Chapter One

"Pleased to meet you/ Hope you guess me name.

But what's puzzling you, / Is the nature of my game." Sympathy for the Devil –Rolling Stones.

Griffin Porter grimaced as he crossed the final train track. What he was looking for could only be found on the flipside of all that he had strived to stand for. But he could not lament that now; there was work to be done. If one had to soil ones hands in order to extract the weeds in the Garden of Eden –so be it.

Literally, on the wrong side of the tracks now Old Man, he told him self by way of bolstering his flagging resolve.

The heat of an early summer scorched the red toned Mississippi sands of Tchula. Though this ramshackle part of town was poorer than the dirt it slumped upon, the individual he sought here lifted its importance in Porter's eyes, enormously. He was a man on a mission and the key to its success lay here amidst the dust, and the dirt, and the flies. He firmly believed that if he failed, one of mankind's last Bastions of hope against the drawing darkness went with him.

The Brotherhood; a clandestine organization that specialized in hunting down and eliminating threats to humankind from the Supernatural world, had been his families calling for many decades. He had taken on the mantel from an early age, quickly gaining in reputation due mostly to his advanced research skills and considerable Psychic talent. Though he was admittedly no Rambo in the physical arena of hunting; Porter had been one of the youngest hunters to gain the coveted silver ring, which marked you as a full fledged member of the Brotherhood. He had been just 23 when Julian himself, the Guardian (and leader) of the order had conferred that honor on him.

How quickly things had changed! Porter gripped sourly to himself.

Just a few decades later, Julian would deny Griffin the position that he had practically been born into! It was the duty of the Guardian to choose his successor. It had been Julian's duty to protect the heritage of the order. To select from the recognized proven vanguard, who had served faithfully through generations of Blood and Loyalty.

Instead the misguided old fool had picked his favorite stray – James Murphy. Murphy was like a beggar at the gates, or the pauper mistaken for the Prince in Porter's opinion; just not eligible for the high honor given him. How could Murphy have possibly looked like the best choice??!!! But even if Porter had been wrong about Pastor Jim; the softhearted cleric had proven his lack of sense and Brotherhood etiquette in his first official act. Murphy's choice of Knight and Scholar (the other two most high ranking offices in the order's hierarchy) had been obscene farces, that flew in the face of all the traditions of his beloved Institution. As if to enlarge the wound some more, Murphy had passed up Porter for the lowlier, but still vital role of Scholar. The position fell well within Griffin's expertise and the transition would have been near seamless, as he had already embarked on research and intelligence projects with many influential Hunters. Now in his place was a spoilt socialite named Mackland Ames! And equally insulting, though not nearly as important (except to the prestige of the order of course!) John Win-someone as the Knight, was preposterous!!! The man had barely been inducted at the time, it had Griffin worried back then, he feared that next some random postal worker would be raised to Advisor!!! But recent developments regarding the possible next generation of Triad, had forced Griffin to act.

The disgruntled Hunter suddenly became aware that passers-by were giving him a wide berth, or crossing the street to entirely avoid him. He smiled grimly realizing, he had been snarling while he'd lost himself in the disturbing history of the Brotherhoods last five years. Well couldn't expect the lambs to understand the burdens of the Shepherd could you? Finally he found himself in front of the non-descript house his quarry lived in. It was marginally better than a rock -time to see who crawled out.

Porter's knock was firm, better to start out by letting her know he was not in awe of her supposed lineage. Verity LeHarve was just another 'bone-conjurer' as the Good Book labeled them, albeit a powerful one. It was left to speculation at this point, exactly how Verity gained her strength – some of the rituals from the classical era of her craft, were of the blackest magic. If examined at too closely this woman might begin to look more like legitimate prey for a Hunter, rather than a necessary evil required to remove an abomination. He would have to decide later exactly how wide of the margin Variety's practices carried her – but for now, she would serve the greater good. Even if she didn't know it.

Verity answered the door wordlessly, swinging it wide for him to enter. As he passed the threshold Porter shivered violently. He frowned but kept walking through the dark lit hallway with dusty tapestries hanging on either side. She was dressed plainly in dark brown skirts of many layers and an embroidered billowy shirt. Her appearance was equally non-descript, dirty blonde hair hung loosely around her shoulders and dark brown eyes that didn't linger too long, but no doubt took in everything. Average height, weight and 30 something age finished this drab creature. Could this possibly be the descendent of the Biblically famed Witch of Endor – or a less glamorous Carney Romany?

As she sat behind a short end card table decked with a too large lace covering, frayed and yellowing at the edges; he wondered if someone he had paid for this Intel, hadn't been merely looking for quick money. He took the other chair gingerly unsure of what the dark stains on the back might be.

"Squeamish for a Hunter aren't you Mr. Porter? And yes I am the direct descendent of King Saul's advisor … please don't mention those gipsy vermin under my roof again … don't even think on them!"

Porter started, had she just read him – as a fairly strong Psychic that was damn near impossible without his detection!

"No I have no need for mind games – my family advanced beyond that some centuries ago, when certain…" She looked at him searchingly "entities, attached themselves to my line permanently, their sight transcends… ours."

"Ghosts or Demons – think carefully before you answer Verity?" Porter asked sternly.

Her laugh was rich and irritating – she was not put off by his insolent familiarity, in fact she exuded confidence. "Or what Griffin – you willhunt me? Come now – you have bigger fish to fry don't you? More immediate demonic threats to your precious Boys club than my – colleagues?"

"Mind your tongue – or my colleagues can arrange for it to be removed!" Porter growled. Beginning to wonder a little at the 'brilliance' of this plan.

Her face was indifferent as she purred. "And yet your fearsome friends don't seem to be with you on your little crusade to remove the Devil from the High table, no?"

Schooling his features quickly, Griffin began to raise his mental blocks and prepare to leave the spider's liar. "Are you threatening me Necromancer?" he spat.

She watched him levelly without saying a word for a long minute. Her head tilted to one side, as if listening. Porter could not repress the shiver that told him; they were not alone in the room.

"I can see" she said in a more demure tone "that I have given offence. This was not my intention. In truth ever since I heard about your visit, I have been keen to enlist your aid – even as you seek my assistance …"

"I don't make deals with Devils." He stated offhandly.

Her features darkened, but her voice remained milk and honey. "Not everything in the Supernatural world is Black and white – take your young demonic half-breed for instance – his future…"

"Does not interest me either … it is the unholy influence he has on the present that concerns me. I gather you have been – informed -that the Mongrel in question stands very closely to the highest seats of power in my organization? You do confirm that he is not wholly human then?"

"I can – if you can guarantee my anonymity and immunity from pursuit by your fellow Hunters… is that within your sphere of influence Griffin Porter?"

The slightly taunting smugness in her tone bothered him greatly, but he reminded himself what was at stake.

"My fellow Hunters will not bother you Verity" Porter asserted simply. "Now for your part, I need assurances that whatever measures you deem necessary to eliminate the threat that Reaves presents to the Brotherhood, is not traceable to me."

She smiled then; an oily, knowing, sickly sweet, red stain that went against the grain of her pallid face. It had him fighting the urge to stand up and end her existence right then.

"You would wash your hands before you even glimpse the deed? How are you so certain that I will accomplish your desired outcome?"

"I trust in your ability to curtail one of your own Verity." Griffin asserted.

"Oh he is not like us at all. But his ancestry is polluted that is a certainty… in his mind at least. In truth there are more than a few volunteers from the other side prepared to aid in a reckoning involving Noah Seaver's heir. My art is made easier when the subject leaves the keys to his own destruction out in the open, as it were."

Licking his lips, Porter gave into the researcher in him. "For curiosity sake – what do your "arts" entail on this occasion?"

She smiled the stomach turning grimace again. "I would lend some, to your factions stolen learning … but not specifics … it is as you surmised – in my case the adage about the inquiring cat is all too literal. With the help of my associates, the Young Mr. Reaves will succumb to either; Will manipulation or the illusions drawn from a past he despises more than anything else on earth. He hates that which gives him life – his own life's blood, and there are many spirits who are inclined to agree with him. However – I also sense a certain resilience in him that has overcome many dark hours, he is no easy target."

Porter's face was granite, as thoughts of the Demon spawned youth now rumored to be a strong contender against one of his own pupil's for the position of Future Knight, pooled and collected. How much more could the Brotherhood endure before being ripped apart from within? If Murphy actually intended to give this demon spawned half-bred the keys to the kingdom, it was time to consider if the Yellow Eyed abomination was not already making his move against the one force that could stop him, using its very own custom made vassal – Caleb Reaves. History would not repeat itself.

"Ms LeHarve the time has come to ensure there is no dawn after the darkness for Reaves – for the sake of the greater good."

"Oh no Griffin" she purred adding extra syllables to his name that made his skin crawl. "The secret to that young man's undoing is not to bring him down into the darkness … but to drag his soul into the scorching light of truth."

Griffin recoiled as Verity LeHarve's eyes began to grow lighter, the irises literally melting their color away to be replaced by a glowing amber golden color that belonged in another face.

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Blue Earth Minnesota.

Caleb Reaves watched the other Hunter's round Jim Murphy's kitchen table carefully. The nature of their work ensured they all had above average Poker faces – but the one to watch was Jim himself. The good-natured clergyman always took his Priests Collar off when he sat down to cards, as Caleb eyed his woefully depleted stack of pretzels (the only "riches" Jim would allow them to play for) he did not need his abilities to understand why.

"Your move Junior – quit chewing on you nails like a panty lace and … put out!!!" the rarely heard humor in the voice of his dark haired mentor really bugged Caleb right now.

Bobby Singer erupted into a hale of laughter on his left – but was soon choking off his mirth following a quick look from Jim with a grumbled "There should be an age at which you cut the apron strings…"

"What was that Robert?" Jim queried almost musically "You want to bank roll Caleb's hand for this round – that's awfully charitable of you seeing as you and John drew him into this game with more than a little coercion."

Bobby pulled down his trademark grubby trucker's hat over his opinion of Jim's praise – but Caleb reaped a neat pile of Pretzels nevertheless.

John laughed harder. "You are not suggesting we are leading Mackland's only, sweet, pure, innocent child astray, are you Jim?!"

The Ex-marines face was transformed from its normal brooding set into the man Caleb imagined proposed to Mary Winchester eleven years ago. His brown eyes complimented his low maintenance, rugged looks.

Caleb threw John a lopsided grin before wiping the smile off the older Hunter's face as his cards hit the table.

"Sweet and innocent my ass Johnny – I was hustling courts clerks and officer types out of their donut money by the time I was Dean's age" The cocky 18 year old threw a brief apologetic look at Jim "You and Huck Finn there should consider the experience of the prey you bring to the pot next time you try to feast off us young-ins!"

"When did he become so damn disagreeable John?" Bobby gripped.

Slinging his cards at the table and stretching, John held back a yawn. "About the time he learned to talk I reckon."

Jim chuckled as he got up to clear the cobbler dishes as Bobby shuffled. Caleb jumped up to help the Pastor. As he followed him to the ample double sink he leaned in to Jim confidentially.

"Do you think they will invite me to play again Jim?" Caleb questioned quietly.

"I am sure you present a challenge to their skills my boy – though I am not sure you should be too disappointed if your Father is the more popular member of your family at the card table." Jim whispered back.

"It's ok I'm used to the social outcast label – it works for me." Caleb smiled a little ruefully.

Jim frowned as he turned to pick up a bowl to scrub.

"Things not going so well at the new school?" he asked innocently, but low enough to get under the radar of the other two men.

Caleb scrubbed a little more fiercely than necessary. "I graduate soon Jim – what do I care?"

Reaves knew he was being unnecessarily prickly with entirely the wrong audience – but he was feeling a little beleaguered currently, with his Father insisting he finish High School with the same group of snotty, Prep school brats, he wanted to beat the tar out of. His restraint alone should have been enough for his adoptive Father. But no, he had to go take the high ground – when all he really wanted was to burn his school tie and trade in for the hunters …

Unbidden a burning sensation ignited behind his eyes. He grasped the heavy worktop for balance. Luckily Jim had not noticed, as he was currently arbitrating between some random snipping between John and Bobby, by the Kitchen table. Caleb drew in a silent calming breath – tension headaches were a bitch! The young psychic knew this was not a vision as he would have been on the ground by now. His "gift" of seeing future heinous acts through the eyes of the perpetrator took its toll on him with brutal speed. He was often left reeling at best, incapacitated within seconds, at worst. Damn school – damn cliques … who gave a shit about…

The bowl slipped from his hand smashing on the ground, as the heat behind his eyes went from Grill to BBQ. Caleb avoided the three sets of stares from the other side of the room by apologizing in an even voice as he bent to pick up the shattered crockery.

His plan failed as he felt a sharp slicing sensation clip his right index finger.

"Damn it" he cursed even as Jim Murphy reached him and took over the clean up detail.

The Pastor was about to bend down and pick up the offending piece of his earthenware crockery which still had Caleb's blood on it, when the young man grabbed his wrist with his good hand.

"Don't touch that!" Caleb urged with a hint of panic that surprised even himself. "You might cut yourself too …" he lamely recovered "I already owe you a bowl Pastor Jim."

Jim smiled slightly bemusedly at the boy before him.

"Thank you son, but I have had worse – besides, gives me the excuse I need to buy new ones – maybe Samuel's coveted plastic Ninja Turtle bowls – what do you think?"

Caleb smiled brightly, whilst clearing the shards quickly. He didn't answer as he concentrated on keeping his balance while the pain in his head showed no signs of letting up.

"I am a little beat for the day Jim" he announced loudly enough for the other two to hear "and I have that little country ramble John picked out for us to be getting on with at the crack of dawn tomorrow."

"Of course – sleep well Caleb." Jim answered automatically with a warm smile.

Caleb had the feeling that a good night's sleep might still be an hour or so away, but he didn't want the other's to witness his descent into Clumsy-Ville, that this migraine seemed to be bringing with it. As he ascended the stairs a shiver ran through him so violently, that it stole his breath and had him grasping for the banister.

Oh joy! All day maneuvers at the Winchester boot camp were always so much more character building with a cold!!! With any luck he could cough up something gross enough to convince his Jarhead mentor the clean up just would not be worth it. Knowing his luck, what he coughed up… would probably turn out to be a lung!! Damn but this headache was making him cranky!