Federal Building. Thursday, September 28, 2006.
Diana gazed wistfully at Neal's whiteboard in the niche he'd appropriated in the tech lab for art investigations.
"I'm going to miss your cartoons," she said, the corners of her mouth drooping. "How will White Collar manage without an artist in residence?"
Neal stood next to her. "You could pick up the mantle."
"Me? I'm no artist."
"Don't sell yourself short. Besides, I've seen some amazing cartoons using stick figures. You should give it a try."
She gave him a light punch. "I just might, but only if you come back to see them."
"I'll be such a frequent visitor that before long you'll be giving me the hex sign to stay away."
"Never!" Diana's cell phone buzzed. She glanced at the display and made a face. "Duty calls, but don't forget Foley's this evening."
The team was gathering at the local tavern for a farewell party. They'd hoped to get together for lunch but Jones was working a case, and Peter was scheduled for meetings most of the day.
The lab was quiet. Neal missed Travis's presence. When Neal set up his art niche, Travis occupied the workstation next to him. He'd left for greener pastures at the end of August but continued to consult with the Bureau as well as Win-Win.
Soon Neal would be in a similar situation. Many of the insurance cases and investigations he'd work on would dovetail with the Bureau, and Neal expected to see Jones and Diana regularly. As for Peter, their friendship would continue outside the office.
Most of the equipment Neal used for authentication work would be repurposed. He'd brought in art supplies over the years and those he was packing up to take home. Art crimes investigations would be handled out of the D.C. office, although Jemison had mentioned the possibility of contacting him if the case warranted it. His departure from the Bureau wasn't accompanied by any burnt bridges. Jemison believed the primary factor in his refusal to relocate was his doctoral work at Columbia.
Neal sat down at his desk and began pulling out his personal items. Perhaps he should leave the deck of playing cards for Jones. He'd demonstrated many a confidence trick with them. In one of the drawers was a paper cutout of a ghost, a lone survivor from when he and Diana had decorated the bullpen with them. Would Diana change now that she was in charge of a new probie? Lauren Cruz had started last week. She'd undoubtedly appreciate a few tips on the subject of office pranks.
"Don't tell me you're already growing nostalgic for mortgage fraud."
Neal spun in his chair to smile at Peter. "Ask me again in a few weeks. Right now, I'm just weeding out the ghosts." He held up the cutout. "Do you have much to pack?"
"Not me. A crew will move everything over the weekend." Peter glanced around the lab. "I suspect I'll see a few ghosts from White Collar next week. My new office is configured much like my old one. When I stand on the balcony, look down, and not see the bust of Socrates, that's when it will hit me."
"Hey, it's not like I'm moving to Paris," Neal said, seeking to lighten the mood even as he reveled in the Socrates reference. "We'll be seeing each other so much, you won't think I'm gone. Of course, there's always the possibility I could come back and work in Organized Crime. You and me, taking on the Mafia, the Yakuza. Could be fun."
Peter snorted. "Nope, nada, not happening. And don't joke like that around El. I've convinced her my supervisory role won't be a dangerous one."
Was that what bothered him? Leaving fieldwork was the right move for his career, but how much would he miss it?
"I'll be at Columbia next Saturday for the telescope workshop," Peter said. "If you're free, we could meet for lunch."
"I'd enjoy it but I'll be on a training assignment. My work with Win-Win starts on Saturday, and I need to impress my new boss."
"Henry?" Peter gave him an amused look. "I don't think that's necessary."
"Not him. Sara. This is an insurance investigation. And she's the senior agent."
"Is this in the city?"
"No, New Haven. Several houses have experienced break-ins. Only jewelry was taken. The police suspect a new cat burglar's in town."
Peter chuckled. "So Sara wants you along for your expertise."
Neal shrugged happily. "And other things. My consulting services are multi-dimensional."
"You know I need to ask since this is New Haven. Is there any suspicious paranormal behavior being reported?"
"Nope, nada, not a whisper," Neal quickly assured him. "Even though the crimes are all in Maia's neighborhood. That's understandable since it's one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in New Haven. If I were a jewel thief, it would make a tempting target. Large estates on wooded property, plenty of areas to hide."
"You call yourself a trainee, but how long will it be before you're offering cat burglar workshops for Win-Win's agents?"
"What a fantastic idea! When I tell Henry you suggested it, I'm sure he'll want me to run them." Neal frowned. "But it won't be the same if you're not co-leading them."
Peter shrugged but he looked pleased. "We set a new standard with the art heist workshops. I'm sure Sara or Henry will make an excellent substitute."
"I don't know. We may need to schedule a boot camp session to bring them up to speed. Do you think I'd be able to entice you to attend? Perhaps a weekend retreat?"
As they joked about how it might be structured, Peter's spirits seemed to lift. Neal realized that he needed to pay a visit to Organized Crime before he left. Were they all grim-faced, hardened agents? Neal had spent close to three years getting Peter to relax and color outside the lines. Once he was gone, would Peter revert to his old ways? Close supervision would be required to prevent any recidivism.
* * * * *
As Neal prepared to leave at the end of the day, his cell phone buzzed. When he saw Chloe's name on the display, he decided to take the call in a vacant interrogation room. No need for the techs in the lab to hear about paranormal activity.
"Julia Winslow called me this morning," Chloe said.
"I heard she'd offered to be a resource on your latest Dork Guide. How's it working out?" The wife of Henry's grandfather was an expert in the arcane art of data analysis, a field Neal found only slightly less incomprehensible than magic.
"She's been a miracle worker. I never should have agreed to tackle SQL."
"Sequel to what?"
She snorted. "Good one. You sound just like Dean."
Neal winced. When he made a joke he liked to know it.
"You're probably wondering why I called," Chloe continued without enlightening him. "I need some advice on what could be a delicate situation."
"Hopefully not related to Dork Guides?" Neal asked warily, already sensing trouble ahead. Henry had mentioned Graham had been peppering him with questions about the Winchesters and their lifestyle.
Chloe chuckled. "That might be easier to handle. Julia told me Graham wants to learn as much as possible about the early history of the Men of Letters. And that's not all. Julia thinks the kind of data analysis she performs could also be useful in our work. Basically they want to volunteer their services. I thanked her and told her I'd talk it over with the others. But before I say anything, I wanted to discuss it with you."
"I can understand why the Men of Letters would appeal to Graham," Neal said, proceeding cautiously. "The investigator in him is probably itching to uncover more information about Seth Winslow-Winchester."
"And Julia's offer is very tempting. It's horrifying to think that practically all hunter lore is kept in handwritten journals and manuscripts. What happens if there's a fire? Or a flood?"
Chloe had a valid point. No telling how much was lost when Abaddon went on the rampage in the 1950s.
"This isn't the first time Julia's mentioned the Men of Letters to me," Chloe continued. "She's dropped several hints that Graham wants to get involved. This past weekend, I discussed the idea with Dean without mentioning any specifics, and he immediately shot down the idea. He also believes Henry feels the same way."
"Do you know if Julia's talked to Henry about it?"
"I don't think so. And that's telling, isn't it?"
"Yeah, she knows he won't like it," Neal agreed. He and Henry had kept family and friends at arm's length for years out of a desire to protect them and keep them safe. Dean's efforts to keep outsiders out of harm's way were very familiar.
"I don't blame him," Chloe said. "There's no denying our work is dangerous."
"On the other hand, regular investigative work can be just as deadly," Neal pointed out. "Do you plan to let Dean and Sam know about the offer?"
"I should but I suspect I already know the answer. I don't want to burn any bridges, and frankly, Julia and Graham don't need our permission if they want to investigate something."
"Timing is key," Neal said. "You don't have to inform the others immediately. Something may happen that will make the offer more attractive. The Winslows could be a resource, like a hunter's journal, for instance. Don't Dean and Sam have experts they call on from time to time?"
"Yeah, but as far as I know they're all hunters." Chloe was silent for a minute. "Julia was very persuasive. She also promised that they wouldn't interfere and would abide by any terms we established. Thanks for being a sounding board. I'll think about it, and let you know. Julia said Graham hadn't been so excited about a project in a long time, and she hopes we can work something out."
Neal considered the proposal after she ended the call. Did Graham fancy himself setting up a new branch of the Men of Letters at Win-Win's headquarters in Baltimore? Crowley believed it was already operating. How opposed would Henry be? Shouldn't Abaddon be a lesson to stay clear?
Chloe was right. If Graham wanted to investigate something, he'd probably go ahead whether or not the others sanctioned it. Wouldn't it be safer for all concerned to keep others in the loop?
Was Julia's interest only because of Graham? If she wanted to play an active role, Neal predicted the name would quickly change to Persons of Letters.
* * * * *
Dean gave a satisfied nod as he glanced around the basement. He kept thinking of new ideas for what was going to be the most awesome cave any hunter had ever had. Bobby had returned late Monday evening, and over the past four days, they'd made significant progress. Even Sam, who was a complete klutz when it came to power tools, chipped in. Once they started allocating areas, they realized they had more square footage to play with than they dreamed.
There was even space for a quarantine room. Not that they needed it yet, but it might come in handy. Bobby had found some nifty shackles that could be bolted to the concrete floor. Chloe was already testing a ward to protect the door leading to the basement.
"What you smirking about?" Bobby asked, pausing to wipe the sweat off his brow. He was installing a shelving system onto one wall.
"Just figuring out where we'll put the fridge. We'll need it to store dead man's blood."
Bobby chuckled. "Maia will appreciate keeping that out of the kitchen. I reckon there will also be space for a few six-packs of beer."
Dean nodded, trying to keep a straight face. "That seems reasonable." He looked up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Judging by the volume of the thuds, they had to belong to Sam.
"I found a source for maps," Sam said. "Did you decide what size of worktable you wanted?"
"As large as we can get down the stairs." Dean watched Bobby attach brackets for the shelves. "Bobby, be sure to reserve space for games."
"What kind of games?" Bobby asked.
"I dunno. Maybe Mouse Trap. Sammy, didn't you like playing Mouse Trap?"
"Sure, but you were the one who loved the game. Do you remember how upset you were when we lost it?" Sam turned to Bobby. "We'd left it behind at a motel and didn't realize it till we were in the next state. That's about the only time I can recall Dean getting mad at Dad. He was furious that Dad wouldn't drive back for it."
Bobby snorted. "I don't think the game's made anymore, but I'll make a check of the flea markets."
"I'll go with you," Dean offered. "We should also look for a ratty couch and armchairs—furniture we can flop on without taking off our boots."
Bobby arched an eyebrow. "You gonna want trains, too?"
Dean froze in place. "You're a genius! We could run tracks around the perimeter, or better yet have a table dedicated to them."
Sam stared at him with a goofy expression. "What's gotten into you? Dude, did you get yourself cursed again?"
"You wouldn't remember, son, " Bobby said. "You were just a baby. But when Dean was a youngster, he loved model trains. The first few years after your mom died, I was saddled without keeping you two out of trouble while your dad was away hunting. The town I lived in had a train shop and I quickly learned that the easiest way to keep Dean out of mischief was to let him go there. The owner was a friend and didn't mind having Dean around. She said his enthusiasm helped sell the merchandise."
"Man, those train cars were awesome," Dean said. He could picture the shop in his mind. "I remember one circus train where the animals were animated. Some of the cars had flashing lights or sound effects. I used to watch them for hours. I guess that's when I fell in love with tinkering with motors."
"I always assumed you were just interested in cars," Sam said, looking at him thoughtfully.
"Nah." Dean shrugged. "Never had the opportunity to work on anything else." They were always on the road. No time to tinker. Dad only stopped when the Impala had a problem.
"Well, now you do," Sam declared. "You should get a train set. We'll use it as a Christmas decoration."
Dean snorted. "Now who's the one getting carried away?"
"Hear me out," Sam insisted. "The women are doing so much for us. Maia provides free room and board. She's even paying for the basement makeover. This would be a chance for us to do something for them. We could make the holidays special." He stopped to take a breath. "And not just for them. For us too," he added in a lower voice. Sam turned to Bobby. "Don't you agree? This is the first home we've had in like ever."
Bobby exhaled. "We're not exactly the Waltons, son."
Sam frowned. "I know that, and this may not last for long, but shouldn't we enjoy it while we can? Dean, we could set the train up in the living room for the holidays where it will be visible through the windows. The netsuke could be passengers."
That rabbit would need a car of its own. "What kind of train car would a rabbit ride?" Dean asked.
"One with a meadow obviously," Sam said and grinned. "And a carrot patch."
"Now I know you're joshing me," Dean said even as the idea started to fire off rockets in his brain. Maybe Sam was right. Nothing wrong with taking a break from doom and gloom.
Bobby chuckled tolerantly. "When you're designing cars, make sure to include something for the tanuki. He should be in the cocktail lounge. I assume you'll include a bar of some sort."
"Which animal is the tanuki?" Dean asked.
"It's the one holding the sake gourd. It's not related to raccoons but acts and looks similar. It's fond of pranks. Speaking of which ..." He paused and eyed them suspiciously.
Sam's brow wrinkled. "Did something happen?"
"I've been looking everywhere for my flask. I know I had it with me when I got back from the job."
"Don't look at me," Dean protested. "I know how much that flask means to you."
"I haven't seen it either," Sam said.
Bobby grunted acknowledgment. "Rufus gave it to me when we started hunting together. Let me know if you see it around."
* * * * *
Gemma paced in her hotel room. It had been days since Itsumi checked in. Why was she taking so long to respond to her summons? Astrena hadn't mentioned any difficulty in controlling her. The flower spell Gemma used should have bound Itsumi to her.
A slight puff of air alerted her to a disturbance in the astral field. Gemma spun around as Itsumi materialized in front of her.
The thief's cheeks were flushed. She was grinning from ear to ear. As she danced around the room, Gemma was shocked at how clumsy she was. Was she tipsy?
"What do you want, Auntie?" Itsumi sprawled on the bed and gazed dreamily at the ceiling. "This isn't a convenient time."
Since when had the thief gotten so uppity? "I'd expected you would have found the grimoire and crystal ball by now. What's taking you so long?"
Her face dissolved into a frown as tears began to flow down her face. "Auntie is upset. Would you like me to sing for you? I'm a very good singer." With that, she began to sing a raunchy song about a fox interrupting two lovers.
"Stop that!" Gemma ordered. "You must obey me. Report what you found."
Itsumi stuck out her tongue. "You're a mean auntie. I'm not going to play with you anymore." She scowled. "Besides, I couldn't find your dusty old book and crystal ball. I don't think they're in the house." She reached into an inside pocket of her jacket and pulled out a whiskey flask.
"Where did you get that?" Gemma demanded.
"None of your business," she sneered, unscrewing the cap. She took a glug of whatever was inside and belched happily. "See ya!" she cried out happily, her peeve seemingly forgotten. She vanished before Gemma could conjure another binding spell.
Gemma plopped into a chair, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes. This was not going according to plan. Focusing all her frustration into one prolonged bellow, she yelled "Crowley!" in her head.
By the time he appeared, she'd calmed down sufficiently to not simply sputter at him.
"What is it this time?" he said, rolling his eyes. "Did you decide you needed me after all?"
"What do you know about Astrena's netsukes?" she demanded.
Crowley grimaced. "This isn't the way it works. First, you refuse to tell me what you're up to, then you demand I drop everything to assist you? You've got a lot to learn. I've already given you all the free information you're going to get. Start talking."
* * * * *
Crowley lounged on the settee while Gemma related her tale of woe. Once more the natural order had reasserted itself, and he was back in charge. She'd gotten herself into quite a mess—one that if she'd only been more forthcoming, he could have helped her avoid.
If he'd felt like it.
Meaning if it served his purposes.
And that was the question, wasn't it? How would he have handled the grimoire and crystal ball? She didn't say why she wanted them, but he was much more comfortable with Maia and Chloe retaining possession, at least for now. Gemma was an unknown. He didn't spend much time in England since the Men of Letters had made the island bloody inhospitable. Gemma normally didn't venture across the pond. She was unlikely to be of much use to him.
"Itsumi's personality wasn't at all like I remembered," Gemma lamented. "Before, she was a cocky, charming thief. Now she's an insolent brat. An inebriated brat."
"And I know why," Crowley said calmly. "What do you have to offer me?"
"A love potion, perhaps?" she suggested hopefully. "My potions are the best in the western hemisphere."
The jury's out on that. "Don't insult me. My love life couldn't be better. I'm confident it's much better than yours." Gemma was an immortal. The standard Crossroads barter of years off her life was useless, but that wasn't to say she didn't have anything of value. "Why are you so interested in the crystal ball and grimoire?"
"Isn't it obvious? Astrena's the queen of witches. Her spellbook contains secrets unavailable anywhere else. When used in conjunction with the crystal ball, they make the user the most powerful witch on Earth."
"You're hiding something. You can't hold back now." Crowley sat back to watch her squirm for several moments. When she didn't say anything, he raised his fingers as if to snap his way back into the ether.
"I'll be able to communicate with Astrena if I have the crystal ball," Gemma finally admitted. "I suspect Astrena knows how to end her banishment. Don't you want her back on Earth too?"
Not really. "Now you're talking. The three of us would make the most powerful triumvirate on Earth. I'll help you out, but there will be no more holding back. In the future, you must disclose whatever you know on any subject."
"Agreed," she said a tad too readily.
"Swear it," he insisted.
She exhaled then used one of her long fingernails to trace a line of blood on her wrist. Holding it up to him, she said. "Drink. A witch's blood oath can't be broken."
He wasn't sure he believed it, but he was happy to go along, not that she'd ever get a drop of his rarefied vintage.
Her blood tasted of rose and honeysuckle. He wouldn't mind drinking more, but she snatched her wrist away before he'd had more than a taste.
He licked his lips. "I'll drop in on my new mates and find out what's happened to the items you seek. As for the tanuki, I was present when Astrena called forth Itsumi from the netsuke. It wasn't long after you'd returned from Japan. She told me about the acquisition and I was curious. When Itsumi emerged, we quickly discovered her personality had blended with that of the tanuki demon. She was uncontrollable. The tanuki's sake gourd had turned her into a drunken wastrel."
"How could Astrena's spell have been so misguided?" Gemma asked in disbelief.
"As you can imagine, she was furious and demanded answers. We discovered that the netsuke collection she'd purchased had been owned by a Japanese witch who'd enchanted all the pieces."
"But I examined them," she protested. "I didn't detect any spell."
"Astrena didn't either. She told me that masked enchantments can be impossible to detect unless you know the proper spell. She was still searching for the proper counterspell at the time of her unfortunate banishment."
"So what we do now?"
Crowley shrugged. "Not much you can do. Itsumi's unleashed. Unless she collapses in a drunken stupor, she'll be impossible to restrain. You might as well return to England. I'll search for the merchandise and let you know when I'm successful."
Not. Crowley had no intention of letting Astrena return to Earth. Not until it was worth his while. Was there really no way to control the tanuki? He suspected there was, but damned if he knew what it was.
* * * * * * * * * *
Notes: Will Neal and Sara have any better luck with Itsumi? Crowley's never met Sara. He's in for a surprise.