia!”
John blinked and turned to him. “That’s your ex-girlfriend?”
Instead of answering, Klaus rounded on Tarvek. “How did your father know Lucrezia Mongfish?”
“I-I don’t know, sir,” Tarvek stammered. “I just know he did.”
“And she was the lover whose daughter he wanted me to find?”
“Yes, sir. He always said he’d never get over her. He said she’d taught him everything he knew about... that.” Tarvek waved a hand toward the altar.
John kicked the altar over and looked at Tarvek again. “Where’s everyone else?”
“At the docks. Father ordered everyone out of the house for an hour.”
Klaus frowned. “And they all went? Even the guards?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And nobody asked any questions?”
Tarvek looked down at the ground. “Nobody ever questioned him. Nobody could, except... Anevka and Violetta and I. At first, it was because we were kids. After the deal, I don’t think he dared try anything on Anevka, and... I... I found a way to protect Violetta and myself.”
John’s skin crawled. “Thrall. That’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it?”
Tarvek nodded miserably. “He said he learned it from Lucrezia.”
Klaus swore bitterly in Vietnamese. Tarvek flinched.
“All right,” said John. “We need to get out of here before that hour is up. Where’s your cousin?”
Tarvek turned back to the door behind him. “Violetta?”
A younger girl with short, spiky hair the same shade of auburn as Tarvek’s poked her head past the doorframe. “What?”
“We’re leaving.”
Violetta ducked out again briefly, then came all the way into the room with two backpacks. One she handed to Tarvek; the other she slung over her own shoulder.
“We can have another hunter clean up anything that needs burning later,” John said and grabbed the desk phone, now glad both that Klaus had insisted on his getting a pair of Isotoner gloves and that he’d kept them on when they came inside. He quickly dialed 911, reported the shooting, and hung up.
And with that, Klaus herded the kids out to the car, with John covering their six, and once everyone was in, they sped off. They’d gotten half a mile down the road when a line of squad cars raced past them, headed toward the mansion. But no one stopped them, and they made it through Detroit without incident.
When it became apparent that they’d made good their escape, Klaus finally relaxed and glanced at John. “What do we do about them?” he asked, nodding toward the back seat slightly.
“I’ll call someone when we stop for gas,” John replied.
Klaus took the hint and stopped at a gas station in Canton. While he made a show of filling up, John found a pay phone and called Jim Murphy.
“John!” Jim replied. “I was just on my way out the door. What’s up?”
“Got a couple of orphans I need to place,” John told him. “Dad violated a crossroads deal, and mom died years ago. Rest of the family’s no better, and you know what the foster system is. Was hoping you’d take ’em, at least temporarily.”
“Ages?”
“Boy’s probably 13. Girl’s... I dunno, eight, nine. They’re actually cousins but don’t want to be separated.”
“Hm. Well, I’m not saying no yet. But the fact is, I’m about to head down to meet Bobby at Harvelle’s. There’s a couple whose daughter is having some strange problems. Would you mind joining us? Bring the children, of course; if I can’t take them, maybe Bill and Ellen would.”
John sighed. “Yeah, all right. Might be better if we leave the kids at the motel while we meet your case at the Roadhouse.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Oh, and Jim... I picked up a partner a few months ago.”
“So I heard. Who is it?”
“Gunny Wulfenbach.”
A beat passed before Jim yelped, “He’s alive?!”
“Wild story. We’ll tell you later. I just... thought I should warn you.”
“I’m glad you did. Wouldn’t do to pass out when I see him!”
John laughed in spite of himself. “All right, see you tomorrow.”
As he hung up, Klaus walked over. “Who’d you call?”
“Murphy. Wants us to meet him in Nebraska tomorrow. I know the place; you can follow me.” John didn’t think they would have been followed this far by anyone who wouldn’t accost them right away, but just in case, he didn’t want to say too much where anyone might overhear, even by accident.
“Fine.” Klaus paused. “Gil rides with you.”
John understood perfectly; he wasn’t sure he wanted Aaron Sturmvoraus’ kid anywhere near his own sons, either. “Sir, yes, sir.”
Klaus snorted in amusement, and they went back to the car.
The boys had known since breakfast that the plan was to leave town that day, so they already had the Impala packed and Zoing’s tank prepped for transport by the time Klaus and John arrived back at the motel. John checked both families out while Dean got the Impala started to warm it up and Gil and Klaus got Zoing situated in his usual slot in the Crown Vic’s trunk, and five minutes later they were headed west, Sammy trying to read in the front seat with John and Dean and Gil chattering in the back. Upon learning that Klaus wasn’t entirely sure of Gil’s exact birthdate, Dean had offered to let Gil share his birthday, and now they were planning not only what to do for their first joint party on the 24th but also how they’d spend the rest of their lives as best friends forever. Some of their ideas gave John a pang of regret because he knew they’d never come to pass unless he could find and kill the yellow-eyed demon soon, but still... it warmed his heart to know that Dean probably had found a friend for life in Gil.
“How come nobody wants to share my birthday?” Sammy finally interrupted sulkily about the time John started scouting for a place to get supper from a drive-through.
Dean leaned forward, tapped the top of Sammy’s head, and waited until Sammy turned to glare at him to say sincerely, “’Cause you’re so cool, you deserve a day all to yourself.”
Sammy’s eyes widened as he considered that perspective.
“I second that,” Gil stated, his grin audible in his voice.
“All in favor?” John asked, unable to keep from smiling himself.
“AYE!” three young voices chorused.
“Sounds like the ayes have it!”
Sammy giggled, and Dean tousled his hair and sat back.
The boys dozed off somewhere west of Joliet, which was just as well because the roads in Iowa were treacherous enough that John needed to give his full attention to driving. Outside Iowa City, he radioed Klaus on the CB to ask whether they ought to stop for the night and continue at first light, but Klaus pointed out that the roads would only be worse then, so they pushed on, getting the biggest cups of coffee they could every time they stopped for gas. And in the end, it was just about daybreak when they pulled into the nearly deserted parking lot of the Beetleburg Motor Inn. The clerk was only too happy to let them check in that early and didn’t even hesitate when they asked for adjoining rooms, and after adults and kids alike filled up at the continental breakfast, John set salt lines in his room, turned the TV on quietly for the boys, and stretched out on one bed for a nap.
It felt like five minutes later when Dean’s quiet “Hi, Pastor Jim!” roused John, but a quick glance at the clock showed that he’d slept just over an hour. As he sat up, he saw the connecting door standing open and two red heads in front of the TV along with Gil and Sammy’s brown heads. Well, at least they’re not getting in trouble, John thought and stood with a groan.
“You all right, John?” Jim asked, coming in to shake hands.
“Yeah, just stiff,” John answered and smiled in spite of himself. “Good to see you.”
“I see you’ve got a new basketball team!”
“Oh, allow me,” Dean said before John could, and the other kids stood. “Gil Wulfenbach, Tarvek Sturmvoraus, and Violetta Mondarev. This is Pastor Jim. He’s cool.”
Jim chuckled and shook hands. “Nice to meet you all.”
“Heard a lot about you, sir,” Gil replied.
“I bet you have! Where’s your dad?”
“Next door,” John supplied, pointing to the connecting door with his thumb.
“Still asleep, last I checked,” Gil added.
“Not anymore,” Klaus rumbled and ducked through the doorway. “Hi, Murph.”
“Of all the voices I never thought I’d hear again,” Jim replied with a grin and went to shake Klaus’ hand. “Good to see you, Gunny.”
Klaus blinked and pointed to Jim’s clerical collar with his free hand. “You’re a padre?”
“Pastor, technically. Sacrament Lutheran, Blue Earth, Minnesota.”
“Huh. Never figured you for a sky pilot. Then again, I never figured John for a hunter.”
John huffed and turned back to Dean. “We need to talk business for a while, Champ.”
Dean nodded his understanding. “Yes, sir.”
“You kids need anything, knock.”
“Yes, sir.”
With that, Klaus ushered Jim and John through the connecting door and locked it behind him. “I’ll start the coffee,” he said, waving the other two men toward the table.
Jim turned to John. “Tarvek—that’s not Aaron Sturmvoraus’ son, is it?”
“Yup,” John replied. “Begged us to bring him and his cousin with us.”
“They’re the orphans you called about?!”
“You got a problem with that, Murph?” Klaus asked, filling the coffee pot from the bathroom tap.
“Only insofar as the Detroit police think they’ve been kidnapped. It’s been all over the radio this morning.”
“Look, the Ann Arbor police can vouch for us,” John stated as they sat down. “We’d just helped them take down a gang that had ties to the Knights of Jove, and I’d told them we’d try to go after Sturmvoraus next. Plus, Tarvek swears he’s been trying to get himself emancipated so they could run away. When we’re done here, you can take them back to Blue Earth and let them talk to the fuzz from there.”
“And say what?!”
“They were rehearsing their story in the car last night,” Klaus supplied, switching on the coffee maker and coming to the table. “The true part seems to be that Sturmvoraus was trying to groom Tarvek to take over the business when his deal came due in two years. That included pushing him to try drugs, alcohol, and sex—and learn how to cast thrall spells, although I recommended leaving that out. Violetta was to become a Smoke Knight and be Tarvek’s servant and personal bodyguard. Both of them had been resisting as best they knew how. Sturmvoraus hadn’t gotten around to using force yet, but it was only a matter of time.”
Jim paled. “Dear Lord.”
“Tarvek’s planning to claim Anevka convinced him to take Violetta and run, making sure they left the house before she went in to confront Sturmvoraus. The order Sturmvoraus gave his men included shutting down the security cameras, so there won’t be any tape to contradict him. And if he calls from a church, it’ll be all the more plausible.”
Jim nodded slowly. “We won’t call the Detroit police, then. We’ll call the FBI. If he’s willing to testify against his family, that is.”
“I think he might be. Violetta suggested they contact another cousin named Martellus, since he was out of the business, but Tarvek said he wasn’t about to trust a man who breeds werewolves.”
“Breeds werewolves?” John and Jim chorused incredulously.
Klaus held up his hands. “That’s what he said.”
Jim turned to John. “Sounds like a job for Turner.”
“I’ll say,” John replied. Rufus Turner wasn’t the only black hunter he knew, but he was one of the best, and he was also more likely than Gordon Walker and his ilk to recognize that weres, even though they needed killing, still had human sentience and deserved not to be treated like dogs. He’d probably find a way to bust this Martellus character for owning slaves, whatever happened with the weres themselves. “But enough about the mob. What’s the story with your case?”
“Well, I don’t know much yet. We’re supposed to meet the father at Harvelle’s at 10. He’s Bill’s favorite mechanic, says his daughter’s suffering from headaches the doctors can’t treat and having some other strange problems.”
“And Singer?”
“Got in last night, stayed with the Harvelles. Bill said he figured more heads would be better on this one. Turner’s snowed in somewhere in Ontario, but Bobby said he thinks the six of us should be able to figure it out.”
Klaus blinked. “Six?”
“Bill and Ellen are both hunters,” John explained. “Ellen usually stays home to run the bar and look after their daughter, but she’s no slouch herself.”
“I see.” Klaus checked his watch. “Guess we do have time for coffee, as long as we drink fast.”
“Roadhouse is only five minutes from here. We’re okay.”
Just then the coffee maker’s automatic shutoff popped, and conversation turned to more general catching up. All three men kept an eye on the time, however, and soon they were washing their coffee mugs and getting ready to go.
John opened the connecting door and called Dean over. “Gotta go to a meeting,” he said. “You kids stay here. We should be back before lunch.”
Dean nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“If you need anything before then, call my pager.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sammy hurried over with John’s jacket. “Be careful, Dad.”
John smiled and accepted it. “We will, Sport. Be good for Dean.”
“Yes, sir.”
John closed the door again, and the three men left in Jim’s car.
The Roadhouse looked deserted when they arrived; only Bill’s truck and Bobby’s Chevelle were parked out front. Ellen came out as they parked, however, and after shaking hands with Jim and John and introducing herself to Klaus, she reported that the man they were to meet was in fact there. “He parked in the back,” she explained. “He seems pretty embarrassed to be meeting you guys here—Bill says he’s real active in church, and I get the impression he doesn’t drink. But like I told him, there’s not really a safer place in town to talk shop.”
Jim nodded. “And what did he say to that?”
“Nothing. He’s mute.”
“Huh,” said Klaus. “I grew up with a mute—good friend of mine. I can interpret if you need.”
Ellen nodded. “Might help. Thanks. C’mon in.”
They followed her in to find Bill and Bobby shooting pool while a big dark-haired man—at least as tall and broad-shouldered as Klaus—sat at the bar with a mug of coffee, the hunch of his shoulders broadcasting his discomfort with the surroundings. He didn’t stir while Jim and John traded greetings with Bill and Bobby. But the second Klaus spoke to introduce himself, the man at the bar straightened in surprise and whirled around to look at them.
“And this is—” Bill began but broke off when he saw the stunned look on the big man’s face.
Klaus did a double-take and stared back. “Adam?!”
The man at the bar stood—he was bigger than Klaus, easily 7' tall—and the two of them took a few steps toward each other, still staring. Then suddenly the big man’s face twisted in fury, and he slugged Klaus, knocking him down.
“What the hell was that for?!” Klaus asked.
You not call! the big man—Adam?—signed sharply.
“How could I call? Nobody back home had your phone number!”
Adam huffed, but that seemed to mollify him, and he pulled Klaus to his feet and into a hug.
“Missed you, too, you big lug,” Klaus said, muffled by Adam’s chest but sounding happier than he had since John had caught up with him in October.
“Didn’t see that coming,” John murmured to Jim, who raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. They’d both heard a million stories about these two and the Sanders brothers from Klaus back in ’Nam, but somehow John’s mental image of Adam Clay had... fallen well short of reality. And he really hadn’t expected this reunion to happen at all, let alone here and now.
Suddenly Adam released Klaus and started signing, small and close to his chest. Klaus’ expression grew grave as he replied in kind, and when Adam nodded once and signed something else, Klaus swore in Hmong.
“What?” John asked. “Is his daughter....”
“Adopted,” Klaus explained with a nod, turning back to the other hunters. “She’s the girl Aaron Sturmvoraus wanted me to find.”
Adam stared incredulously, and Ellen took a deep breath and said, “I think we’d better all sit down.”
