Notes: Glass Angels takes place after the events in Silent Planet. The first chapter contains the essentials of the backstory for new readers. I've also written a post on the status of the key players at the beginning of the story for our blog. The post is called "Destination: Glass Angels." See the notes at the end of the chapter for more information.

Chapter 1: Witchy Woman

Neal's Loft. January 25, 2006. Wednesday evening.

"It will only take a few minutes." Mozzie peered pleadingly through his glasses at Neal. Nobody could wheedle better than Mozzie, but this time he'd be out of luck.

"Not happening," Neal said firmly. "I will not break into the Tomb this weekend."

Ever since Mozzie had discovered a link so tenuous that only he could see it between the Yale secret society Skull and Bones, the Illuminati, and a lost artifact of fabulous value, visions of the Tudor Crown had been spinning in his head. The fact that the headquarters of Skull and Bones, the Tomb, was off-limits to non-members only served to whet his enthusiasm.

"You're being unreasonable," Mozzie grumbled. "You're staying in New Haven for two nights. Electra's house is only a few blocks from the Yale campus. You'll have a car, but you could even walk the distance." He frowned. "You should be thanking me. Sara would love the thrill of breaking into the Tomb."

Neal wasn't about to tell him he was probably right. "You haven't asked her, I hope."

"No, I thought you'd want to. It's a demonstration of the exciting future which awaits her if she stays with you. Sara's an adventurer. She lives for danger. You'll be stifling her—"

At Neal's anguished groan, Mozzie stopped and topped off Neal's glass with a spectacular Pommard he'd brought over. But despite the excellence of the wine, the battle was already lost. There were far too many other distractions in Neal's life, like preparing for the upcoming master workshop he was supposed to teach the following week. The Tudor Crown would have to wait.

The next day, Neal would be at Columbia all day. His advisor, Ivan Sherkov, would demand an update on the workshop. He wouldn't accept a missing Renaissance artifact as an excuse, no matter how fabulous. it was.

"If the Tomb contained any information about the Tudor Crown, bonesmen would have discovered it long ago," Neal pointed out, hoping to appeal to any rational cells left in Mozzie's feverish imaginings. "In any case, we'll probably be working through the night. Aidan's leaving tomorrow for New Haven and has to finish all the photography work by Sunday afternoon. I doubt anyone will be getting much sleep."

"I'm sure you'll have plenty of time. Aidan told me the film would be practically all CGI."

"True, but he still needs to obtain the raw footage which he'll use as the basis. And you know how particular he is about camera angles."

Mozzie nodded grudgingly. "He's even more exacting than I am." He let out a long sigh, hopefully conceding defeat. "Charles Ireton spent the last two decades of his life in Manhattan. Any clues about the crown's location are most likely here. That list of names I'd found in his belongings begs for more research."

Neal would just as soon not be reminded of that vengeful spirit. Charles Ireton had been a bonesman in the late nineteenth century. A couple of months ago, his ghost returned to haunt Columbia University. He'd killed two people and was undoubtedly planning to do the same to Sara and Mozzie if they hadn't been rescued.

Mozzie's words were a good reminder, as if Neal needed any, to stay far away from anything associated with Ireton. The Winchesters swore that with his bones burned and his soul-object destroyed, he'd be unable to return to the upper world, but it would be just Neal's luck to find the Tudor Crown only to have it be haunted.

"How long will Sara be in town?" Mozzie asked.

"She returns to London on Tuesday night. The training conference that Sterling-Bosch is hosting lasts two days." Sara was scheduled to lead a workshop on the special challenges American agents faced in working overseas. Thanks to the conference, her travel was courtesy of her company. "We'll return to New York on Sunday afternoon, just in time for June's party to celebrate the Lunar Year of the Dog."

"June graciously invited Percy, but I told her he'd rather wait for his year. After all, the Year of the Rat is only two years away. Still, if Sara will be there, perhaps I can persuade him to attend." Mozzie picked up the sheet of notes lying on Neal's dinette table. "Morbid sensuality? What's this about?"

"Those are my notes for the workshop I'm giving next week. It's on one of the Pre-Raphaelites—Dante Gabriel Rossetti—and is the first one of the semester. Since Aidan's theme for his film is Electra's Pre-Raphaelite stained glass angels, the artist seems fitting."

Mozzie considered the illustrations in the open book. "I agree there's a distinct eroticism in Rossetti's paintings . . . To what do you attribute his morbidity?"

"The artist suffered from recurring bouts of depression after the death of his wife from a drug overdose. Many feel his addiction to drugs and alcohol is also reflected in his works."

"Hmm. A depressing topic, but something you'll excel at, what with your chivalrous tendencies. Most Arthurian romances are tragedies. I prefer a more positive outlook on life." Mozzie stopped to jab his finger in Neal's direction. "Don't let Rossetti get to you even if his first name is Dante!"

Neal laughed. "No danger of that, especially not with Sara arriving in a couple of days." He stopped to scribble a note. "I may use Electra's glass angels to contrast with Rossetti's depictions of women."

"You told me Electra has seven panels of angels. Who did Aidan choose to represent their living counterparts?"

"In addition to his fiancée Keiko, Aidan picked Sara, El, and Angela. Electra suggested her sister Maia as well as Chloe. That left one angel unspoken for, and Aidan offered the part to Electra."

"Too bad there's no role for a noble wizard. I would have been perfect. If only Aidan had listened to my advice on the script. Apparently he preferred Electra's suggestions to mine."

"Be reasonable, Mozz. How could Aidan decline her offer to help? She's not charging him anything for the use of her house, and she's letting us stay there."

Earlier, Neal might have had reservations about staying in Electra's house. At previous events, she'd sometimes flirted with him despite his refusal to play along. But now that would no longer be an issue. Once she saw that he and Sara were dating, Electra would realize he was unavailable.

Burke Townhouse. Wednesday evening.

"Will you go to New Haven as well?" June asked.

"I wish I could," El said, slipping off her flats and tucking her legs underneath her on the couch. Peter had taken Satchmo for a walk, giving her a chance to call June about the Arkham Files storyline. But June was more interested in what would happen in New Haven.

"I'm catering a wedding reception this weekend," El explained, "and it's too large for Yvonne to manage on her own. I'm not the only one who won't be there. Angela is also scheduled to be in the production but she and Michael are spending the weekend with her mom in D.C. Paige's birthday is on Saturday."

"Will you need to go up another time?"

"Aidan doesn't think it will be necessary. He can film us with green screen. Our parts are quite small. Most of the scenes will be digitalized versions of us. I hope I'm not too scary."

June chuckled. "Neal warned me Aidan was aiming for sci-fi horror. This could be one film you won't want your parents to see."

"Is that why Mozzie didn't write the script?" El asked.

"Mozzie told me that since there's so little dialog, Aidan was embarrassed to ask him. Angela helped Aidan with the music which he'll blend with synthesized sound effects. Neal described it as more of a space opera than a standard film. Travis supplied many of the ideas for the storyline. Electra also sent along several concepts."

"Aidan would have had a hard time denying her since she's providing so much assistance."

"In this case, it wasn't a problem. Neal said that Aidan liked the suggestions." June paused to take a sip of something, at this hour probably a cocktail. "Mozzie asked me about your role in the upcoming Arkham Files story."

El shifted her position on the couch. She knew it was coming. "Does he approve?" she asked uneasily.

"He's enthusiastic about it!" June chuckled. "He's already discussing directions we hadn't considered."

"Like what?" El asked, wariness giving way to curiosity.

"Haven't you always wanted an alien baby?"

"Please don't tell me he's thinking of Rosemary's baby."

"He may not, but Diana could. She's much more of a horror aficionado. And remember, Diana's been very coy about algolnium's side-effects."

"My baby could have birth defects?" El was already bonding with the little one. Surely Diana wouldn't hijack her idea. Then again, Diana had never demonstrated much in the way of a maternal instinct, and with an alien chemical like algolnium to play with, her imagination could wander off in uncharted directions. "I should get her a subscription to Babytalk."

She heard the scratching sounds of Satchmo's paws on the tile floor in the kitchen, an alert that Peter had arrived. June ended the call with a promise to find out what Diana had in mind.

"That was June on the phone," El said when Peter walked in. "We were discussing Aidan's film." Not a lie, she comforted herself, and as a member of the Round Table, it was her duty to not reveal spoilers.

"Has he settled on a title?" Peter asked, unsnapping Satchmo's leash.

"Glass Angels is the latest version I've heard."

"He should let you know since you're appearing in the production." Peter sat down next to her and reached for her feet. El promptly extended them onto his lap. No one gave a better foot rub than her guy.

"I don't think it's a speaking part. He wants to take several stills of me with different expressions that he'll use for his digital work. Angela and I plan to go together to his studio next week so we can feed off each other's expressions."

He paused massaging her toes while he glanced at the script on the cocktail table. "Leading Ladies? I'm not familiar with it."

"It's the play the community players have decided on for our next production. I mentioned it to Electra and she was enthusiastic about our choice."

He smiled. "Anything which keeps your sponsor happy is a wise move. Will you be one of the leading ladies?"

"I have one of the main roles, but the leading ladies in the title refer to men disguised as women."

"Like the movie Some Like It Hot?"

"Yes, but with a Shakespearean bent as in Twelfth Night. It took us so long to decide on a play, I'm behind the 8-ball to memorize my lines."

"I hope you'll be able to take time out for consultations on your birthday gift," Peter said.

"You're already planning?" El stared at him in surprise. "My birthday is still weeks away."

Peter gave a self-satisfied smile that indicated he was sure she'd like his idea. "Long, long ago in the dawn of time, you'd asked about turning the extra room upstairs into your office. I'm going to make your dream come true."

"You are?" El hoped he thought her gasp was of joy and she quickly covered her mixed feelings by wrapping her arms around him. Why did you have to pick that project?

The ring of Peter's cell phone was a godsend. Was it unfair to hope it was so distracting, he'd forget about the idea?

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Peter glanced at his cell phone display. "It's Dean." The last time he'd seen the Winchesters had been at the start of the year in Venice when they'd put an end to Alcy Lancaster, one of Astrena's so-called sisters. According to the lore on Astrena, Alcy was a demi-goddess, but to Peter, she'd always be remembered as the witch who nearly snuffed out his and Neal's lives along with the Winchesters.

For weeks, there'd been no reports of Astrena, the demon Crowley, or anything else supernatural. A sinking feeling in his gut told him the respite was over. Dean wasn't the type to call for chitchat.

"I have good news for a change," Dean said.

"You do?" For a hunter, good news could simply mean he was still alive. No reason to get excited.

"Chloe called. You know she and Maia have been working on a potion that would be effective against Astrena. They think they may have found it. They've made an oil which when applied to a silver sword may do the trick."

"How'd they find the formula?"

"It was in Maia's grimoire. The potion supposedly acts to banish supernatural entities to their natural home. Since Astrena rules over the celestial heavens, this should banish her to the stars."

"Does it have to be the sword of Saint Mercurius?"

"They're not sure," Dean admitted. "And we have no way of testing it. We figure we'll have the best odds by combining it with the sword of Saint Mercurius but this oil may work on any silver sword. Have you heard any suspicious reports of unexplained illnesses?"

"We've kept a close watch on the artist community in Manhattan, but trying to establish a link to Astrena has eluded us. Apparently, artists and musicians get sick all the time." Peter only partially stifled his sigh. "Astrena's usual MO is that they die a lingering death. There have been no signs among the target population of the rare blood disease which Neal and Sam contracted."

"And we haven't heard any reports about Crowley," Dean said, sounding surprisingly disappointed.

"The identity fraud ring he was linked to in Manhattan appears to be out of business. Curtis Hagen, the forger whom Crowley possessed, is still on the Bureau's most-wanted list, but no reports have surfaced." The criminal they'd known as the Dutchman was now controlled by a demon, but he still lived up to his nickname. Crowley was every bit as elusive as Hagen. Peter found himself in the distinctly uncomfortable position of not knowing whether he wanted the demon to be found. Prisons weren't built to contain supernatural entities.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Dean tapped the end-call button and slipped a cassette of "Witchy Woman" into the Impala's player.

Sam spared him a quick glance. He'd been driving since their last pit stop at a roadhouse south of Scranton. "I gather Peter didn't have any reports on Astrena."

Dean slouched deeper into the passenger seat. "No, and that's probably for the best. Do we really want to test an unproven potion on a Greek goddess?"

Sam frowned. "You should give the women more credit. In Venice, their spell repellent worked against Alcy. Thanks to Maia and Chloe, we were able to discover the sword of Saint Mercurius. Maia told me they're working on a way to remove the wards that prevent us from entering a building. We're saving lives because of them."

Dean rubbed his temple. Sam wasn't telling him anything he didn't know. "Doesn't it bother you that out of all the chicks in the world, the ones we hooked up with just happen to be witches?" When he'd met Chloe, she had no idea that she was a natural witch. Same thing with Maia. A geeky grad student in classics—what could be more harmless? Now the women were casting spells, making potions . . . "As Bobby would say, it ain't natural."

Sam winced. "Perhaps you're looking at it the wrong way. For them, it is. Peony helped them trace their ancestry to an ancient Celtic witch."

"Is calling Airmid a witch rather than a goddess supposed to make me feel better?"

"It does me," Sam mumbled in a low voice. "You don't think it weirds them out too? Maia's barely holding it together. That grimoire of hers, for instance. She assumed it was written in an ancient Greek dialect, but she decided to check with a linguist. And get this, he thinks it may be ancient Irish. She can't show him much of the text so she wasn't able to pursue it further, but she's in a panic over why she can read it."

Dean tried to wrap his head around the significance of what Sam described. This was the first Dean had heard about the mysterious script. By the way Sam was chewing his lower lip, it was clearly eating away at him. How often did Sam open up about what was bothering him? Like never? Dean had to cool it and not make him regret it. "Why do you think she can?" he asked, keeping his voice calm.

Sam didn't answer but continued to stare at the dark highway in front of him. There was next to no traffic. They were driving through farmland with little likelihood of Bambi jumping in front of their car. Empathy wasn't Dean's strong suit, but he waited for Sam to cough up a reply.

"Maia mentioned that ancient Celts were known to have visited Greece. It's possible a Greek taught an Irish druid how to write and paid them to write the text using letters from the Greek alphabet." Sam shrugged as if to acknowledge how unlikely that sounded. "Chloe thinks it's a gift from Airmid."

Dean exhaled noisily. So the women were now on a Celtic goddess's bestie list? "I suppose that could account for it, but then you'd think Chloe could understand it too." Dean stopped abruptly. "Can she?" he asked, the words coming out more sharply than he'd intended.

Sam shook his head. "No, she can't. Chloe thinks Airmid may have realized she has no talent for foreign languages."

Dean grimaced. "I'm starting to like the druid-for-hire theory better."

"You could say witchcraft is in her blood like hunting is in ours and leave it at that. That's what I'm trying to do."

Better than rolling over the log and finding a scorpion underneath. Dean wasn't about to bring up the problems with bloodlines. The Winchesters weren't short of disreputable characters in their family tree, which, thanks to Henry's research, they were starting to learn even more about. Neal's cousin was convinced they shared a common ancestor, a man named Seth Winslow. If his theory was correct, the dude had abandoned his family and changed his name to Seth Winchester. Correspondence hinted that Seth Winslow might have encountered a vampire, but that didn't sound like enough to make him desert his family. Dean didn't need to know about any cowards in his family tree. They had enough issues with the here and now.

"I told Chloe we'd swing by after the job in Strasburg," Dean said. "Neal and his friends will be in New Haven that weekend. They're making a student film. I got interested when I heard it was starring several women and only a couple of guys."

Sam's chuckle was more genuine this time. "If it's for a course, I doubt strongly it's porn."

"Meaning it will be boring." The song had ended. Dean traded cassettes for "Black Magic Woman." Sam could read into it what he wanted to.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Henry pulled into what appeared to be the last available parking space at the National Zoo. Even on a frigid Thursday morning, the D.C. zoo was a popular place with a long line of school buses taking up much of the lot. The kiddos better have dressed warmly for their adventure.

Henry had driven the company car down to Baltimore the previous day. Win-Win had been bugging him for a while to swing by their home office. When his grandfather called about Henry's aunt being in town, he knew why he'd been procrastinating. Now he'd be able to meet with her and still have plenty of time for business.

"I'm looking forward to seeing Louisa," Pops said. "Ever since she took that job with the Royal Global Wildlife Society, her visits to Baltimore are few and far between."

"I don't remember her at all," Henry confessed, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"I'm not surprised. I looked through our old photo albums. You were only five the last time you saw her. That was at a Win-Win family picnic." Pops reached for the car handle. "She was sixteen and one of so many relatives, it would have been impossible to keep their names straight. She was a handful, I know that." He shook his head as he added, "It was a shame her father passed away before he saw what a success she'd made of herself."

Henry didn't remember Duncan well either. Pops' older brother had passed away shortly after the picnic. His British wife returned to the U.K. with their daughter. Henry was counting on Louisa knowing something about her great-grandfather Seth Winslow, the man who was also the probable great-great-grandfather of Dean and Sam Winchester.

Pops had already checked with his surviving siblings, and they had no information about Seth or his wife Leticia. Louisa was Henry's last hope. When Pops wrote her, she explained she'd soon be in town on business. She instructed them to go to the Conservation Biology Institute at the zoo where she was meeting with conservators. She'd left passes for them at the entrance.

Henry had researched her before leaving New York. She was an expert on marsupials and had spent the past several months in the field in Papua Guinea. This was one Winslow who had no interest in working at Win-Win.

"When are the Winchesters coming to Baltimore?" Pops asked as he slipped the visitor's pass lanyard over his neck. "Dean is supposedly the spitting image of you. I need to see that for myself."

"I'm sure I can work something out, but the nature of their jobs makes it hard to pin them down to an exact date."

"And?" Pops challenged.

"And they don't see the need unless something can be accomplished from it. I already sent you photos of them."

"Photos don't reveal anything about their character. You know that. If you were in my shoes, you'd be making the exact same request."

He was right, but no need to admit it, not when Henry had the upper hand. "You'll have to make it worth their while. They're not going to drop in just to satisfy your curiosity."

Pops shrugged. "That's a challenge I accept. I was never into genealogy. They could spark a new hobby. Julia keeps telling me I need a new interest for when it's too cold to sail."

His wife was right, and that was part of the reason Henry wasn't pushing for Pops to meet the Winchesters. If Pops learned about the nature of their work, would he want to get involved? An octogenarian hunter was the last thing the Winchesters—or Winslows—needed.

Louisa had left word at the reception desk for them to be shown into a small conference room. When they went in, she was sitting at the table, typing on her laptop.

"Uncle Graham, Tiger, it's been too long!" she exclaimed, giving them each a hug. Louisa was wearing an oversized turtleneck and loose-fitting khakis which looked like they'd gone through a thousand washings. Her ash-brown hair was blunt cut with long bangs.

"That nickname was retired when I was about eight," Henry said with a chuckle, "but when you say it, it sounds appropriate."

"Thanks for meeting me here," she said. "I don't have much time. I'm due to leave for a lecture series in Australia this weekend." She'd barely finished speaking when a knock was heard on the door.

A brown-skinned man with tight curly hair poked his head in. "Sorry to interrupt, but Miguel asked if we could move up the meeting."

She frowned as she considered for a moment. "Okay, but give me thirty minutes first."

"I remember you liked to talk fast," Pops said when the man left. "I hope that means you'll be able to answer our questions."

She nodded. "I can fill in a few of the gaps. When I was in high school, I wrote a paper on the Winslow family tree. As part of the assignment, I interviewed granddad's sister, Esther." She turned to Henry. "Tiger, her brother was Henry Winslow. They were Seth's children."

"Was her brother still alive?" Henry asked, the nickname starting to grow on him.

"No, he'd passed several years ago. Esther was in her nineties but mentally sharp as a tack. She'd helped take care of her mother Leticia in her senior years. When I got Uncle Graham's email, I rummaged through my files and found the paper I wrote." She pulled out a manila folder from her briefcase. "This is a photocopy, so you don't need to take notes."

"Was there anything about vampires?" Pops asked. "Tiger found a letter where Leticia said Seth was having nightmares about them."

"Seth was convinced vampires were real and that they'd embarked on a killing spree," Louisa agreed. "In the year he disappeared, there was a rash of murders where the bodies were horribly mutilated."

"Was this in Philadelphia where Seth lived?" Henry asked.

"Not only there but Baltimore as well. Seth had attended Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore and maintained close ties with several friends from his university days. He majored in classical languages. After graduation, he obtained a post at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia. That's where most of the Winslows were living. "

"Did Esther know for how long Leticia was worried something was wrong?" Henry asked.

"It must have been for at least a few months. When Seth died, his son Henry was five years old. Esther was nine. She remembers her father making several trips to Baltimore. Her mother told her one of his best friends from college died."

"Do you know who that was?" Pops asked.

She nodded. "I wrote down his name, intending to ask his family if they'd heard any stories, but I never got around to it. Chester Ratherston is the friend's name. After Chester's death, Seth grew increasingly nervous and wouldn't let the children play outside. He insisted that the family not go out at night. Esther was fond of ghost stories as a child. She was convinced that her dad feared a ghost was haunting them. Apparently the catalyst for Seth's disappearance was when the family living next to the Winslows was found murdered. The next week, he left the house in the morning and was never seen again. Esther asked her mom if a ghost had been involved, and that's when Leticia told her about the vampires."

"Esther wasn't the only one who liked ghost stories," Pops noted. "I haven't forgotten how much you liked to scare the family."

She laughed. "I was a holy terror! Do you remember, Tiger?"

"I must have blocked out the memories," Henry grumbled.

She smiled. "Just as well. You might hate me. During that family picnic, some of us turned Win-Win headquarters into a haunted house."

That event had been shortly before Neal was sent away to WITSEC. As she described the prank she pulled, Henry realized that might have been when he became convinced ghosts were real. Later he had dreams about a little boy he'd known who'd disappeared. He'd convinced himself he was seeing the ghost of a baby brother who'd died. Henry felt a bond of sympathy for his great-grandfather Henry. Did he think his father had turned into a ghost?

Why was Seth so afraid? The answer could be somewhere in Baltimore. Many of the Winslows had moved to Baltimore when Win-Win was established. They'd chosen the location because of its proximity to D.C., or so he thought, but was there another reason?

"Do you happen to have any personal items from Seth?" Henry asked. He'd already struck out with Pops. Henry hadn't held out much hope since Pops had never shown any interest in family memorabilia. Louisa's father was the eldest of the siblings. Perhaps he'd inherited something.

"My father didn't have anything, but when I visited Esther, she gave me Seth's gold watch. She insisted I take it. She was thrilled to have a family member interested in the old stories." Louisa pulled out a small leather box from her bag and gave it to him.

Henry opened the box to find an ornate gold pocket watch. It was engraved with the initials S.W.

"Do you mind if I borrow it?" Henry asked.

"Not at all. You should keep it. I felt bad at taking it, but it clearly meant a lot to Esther that someone wanted to know about her family and I didn't want to hurt her feelings. I don't have any children. This should stay with the Winslows."

His prospects of having kids weren't good either, but at least he could keep it with the other family items in the Win-Win vault. The bigger question was what to do with it. Did he really want to call upon the spirit of Seth Winslow?

Notes: Thanks for reading! Glass Angels has 5 chapters which I'll post weekly on Wednesday.

You can find pins of Astrena's stained-glass angels on my Pinterest board. What is her fascination with the Pre-Raphaelites? Is there a sinister significance to Rossetti's morbid sensuality? Clues are forthcoming in the next chapter. Henry has his own mystery to solve, but he's adopting a cautious approach. His childhood memory of Neal as a ghost is described in Penna Nomen's vignette Spring Break.

Many thanks to Penna for taking time out from her novel to give me beta help and expert advice on the Winslow family tree. She's also provided us with an update on her novel in her new blog post, "Novel Progress: homes and clothing of the future."

Background to Crossed Lines for new readers:
In the pre-canon Caffrey Conversation AU created by Penna Nomen, FBI Special Agent Peter Burke recruited con artist and expert forger Neal Caffrey in 2003 when he was 24. In exchange for a confession, he was given immunity for past crimes and started working for the FBI as a consultant at the White Collar task force in New York City. Sam and Dean Winchester are demon-hunting brothers. Sam is roughly the same age as Neal. Dean is four years older than Sam. Peter is fifteen years older than Neal. For those familiar with the Supernatural timeline, the action is set early in the second season of Supernatural. The Crossed Lines page on our blog has more background information about the stories.

Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation
Chapter Visuals and Music: Glass Angels board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website
Twitter: silbrith