The Pact

Chapter Two

The morning of the ceremony, Sam made his way through the maze of tunnels that lead to Singer's Apothecary. At the end of the corridor stood the oversized wooden monstrosity that led to the lair's entrance. Using the key given to him by Singer, he made quick work of the lock and let himself in.

Passing through the frigid stoned clad archway, Sam sighed with relief when he came through the other side and felt the warm breath of heat from the fire that was always burning beneath the cauldron. The invisible barrier kept unwanted and unworthy souls out, but the cost of walking through it left a chill in Sam's spine for days after. Bobby said it worked better than the warding that was used along the Kingdom's borders. "It's just a smart play," he'd said when Sam questioned why he'd set the barrier in the first place, "considering most of the stuff in here could wipe out all of Lawrence in one fell swoop."

Bobby had always been a friend to Sam, even when John warned him against it. Robert Singer, Maester of the Winchester House, came from a long line of men who both understood battle and books. He was well versed in spell work, warding, potions and history of creatures, both common and mysterious. He acted as a counselor to John when the King wasn't sure how to attack a certain enemy; he'd turn to Bobby, his trusted friend, and most sought-after advisor. Even when they didn't agree, John would at least hear him out. So, Sam knew that if he needed a way to influence his father, Bobby would be the place to start.

Sam stepped into the room and let his eyes wander slowly around. The floor-to-ceiling walls of books loomed high above him. Dual spiral staircases rose up towards the cathedral ceilings, to a narrow metal catwalk that stretched out along the perimeter. Vines and greeneries were hanging or draped from the rails, some of them blooming with an array of speckled flowers.

No sign of the old man.

"Bobby?" Sam called out and took a few steps closer to the fireplace. No response. Sam waited for another beat, then called out for him again. "Bobby, you here?"

"Down here, boy!"

Sam followed the direction of Bobby's voice through one of the heavy black draperies that separated the rooms and down into the root cellar where he was stocking jars of lamb's blood.

Taking his time on the stairs, he ducked down into the small space. "How do you work down here," he asked, finally just taking a seat on the cold stones.

"Well, I ain't ten feet tall like some people," he snorted and placed the last jar. "What can I do for you, Sam?"

"Tonight... you're going?"

Bobby nodded then started shaking his head. "What the hell is your father thinking?" he mumbled, knowing that Sam wouldn't fight him on it. "If you're here to ask me to muck it up somehow..." Bobby inhaled sharply and passed Sam an admonishing look, "it's not a good idea, son."

"No, that's not why I'm here. I'm resigned to it, Bobby. I am marrying her, and that's it."

Bobby gave him a challenging look. "And I'm supposed to just believe that?"

"It's the truth," Sam shrugged. "I'm tired of fighting him on everything. If it makes him happy and helps the family and the Kingdom..." Sam trailed off and gave Bobby, his most sincere smile as he repeated the mantra he and Dean had been programmed to live by. "For the Protection of Lands and Family. Saving people and killing things, the family business. Right?"

"Mhm," Bobby mumbled and offered Sam a hand to stand up. "Come on, you can help me sort the herbs upstairs while you tell me what it is you can here for."

Once they were back in the Apothecary's main quarters, Sam took a seat at Bobby's workbench and began to separate the lavender from the meadowsweet. Bobby worked on the greeneries and kept passing curious glances at Sam from the corner of his eye.