Notes: Dark Rabbit takes place after the events in Fireflies at Midnight and Nocturne in Black and Gold and is a gift to Penna Nomen, the creator of the Caffrey Conversation AU. Belated Happy Birthday, Penna! This story features Angela Caffrey, one of the many delightful OCs Penna invented. The first chapter includes a short recap 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: Dark Rabbit." See the notes at the end of the chapter for more information.

Chapter 1: The Con That Never Was

Federal Building, New York. Thursday, July 28, 2005.

What's wrong with this picture?

When Peter got off the elevator on the twenty-first floor of the Federal Building, he paused at the entrance to the bullpen to analyze the scene in front of him. He'd learned long ago that puzzles could be hiding anywhere. When he was a child, his mom used to challenge him with pictures where something was out of place. She'd ask, What's wrong with this picture? It was a game which quickly became a habit.

And today he found a puzzle. Neal had rolled his desk chair next to the desk of Agent Clinton Jones. The two appeared to be engaged in a serious discussion as they pored over printouts of spreadsheets. On the surface, there was nothing strange about that. But from the snippets he overheard, the topic was an unlikely one. Identity fraud was not normally on Neal's radar screen.

For Jones it was understandable. He'd become the White Collar specialist on the burgeoning crime problem. A few weeks ago he'd gone to D.C. on a special training assignment. The sharp rise of reported incidents had made it become a high priority item for the team.

But forgeries and art crimes were Neal's bread and butter. For anything else, he'd developed avoidance into an art form. If Neal was interested in identity fraud, there had to be an angle.

Peter approached the pair. "Nothing wrong with Nick Halden's credit card, I hope," he asked, referencing one of Neal's go-to aliases.

Neal smiled. "Nick's safe, but my cousin Angela is nervous. She called me from Shepherdstown, West Virginia. That's the location of Shepherd University where she's doing her field work this summer. Several of her college friends have had their identities stolen, and she's concerned she may be next."

Shepherd University was about an hour's drive from D.C. Angela had been spending the summer working with underprivileged kids on a project sponsored by the Global Education through Music Initiative, a nonprofit Neal's cousin Henry also volunteered for.

"I looked it up in our database," Jones said. "We've been crunching the numbers. The Baltimore and D.C. areas are experiencing an unusually high incidence of cases."

"When did it start?" Peter asked, as he picked up one of the printouts.

"Around three weeks ago. It makes me wonder if an organized crime group has set up shop in the area."

"Perhaps I should ask Diana to check with her newfound best buddy, Agent Ruiz," Neal said, glancing at her desk. "She's probably at lunch with him now."

Joseph Ruiz was currently the acting head of the Organized Crime Unit, a position he wouldn't hold for much longer. He'd been discovered to be leaking information to the fugitive hedge fund manager, Vincent Adler. So far no action had been taken against him since White Collar intended to use him to transmit false reports to Adler.

Ruiz had been conducting a recruitment campaign on Diana to induce her to switch to Organized Crime. His interest in the attractive agent was not purely business related. Ruiz had been hinting for several months he'd like to go out with her even though he knew she was already in an established relationship. With the full blessing of her partner Christie, Diana was taking advantage of the opening she'd been given. She'd informed Peter she was going out to lunch with Ruiz today—her second in a week.

"Three of Angela's friends in Shepherdstown have been hit over the past two weeks," Jones added. "A local eatery may be playing fast and loose with credit information."

"Angela's paying with cash whenever possible," Neal said. "The Bureau's prepared a pamphlet on protecting personal information which I'll send to her."

As Neal started to stand up, Jones stopped him with a gesture. "Before you take off, I have a question for both of you. This weekend I babysat my nephew Ethan. He can't stop talking about all the fun he had at astronomy camp. It's been over a month. I would have thought he'd have moved onto something else. Instead he keeps asking me if it's June yet so he can go again. You guys made quite an impression."

In June, Columbia University's astronomy department had sponsored an astro camp in western New Jersey. Peter and White Collar's tech expert Travis Miller led the camp with Neal and Mozzie helping out. The camp had been a success, but it was a close call.

Although Peter couldn't confirm with one hundred percent accuracy that Neal was a vampire magnet, the signals all pointed in that direction. Since the spring he and Neal had gone on three road trips. During two of them, they'd had to contend with vampires. No vampires on the third trip, but a witch nearly sent them up in flames. At the astronomy camp, Ethan and a young girl wandered off just as vampires showed up at the park. Through quick work, Neal managed to keep them safe, and the kids were never told who their pursuers were.

Worrying about which criminals from Neal's past might return to cause mischief had become routine. Peter had now been forced to add supernatural beings.

He glanced over at Neal and saw a half-smile playing on his lips. After much soul-searching, Peter had decided to keep the supernatural incidents out of the Bureau files. Neal argued that in the interest of full disclosure, they should go ahead and inform the rest of the team. But if they did, they'd also have to inform Hughes. Peter knew in advance what the reaction of the Special Agent in Charge would be. He'd order Peter to undergo an extensive evaluation with a Bureau-approved psychiatrist.

Peter had done his due diligence. He'd checked the Bureau files for any records of vampires or witches. The few times an agent had reported a paranormal event, they'd gone back later to recant their findings.

It was Peter's considered opinion that the encounters he and Neal had experienced didn't fall within Bureau jurisdiction. He'd filed a report about the Dutchman which was accurate as far as it went. The demonic bits were unnecessary and did nothing to explain what had occurred.

"Kids and their stories!" Jones said, rolling his eyes at Neal. "Ethan told me an incredible tale of how he and his girlfriend Amita"—Jones paused to snort—"Girlfriend! The kid's only seven years old."

"He takes after you," Neal said. "A natural born lady-killer."

Good. Keep it up. Distract him. Maybe he'll forget his question. "How is Helen?" Peter asked, keeping any hint of desperation out of his voice. "The D.A.'s office treating her well?"

Neal's smile broadened. He knew what Peter was doing. Deflection worked for Neal. Couldn't it do the same for Peter? His mention of Jones's girlfriend should veer the conversation onto safer ground.

He was so tempted to say he had to leave for a meeting, conference call, anything. But if he did, could he trust Neal not to divulge anything? Neal had returned from camp feeling quite smug at having eluded a pack of vampires. The fact that the time he encountered vampires in a southern New Jersey swamp he hadn't been so lucky was apparently long forgotten. But Peter remembered all too vividly the sight of Neal and Sam stretched out on tables with their blood being siphoned into beakers.

"Helen's fine, thanks," said Jones blandly. "Ethan told me he and Amita hid out in a cave Neal discovered after they were chased by Long John Silver and his fellow pirates. Ethan said the pirates ran so fast, they were just a blur."

Peter hoped his laugh didn't sound too fake. "What an imagination!"

"Neal, I knew you were a great con artist, but I didn't give you enough credit," Jones said. "Ethan described to me how serious you were. You really had them convinced there were pirates. Hiding them in a cave, leading the bad guys away—you gave them the adventure of a lifetime."

Neal's smile became a little tenuous. He had been nearly frantic with worry about the kids' safety. Now Peter wasn't the only one trying to change the topic of conversation. But Neal didn't have any better luck.

"Who were those two guys, Dean and Sam?" Jones asked. "Up to now Ethan's only ambition was to be a pirate. Now he wants to be a hunter just like Dean. What does Dean hunt? Deer? Big game?"

"Something like that," Peter said. Surely the Winchesters hadn't mentioned to any of the kids that hunting monsters and spooks was their job. But then kids have sharp ears. Ethan may have overheard something. This could be bad. Jones had bulldog tenacity in researching a problem. He was the one who'd first alerted them to the Dutchman. If Jones only knew what really had happened to the Dutchman . . .

These were desperate times. Peter reached for the tried-and-true formula. Glancing at his watch, he shook his head regretfully. "Sorry, I'll have to leave you two to your research. I'm due to join a conference call." Neal's mocking eyes were burning holes in his back as he fled.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

"You realize it's just a matter of time till they find out?"

Neal kept his tone low-key. He'd given Peter ample time for his fake conference call before knocking on the door of his office. But as his trusted consultant, it was incumbent upon Neal to alert him to the minefield ahead.

"I know," Peter said with a groan, motioning him to take a seat. "After the first incident, I was hopeful I could keep it quietly buried. Now we've had three cases in three months. Can another one be far off?"

"This isn't the first time Jones has brought it up. I didn't hear everything Dean said to the kids, but you know how snarky he can be. He may have teased them about werewolves or witches or made a reference to bloodsuckers. Ethan's at an impressionable age."

"Kids can remember the darndest things," Peter agreed gloomily. "I still recall every single detail of the cave my brother Joe transformed into Bigfoot's lair. I was about Ethan's age at the time."

"And we have a more serious issue to confront," Neal added. "The past couple of days I've seen Jones conferring with Diana about something. Whenever I approached them, Jones looked guilty and clammed up. Diana's too good a con artist to reveal anything but Jones isn't in her league. If Diana is suspicious, you know she'll pursue it."

"But how could she know anything?" Peter protested. He was clearly clinging to a shred of hope that was dissolving before his eyes. "She hasn't been involved in any of the cases."

"Travis was with us at camp and he made it clear he wouldn't hide the events from his partner. Richard returned from California earlier this week."

"If Diana suspects something weird happened at camp, she won't hesitate to grill Richard about it," Peter acknowledged. "This is more urgent than I realized."

"Exactly. You know Richard. His resistance to extreme interrogation tactics is nil." Neal hesitated. Should he bring up the Braque? How annoyed would Peter be?

Only a few days ago, he and Peter had been on shaky ground. Neal had finally confessed to having retrieved a painting by Georges Braque which he and the master art thief Klaus Mansfeld had stolen years ago. That painting was now key to the con to ensnare Vincent Adler and hopefully Klaus as well. Neal had hidden his knowledge about the work for months. When he admitted to Peter what he'd done, Peter had been hurt and angry even though he knew Neal had been motivated by a desire to protect him. The experience had been an excruciating ordeal for both of them.

"You're thinking about the Braque, aren't you?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded. "I made you a promise not to keep secrets like that from you ever again. As I recall we talked at length about the harm they can cause."

"And I remember distinctly saying that little non-work-related secrets are permitted."

"But vampires and witches are now work related, aren't they? Curtis Hagen, the Dutchman, has been possessed by the demon Crowley. Vampires were killed in New Jersey last month. So far the hunters have kept those deaths out of the police reports, but—"

"It's inevitable that before long exsanguinated victims will be discovered," Peter said, concluding Neal's sentence for him. "Vampires can only be killed by beheading. We can't count on hunters always being able to burn the corpses afterward."

Neal nodded. "Dean said vampire numbers used to be so small that the chance of discovery was tiny, but with the recent upsurge, news is bound to spread."

Peter raised the white flag of surrender. "It's better Diana and Jones hear it from me. Tomorrow morning at the briefing, I'll let the witch out of the bag."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

"What did you find out?" Diana demanded of Jones impatiently.

This was her first chance to speak with him privately. Jones had been away from his desk when she left for lunch. When she returned, Neal had grabbed him to work on some identity fraud case. That in itself was suspicious. Was Neal deliberately trying to keep Jones occupied?

She'd finally been forced to text Jones to meet her in the file vault. It was one area Diana felt reasonably confident that they'd be safe from Neal. But it wasn't bulletproof certainty. Neal had been known in moments of extreme duress to overcome his antipathy toward the depository. Personally, she would have preferred the ladies' room, but she realized that would be a bridge too far for Jones. Someday she'd have to give him a lesson in covert maneuvers.

"Your suspicions were right," Jones muttered, casting a furtive look over his shoulder. "They're definitely hiding something. Peter's guilty look was the confirmation I needed."

"I knew it!"

"I have to hand it to you. At first I was sure you'd been spending too much time writing those Arkham Files stories. They were making you see monsters everywhere. When did you first suspect them?"

"It was after that long weekend Peter and Neal spent in Buttonwood, New Jersey. They claimed at the time that Mozzie was sick. Hah! He never gets sick. Consumes gallons of some herbal honey wine remedy. I suspect any bug which tries to attack him gets trapped in sticky goo like a fly in amber." Diana allowed herself one quick shudder at the nightmarish image now searing her skull of Mozzie encased in a solid block of amber along with multitudinous creepy crawlers. "When I confronted him afterward, Mozzie claimed he'd rescued Neal from vampires. A tale of deceit if ever there was one."

"I remember. You quizzed Neal at the time and he gave you some cock-and-bull story about Mozzie being delirious."

"But not as farfetched as Mozzie the vampire slayer. When I overheard Neal joshing Peter about vampires afterward, I knew there was more to it. Neal resisted all my efforts to learn what was really going on. You know how good he is at deflecting."

Jones sighed in commiseration. "The man's brain is a vault of secrets, but he has it so wired you might as well try to break into Fort Knox."

She nodded. "That left me no choice but to outflank him. The breakthrough came when you told me what Ethan said about the pirates. Travis was at camp. I figured he must have told Richard what really happened."

"When does Richard get back from L.A.?"

"He returned two days ago. Richard's been helping me with creature design for my stories." She paused to let the brilliance of her scheme sink in. Jones was a fiend for proper office procedure. Fortunately her writing counted as Bureau business since it was part of the strategy to take down a cybercriminal. And whatever happened in Buttonwood could very likely impinge on Neal and Peter's performance of their duties. Her snooping was completely justified.

"Richard's an investigator's dream," Jones said. "There's not a devious bone in his body. Considering what a good friend he is to Caffrey, you'd think a little guile would have worn off."

"Fortunately for us, he remains pure and uncorrupted." Diana permitted herself a wicked smile as she remembered the conversation. "I told Richard I wanted a creature for my stories who could run with preternatural speed in the darkness. We tossed around ideas from horror movies. I came up with werewolves. Guess what Richard suggested."

"Vampires?" Jones asked, looking uneasy.

"Exactly! When I asked him how he knew they were such speed demons, he stumbled around, muttering it was common lore. Then I brought up what Ethan told you."

"How did he react?"

"He was horrified that Ethan might know what they were. He said the adults at the camp worked very hard to keep the kids from knowing the truth."

Jones's eyes widened. "There really were vampires at the park?"

"The way Richard was acting, I'm convinced he believes it. The question I have is what were they really? Wolves, maybe? They couldn't be vampires. Richard's from New Orleans. He grew up on voodoo and the supernatural. He'd believe anything. But Travis? He's a science-fiction fan, but that has nothing to do with vampires. How did they trick him?"

Jones wasn't responding. His mouth had dropped open but no words were coming out.

"Snap out of it!" Diana ordered. "You don't believe in vampires, do you?"

Jones gave a shrug for an answer and looked distinctly uncomfortable. She held back her grin. She'd save that gem for later. Striding over to the cabinet, she retrieved the folder on the art forger Curtis Hagen. "Did you have time to research the file?"

"Searched through the contents this morning." Jones appeared relieved at the change of topic. "You know what a stickler Peter is for thorough documentation on each case."

She nodded. Just like you.

"This is one time that he didn't follow his own rules."

Diana snapped her fingers. "I knew there was something off about that case! Hagen disappeared from prison in May. That was on a Friday."

"Not just any Friday, but Friday the Thirteenth. It was the talk of the bullpen."

"I remember Peter took Neal along to investigate what happened. The next week at work, Peter was unusually vague about the case's status. When I asked him about it, he mumbled something about the inability to track Hagen down."

"It didn't feel right to me either. Peter had been pursuing Hagen for years. All of a sudden he loses interest? But we had a backlog of other cases to work on. I assumed he was simply waiting for a lead." Jones rapped the file with his knuckles. "Now I know better. Peter filed an expense form for a trip to Connecticut he and Neal made over the weekend. The purpose was to check out a lead on Hagen."

"What did you discover?" she asked eagerly.

"They found him."

"What? And they didn't tell us?"

Jones nodded grimly. "They found Hagen in an old house in Windsor, Connecticut. He was imprisoned in a cell in a basement."

"Was some crime group seeking revenge?"

"Doesn't sound like it. The homeowner, a woman named Alcy Young, returned while they were trying to free Hagen. And get this"—Jones stopped to check no one was approaching—"She set the house on fire."

"No way!"

Jones nodded emphatically. "This was on the evening of May 15. The house burned to the ground. Peter and Neal barely managed to escape. Peter wrote that Hagen and Young were likely killed in the inferno but no confirmation has been found. There's no DNA evidence. Nothing to prove what really happened."

"This doesn't make sense. Why didn't Peter tell us about it?"

Jones gave her a knowing look. "Maybe because there were two others present."

"Friends of the woman?"

"Don't think so. From the sound of it, they helped Peter and Neal escape. But Peter didn't mention their names. You know how he wants us to report every detail. Why would he omit something that important?"

This was weirder than Diana had dreamed possible. She ransacked her brain for a solution. "They may have been informants who'd worked for Hagen, and Peter agreed to protect their identities."

Jones shook his head slowly. "Then he would have included the explanation. But there's more. The day after Peter discovered Hagen had disappeared from prison, Neal had the forensics lab conduct an analysis of—and I quote—a hex bag. The bag came from the prison where Hagen was being held."

"What's a hex bag? Some sort of voodoo charm?"

"I don't know if it's used in voodoo, but normally it's made by witches to cast a spell on someone. It contains a mixture of herbs, talismans, and bones. If the witch wants to hex someone, she'll add a personal item like hair or a scrap of clothing."

Diana stared at Jones in astonishment. "How did you learn so much about witches?"

He scratched the back of his neck, looking flustered. "A buddy of mine in the Navy was a believer. He grew up in Charleston, South Carolina. Used to go to séances. Said he'd heard about a witch who used hex bags to cast spells."

"And you believed him?" she asked incredulously.

Jones cleared his throat and buried himself in reading the report on Hagen. "The hex bag contained a dried orchid, a Celtic coin, and a couple of frog bones."

"We have them!" Diana had to stifle the urge to chortle her glee. She scanned the report Jones gave her. "The hex bag, the vampires. You realize what this means, don't you?"

Jones didn't answer for a moment. "Proof that vampires and witches are real?"

"Oh, please." She stood back to eye him suspiciously. "Don't tell me you're part of the con, too."

"Of course, not! I wasn't sure how you felt about it. Didn't want to insult you."

"I'll allow there may be some who like to think they're witches. I've read about Wiccans and pagan revivals. But vampires? No one goes around claiming to be a vampire unless they're demented." She shook her head. "This has to be a con, and it has Neal's fingerprints all over it. No one else could design such an elaborate scheme. What I can't figure out is why? Was he simply bored?"

Jones nodded thoughtfully. "That could be it. You know how he and his cousin Henry like to play elaborate pranks. For April Fool's Day, Caffrey tried to trick Henry into believing June's house was haunted."

"I remember! And Henry attempted to convince Neal he was remodeling Neal's loft to make a second apartment for himself. Henry's superstitious. He believes in ghosts. Neal may want to prank him into believing in vampires and witches, too."

"Playing on someone's beliefs?" Jones shook his head with disapproval. "That's really a low blow. There are a lot of unexplained phenomena. You shouldn't mock a fellow if he thinks he's seen a ghost."

Diana ignored the low-hanging fruit Jones was gifting her to focus on the matter at hand. She'd take up his superstitions at a later time. "What I can't understand is why Neal and Peter involved Travis, Richard, and Ethan in the hoax."

"Could it be part of the con to capture Vincent Adler? Maybe Adler believes in vampires. We know he's searching for a U-boat filled with art plundered by the Nazis. Adler's obsession may have driven him over the edge." Lapsing into silence, Jones settled on the edge of a stool as he considered. "In fact, Mozzie and I were having a conversation about this just last week."

"He didn't try to convince you that Adler has a secret lab to create Hitler clones?"

Jones shrugged. "That was last month. Now he has a new theory. In the final days of the war, Hitler was turned into a vampire. He then bit several of his key generals to turn them. Mozzie was trying to convince me that we could make use of that to take down Adler."

"Well, that sucks. Neal, Peter, and Mozzie are engaged in some devilishly clever con—Henry must be in on it as well—and they haven't included us? This has to stop now."

Jones was in full agreement. They decided to take advantage of the next day's briefing to demand answers.

New Haven, Connecticut. The same day.

Dean Winchester parked his '67 Impala in front of Maia Stavrou's cottage. He'd told his brother Sam that he and Chloe would swing by at one o'clock.

"No sign of Sam." Chloe smiled. "You thought he'd be waiting for you outside. I knew he and Maia would have better things to do."

Dean was happy to be proved wrong. Sam had just spent the past three days with Maia and he was in no hurry to leave. Was this the first time both brothers had been able to enjoy some R&R without worrying about the other one?

Maia had closed on the white wood-framed cottage last month. It wasn't far from the Yale campus and backed onto East Rock Park. The woods reminded Dean of Jenny Jump State Forest where Sam had first met Maia, a grad student at Yale. That Maia lived in the same town where Chloe was currently hanging out was proof that the Winchester brothers didn't always wind up with the short end of the straw.

He and Sam had been working in the Northeast since reports of a new generation of pure-blood vampires surfaced in June. Vamp activity had been minimal but there'd been no shortage of demons, witches, and werewolves. Vengeful spirits were particularly abundant.

It seemed like every town in New England had a booming population of spooks. Sifting through the reports for the malicious ones was a tedious chore. The local chambers of commerce had quickly discovered that tourists had an apparently insatiable desire for haunted inns and ghost stories. Mom and pop shops were already primed with local lore. Instead of wanting to hide supernatural events, they boasted about them. Crazy stuff and ninety-nine point nine percent of the tales absolutely worthless—making a hunter's job that much harder.

It was the point one percent—the spirits which would skin a tourist alive—that he and Sam hunted. And there were too many of them.

When their last job took them to Naugatuck, just up the road from New Haven, Dean declared a timeout afterward. Demons could be put on the back burner for a few days without the world coming to an end.

Chloe was staying at a B&B run by Wisteria Brigham. The effusively flowery innkeeper had a soft spot for Chloe since she'd joined Wisteria's Wicca coven. She let Dean stay in Chloe's room for no extra charge.

No need for Sam to rent a room. After mourning his deceased girlfriend for over a year and refusing to date, he'd made a move on Maia in record time. Not that it wasn't understandable. Long blond hair, classic beauty, Maia was a gentle, shy bookworm. She was perfect for him.

Dean and Chloe got out of the car and walked up the brick path to the front door. When he rang the doorbell, there was no answer.

Chloe peered through the glass panel in the door. "I don't see them inside. Maia mentioned they planned to take a walk in the woods. Let's wait on the back patio."

Although she'd only lived there a month, Maia's backyard was already filled with flowers. The chick had quite a knack for plants. It was something she had in common with Chloe.

Dean sprawled on a lounger while Chloe checked out the posies. "I'm going to miss New Haven," she said.

"When will you leave for New York?"

"On Monday. My new job starts on Wednesday and I want to have a couple of days to settle in. Wisteria talked with her sister Peony yesterday. Her B&B sounds ideal for my needs. It's on the Upper West Side and not far from where I'll be working. Peony's extended me a bargain rate."

"The Wicca friends and family discount?" Peony was also a member of a coven. They called themselves the Silver Cauldron.

Chloe plopped into a wicker chair opposite Dean. "I'll take it gladly. Wisteria told her that I'm studying potions and Peony has offered to share her knowledge with me." Chloe paused and pursed her lips. "Don't frown. She could be an invaluable resource for my upcoming novel. Wisteria told me that Peony's a psychic. Supposedly she's able to communicate with spirits."

Chloe said not to frown. She didn't mention anything about growls. Dean preferred to think as little as possible about Wiccans. He and Sam had encountered far too many black witches for him to be happy about Chloe associating with any coven, no matter how harmless sounding. But his efforts to dissuade her had gone nowhere. Chloe argued she was simply conducting research for her novel. How could such a sweet package with long auburn hair and the face of a pixie be as bullheaded as Sam?

Chloe didn't earn enough from sales of her urban fantasies to pay the bills so she worked as a technical writer. Usually she did contract jobs for software outfits, but even Dean had heard of the name of her new employer, Wooster House.

"Wooster's one of the top five technical publishers in the country," Chloe said proudly. "Their headquarters are close to Columbia University. I have an initial contract for three months."

"What will you work on?"

"A new series of how-to guides they plan to publish next year."

"Like the Idiot Guides?"

Chloe flushed unexpectedly. "Something like that. I'll be assigned to the Excel team."

"What's the name of the series?" Dean asked, grown curious by her reaction. "Sam may have heard about it."

"I doubt they've started promoting it," she said, turning even redder. "No need to mention it to Sam."

What was Chloe hiding? Anything concerning Excel couldn't be that exciting. Now if she was writing a guide on making love, Dean would be much more intrigued.

Chloe stood up and gave a wave. "There they are!"

Dean turned around to see Sam and Maia walking up the trail, accompanied by her puppy Tatyana. Sam looked relaxed and happy. Dean felt a brief pang at yanking him back to the real world. If Bobby hadn't called him about a suspicious murder in Cape May, Dean would be tempted to stay on another day. But it was time to return to the family business.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Sam stooped to pick up a short oak branch then tossed it into the woods. Tatyana bounded after it. He and Maia laughed at the puppy's clumsiness as she clambered over fallen branches. Someday the Russian wolfhound would be able to sprint gracefully, but that day hadn't come. Tatyana was a sweetheart. He'd hate to say goodbye to her and even more so to her mistress.

For their last walk, Maia had suggested the trail around the lake. Dean would arrive any minute, but Sam wanted to linger as long as possible. For the past three days, he'd been able to escape the life of demon hunting.

Maia's sister Electra owned a bookstore named Elysian's, and Sam felt like he'd been in Elysian Fields. He'd never read much about the ancient Greeks, but Maia was studying the classics. She'd told him the Greeks described Elysium as the Isles of the Blessed, and Sam had been blessed in abundance. He'd never known sex this good. It was a pleasure he would have found unimaginable only a month ago.

Maia . . . he wanted to write poetry about her. How crazy was that? Dean's eyes would roll out of his head and onto the floor.

Maia had shown Sam around the Yale campus. It reminded him of his life at Stanford, a world he thought he'd left behind. Now she was bringing it back to him. He'd dreamed last night of going for a law degree at Yale, writing poetry with Maia, making love to Maia . . .

Tatyana trotted back, looking pleased with herself. Sam leaned down to take the stick from her. "Good girl," he murmured, scratching her behind her ears. Tatyana gazed up at him with adoring eyes.

"She'll miss you," Maia said softly, "and she won't be the only one. Are you sure you have to go?"

"Yeah, we're heading to New Jersey. I hope it won't be long before we can return." Sam had been vague about what he and Dean did. Maia was left with the impression that they worked as freelance consultants for the FBI. Since she knew nothing about the FBI, the deception was easy to maintain.

"It may be for the best. I'll need to work at the bookstore this weekend. Back to the real world for me as well."

Sam put an arm around her and drew her close. "I won't forget our time together."

"Nor I."

They kissed, and Sam for a few moments was back in Elysium. When they separated, she reached into her bag. "I bought you a present at the bookstore. I hope you enjoy it. Langston Hughes is one of my favorite poets."

Sam looked at the small volume. The Dream Keeper and other poems. He could relate. He wanted to hold onto this dream as long as he could.

As they approached Maia's cottage, he saw Dean and Chloe waiting for them on the patio. Sam secreted the book in his denim jacket. No reason to give Dean another reason to tease him.

White Collar Conference Room. Friday morning.

"It's all true?" Diana's mouth dropped open. "This isn't a con?"

Neal was clearly amused by the team's reaction to Peter's account of their encounters with witches and vampires. Peter had been prepared for disbelief, scorn—even ridicule—but not that Diana and Jones had already figured it out. They'd simply arrived at the wrong conclusion.

Neal was no doubt inordinately pleased that they attributed it to a brilliantly devised con. Travis appeared relieved that he no longer had to keep it a secret.

But now came the hard part. They had to convince Diana and Jones it was true.

At the Friday morning briefing, it was abundantly clear that Diana and Jones were itching to bring up the topic. Thanks to Neal's warning, Peter was ten steps ahead of them. He'd started off the meeting with a frank and serious review of the vampire and witch sightings. Explaining that they believed a Greek goddess named Astrena sucked the life force out of her chosen victims was a conversation Peter had never planned to have. The transformation of the art forger Hagen into the demon Crowley was the easiest one for Peter to explain. He'd witnessed it.

"I talked with Hagen when he was imprisoned in the witch's house," Neal added. "You may remember that Hagen had become fascinated with the artist Goya, particularly the witch series of paintings he'd made. Hagen admitted that he found himself drawn to the paintings in a way he couldn't explain. Also to Titian."

"You think Goya and Titian were among this goddess"—Diana paused to look at her notes—"Astrena's victims?"

"Very likely," Peter agreed. "The list of artists who suffered from mental or physical disorders and had unexplained deaths is a long one. If you believe in Astrena, it makes you wonder how many of them were her victims."

"How about these so-called sisters of Astrena?" she asked. "Are they equally powerful?"

"We don't know," Neal said. "The lore indicates they have similar abilities, but it's unclear if they're demons, demi-goddesses, or something else."

Peter stared at Neal, impressed at how authoritative he sounded. Had his art crimes consultant turned into another Sam Winchester? He looked equally serious. Sam and Neal had become friends. Perhaps this was Sam's influence at work. Did that mean Dean was rubbing off on Peter? Their music tastes were similar. Peter liked his car. They both enjoyed burgers and beer. Peter quickly smothered those thoughts. He was not turning into a hunter.

"Have you told Hughes?" Jones asked.

Peter nodded. "I brought him up to date earlier this morning. We're in mutual agreement that we are not opening up a branch of White Collar to deal with supernatural incidents. Only if a crime falls within our jurisdiction will we become involved." No need to go into Hughes's disbelief and sarcasm. Peter's own hesitancy in explaining the incidents was probably the only reason Hughes hadn't ordered a psychiatric evaluation. He supported Peter's decision not to write up case reports on the incidents.

"If the legends are true and Astrena feeds off the creative energy of artists," Diana said, "doesn't that make Neal a potential target? He was in the vicinity when that ritual was held to create a new generation of pure-blood vampires." She tilted her head in Neal's direction. "She may have sniffed you out."

Neal shook his head adamantly. "I'm not famous. Hardly worthy of a goddess. She'd cast me on the reject pile."

"I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss the possibility," Travis countered. "I've been researching recent reports of artist deaths. That artist you investigated in Connecticut—Scott Pembroke—certainly fits the pattern. He wasn't famous, but he had the weird dreams, the unknown illness."

Peter shared Travis's concern, but Neal remained a skeptic. Ever since Neal and Sam had been discovered with blood being drained out of them, Peter had worried that something else was going on. Neal insisted there was no need to be concerned.

"The number of practicing witches is low," Peter pointed out, "and I don't know of any reports connecting them with white-collar crimes. Same thing for vampires. Dean and Sam Winchester introduced us to a shadow world of supernatural monsters we had no idea existed, but there's no reason to believe we'll confront them again. As for Hagen, I stand by the report I filed. Hagen was being held prisoner in a house that caught fire. He vanished. For all we know, he actually was consumed by flames. There have been no reports of activity by the Dutchman. If he is Crowley now, I suspect he's no longer interested in art forging."

"Could we call Astrena and her pure-blood vampires a type of organized crime?" Diana suggested then broke into a grin. "What would Ruiz say if I told him about it?"

"He'd ask what you'd been sniffing," Neal predicted. "Better not go there. Your credibility could be ruined."

"But here's something else Diana can feed him," Peter said, turning to Neal. "We can use your newfound interest in identity fraud to our advantage. As part of the con, we want to sell your dissatisfaction with the Bureau. Diana's been regaling him with tales of how unhappy you are with the assignments. She's also complained that I'm too lenient with you, and that the rest of the team resents it. Identity fraud is a top priority for our Division. Hughes has assigned you to assist with identity fraud effective immediately, or at least that's the story we'll spread. Diana can make a strong case about how resentful you are of the number crunching."

"You could also play it a different way," Neal remarked. "You could easily say that I'm an expert on the subject."

Diana snorted. "With all the aliases you have in your pocket?"

Neal nodded. "Exactly. I could take advantage of the assignment. By learning how the Bureau investigates identity frauds, I'll be better able to rig the system."

Jones raised an eyebrow. "Know your enemy and yourself and you can win a hundred battles?"

Jones had been working with Mozzie on the U-boat scam. Now he was quoting Sun Tzu, one of Mozzie's role models. How much of Mozzie was rubbing off on Peter's second-in-command and should he be worried about it? Would a belief in Hitler clones be next? At least that was one demon Peter hadn't been forced to confront . . . yet.

Notes: Thanks for reading! Next week, Angela's boyfriend Michael calls Neal with a worrying report about Angela, and Electra comes to New York City. I plan to post Dark Rabbit's 9 chapters weekly on Wednesday.

It's late July as the story starts, but I posted this on February 14. Happy Valentine's Day from Penna and me to all our readers! If you'd like to celebrate the occasion with Caffrey Conversation, the first three chapters of The Mirror can be read as a standalone of Valentine's Day 2005.

Penna's chocolate factory has been busy crafting seven delectable stories for the Chocolate Box Exchange on AO3. They'll be made public in about a week. Our blog will soon have details, and I'll also have news about them in next week's notes.

In the pre-series 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: The Dark Rabbit board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website
Pins are updated with each new chapter. This week's pins include the cast and locations.

Disclaimers: The worlds of White Collar and Supernatural are not mine, alas. Any depictions of real institutions and locations are not necessarily true or accurate.