TWENTY-SEVEN

Albert Chao had been trying to summon the spirit of his ancestor for the best part of an hour, but to no avail.

In his youth, patience had never been one of his virtues. In fact, looking back, he was hard-pressed to find any recognizable virtues at all. He had been a killer, a cheat, and a fool. All those years of inadequacy, and he had blamed it all on people other than himself. Unwilling to accept his own failures, he instead castigated his parents for birthing him, Chinese society for ostracizing half-breeds, racist whites for their treatment of Asians....

Yet he was hardly the only half-breed in San Francisco. He was hardly the only person to suffer misfortunes. But back then he thought his problems were so special that he needed occult intervention. He thought it would solve everything.

It had been a supremely foolish decision, he realized now, to allow himself to make use of a demon’s plaything.

But the damage was done. All he could do was move forward.

Finally he was able to bring the spirit to him. As the fiery creature appeared in the center of the office, Albert found himself surprisingly unmoved. Forty years ago, in a tiny apartment in the Mission, he’d never seen anything so glorious. The possibilities seemed endless, then, and he’d felt the spirit’s power as if it were a tangible thing.

Now, he just saw a dead samurai wreathed in flames.

Albert had power—he didn’t need the spirit.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“I was unable to carry out your orders, my descendant. The two men had a being of great power by their side, and he was able to keep me at bay until one of them used a firearm. Somehow it banished me.”

“How banal.” From what Oscar had told him, that was probably a shotgun with rock salt. Standard issue for hunters.

“Then it was fitting for such a banal task,” the spirit said.

Albert looked up and stared into the fiery eyes of his ancestor.

“What do you mean?”

“You sent me to kill these two men—these ‘Winchesters’—in a childish show of revenge. It is no different from the foul tasks you had me undertake when first you summoned me.”

Albert shrugged.

“An indulgence. I cannot avenge myself on their father, so....” He trailed off.

Why had he sent the spirit of his ancestor after the sons of John Winchester? He already had the sword, so he need have nothing else to do with them. True, they would likely come after him, and a preemptive strike was justifiable in that regard.

But that wasn’t why he had done it.

“You resist the demon’s imploring,” the Heart of the Dragon said. “Why?”

“How can you ask that?” Albert said.

“The demon wishes to aid in the destruction of the world. He acts like a child lashing out at parents who have disappointed him. He is no different from you.”

Albert dismissed the statement with a wave of his hand.

“That is ridiculous.”

But even as he said so, he didn’t believe it.

So he banished the spirit.

As the flames faded, he contemplated his ancestor’s words.

A knock came at the door.

“Enter.”

Ronnie stuck his head into the office.

“Hey, boss. We got the money in from Lady Shiva’s. You said you wanted me to tell you.”

“Good, Ronnie.” He paused and continued. “Please, come in.”

“Ah, sure, okay.” Ronnie entered the office and stood waiting.

“What’s up?”

Albert allowed himself a small smile.

“Nothing, Ronnie. I just wanted to see you for a moment. You may go.”

The underling tossed him a strange look.

“You feelin’ okay, boss?”

“I’m fine, Ronnie. Go.”

“Okay.” Ronnie shrugged, turned, and left the office.

Which told Albert all he needed to know.

He stared at the walls, recalling coming in here when it was Tommy Shin’s sanctum. Tommy had painted the walls black in order to intimidate people, though he had also decorated it with contemporary movie posters, which somewhat diluted the effect. Albert had taken them down and left the black walls bare.

To his annoyance, he could no longer recall what movie posters had been there.

Leaning back in his chair, he tried to remember, but found that he couldn’t.

That irritated him for some reason.

Another knock.

“Uh, boss? I’m back from dinner.” It was Zhong, who had sounded subdued ever since the demon possessed him. “I’m sorry, but there’s some restaurant business we need to go over.”

“Of course, Zhong. Come in.”

The man nodded, and he entered the office.

“There is an issue with—”

Albert held up a hand.

“I don’t care. I honestly don’t have time for this. I simply wished you to come into the room. You may leave now.”

“I’m sorry?” Zhong hesitated, standing close to the desk. “Boss, this is important. We need to—”

“I do not care,” Albert said in a low whisper. “None of it matters anymore. You will leave my office now.”

“I—” Zhong shook his head, then looked up.

His eyes were black.

Albert smiled.

“At last. I was wondering when you would return, demon.”

“Nice touch.” Zhong’s darkened eyes gazed at the ceiling. “Straight out of the Key of Solomon.” Albert followed that gaze to the Devil’s Trap that Oscar Randolph had etched there in chalk. The circle was large enough that anyone standing next to the desk had to pass beneath it. And as long as the seal remained intact, the demon would be unable to leave its boundaries.

“I have more,” Albert said. He pressed the intercom button on his phone. “You may come in now.”

Seconds later, Oscar entered, holding a notebook in his hand. He was wearing his customary flannel shirt, and a cowboy hat to cover his bald head.

“Aw, you brought Walter Brennan along,” the demon said with Zhong’s voice. “How cute. This isn’t gonna do you any good, y’know. I want the Heart of the Dragon, I want the sword, and your little chalk drawing isn’t going to stop me.”

“You think so?” Albert asked lightly.

“I know so,” the demon replied darkly.

Oscar began to read from his notebook.

“Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino qui fertis super caelum caeli ad Orientem Ecce dabit voci Suae vocem virtutis, tribuite virtutem Deo.”

“Your pronunciation sucks,” the demon said.

Albert frowned. From what Oscar had told him, the demon should’ve already been writhing around in agony.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis—”

Zhong made as if his hands were talking puppets.

“Blah blah blah blah. You’re wasting your time. See, Zhong didn’t spend his dinner hour on dinner.”

“—legio diabolica adjuramus te cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare.”

Yanking open his button-down shirt, the demon revealed a recently applied tattoo on Zhong’s clavicle.

“What the hell is that?” Albert demanded, glaring at the chanting hunter.

But Oscar did not stop.

“Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt.”

“It’s a binding,” the demon said, ignoring Oscar’s increasingly desperate incantation. “Zhong doesn’t get rid of me until I say so. Redneck McGee here can cantate to Deo all he wants, but it ain’t gonna do any good.”

He snarled at Oscar, yet the man stubbornly persisted, moving closer to the figure, practically spitting the Latin words.

“Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos. Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae humiliare digneris, te rogamus, audi nos.”

The demon spoke over him.

“Something else about a Devil’s Trap? All it does is keep me inside its confines. It doesn’t actually stop me from doing much of anything.”

“That’s not what I was told,” Albert said. “I suspect you are lying, demon.”

“No, you were just given old information. See, times have changed. The gate is open.”

At this point, Oscar was practically on top of Zhong.

“Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae te rogamus, audi nos. Terribilis Deus de sanctuario suo. Deus Israhel ipse truderit virtutem et fortitudinem plebi Suae. Benedictus Deus. Gloria Patri.”

He practically shouted the last words of the exorcism, but it had done no good whatsoever.

“Aaaaaaand nothin’,” Zhong said with a laugh. “Glory hallelujiah and aaaaaamen! And you know what else?”

Zhong snapped his fingers. An awful crack echoed throughout the office even as Oscar’s head turned to an impossible angle and the old man fell to the ground.

“You walked inside the circle, dumbass,” the demon said, answering its own question.

It turned to regard Albert, its expression full of contempt. Albert looked back at it steadily, while at the same time he began to chant the spell that would summon the Heart of the Dragon. He had spoken the words so many times now, he could do it without thinking.

A moment later, his ancestor’s spirit appeared.

“Now you die,” Albert said calmly, holding the demon’s gaze.

The Heart of the Dragon raised his flaming katana and moved into the Devil’s Trap.

Yet the demon still seemed utterly unperturbed.

“You made another mistake, there, Al ol’ pal,” he said conversationally.

“Did I now?” Albert countered.

Zhong nodded.

“See, your office is a bit too small. The outer border of the trap doesn’t extend to your chair, so you’re safe—but it does cover your desk. Which means I can get at what’s in it.”

With a gesture, the demon consumed the desk in an eldritch fire that burned brighter and hotter even than the flames that wreathed the Heart of the Dragon.

Albert leapt back from the inferno, feeling his heart sink as he realized the demon’s plan.

Everything the desk had contained was destroyed, with one exception—the hook sword. It lay revealed, and then at a gesture flew into Zhong’s hands.

Turning, the demon stared at the Heart of the Dragon and laughed.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time,” he said. “Y’see, it’s true—all things do come to the guy who waits. And with the help of my old buddy Doragon Kokoro, I’m gonna be the one who wins the day.”

“Boy, are you a dumbass.”

Jerking with surprise, Albert looked up. Standing in the doorway were two young men. He didn’t recognize them, but they matched Tiny’s descriptions of the Winchester brothers.

It was the shorter of the two who had spoken, and he continued.

“You actually let yourself get stuck in a Devil’s Trap. That makes you stupider than a box’a hammers.”

“You watch your mouth, boy,” the demon said. “Or just step forward a bit—either works for me.”

“He can’t,” the taller one said, “but I can.” And he stepped into the room. “I’m Lucifer’s vessel. You do any harm to me, if you even can, and it just might piss off your demon buddies.”

Albert watched as the creature stared at the Winchesters, then at the Heart of the Dragon. The ancient warrior swung his fiery katana, but the demon blocked it with the hook sword. The samurai attacked again.

“If you two garbanzos had a play,” the demon said, Zhong’s voice now straining with the effort of fighting off Albert’s ancestor, “you’d have made it by now, instead of babbling like idiots.”

“Nah,” the shorter one said, “y’see we’re just stalling. Fact is, I do have a plan, and it includes a buddy of ours doing something at just the right moment. In fact, right about—” Suddenly, Albert felt as if his stomach was being sucked out through his nose. Pain slammed into his head, and he lost all feeling in his legs.

The feeling passed almost instantaneously, but when it did, he was no longer in his office—he was standing in the alley next to the restaurant, between one of the dumpsters and a black vintage car of a type he hadn’t seen in decades.

“What the—?”

“Hello,” said a deep, scratchy voice. Whirling around, Albert saw a white man with stubble on his cheeks. He was wearing a trench coat and giving Albert the most intense stare he’d ever seen—and this after taking meetings with the Old Man.

“What have you—?” he began.

“My name is Castiel,” the figure responded, interrupting him as if he was utterly insignificant. “You will remain here, and not interfere in what Dean and Sam are doing.”

Unwilling to listen to this person, Albert started to walk across Ellis—

—only to find that he couldn’t move.

Castiel’s tone never changed as he spoke.

“As I said, you will remain here. Trying to do otherwise will only cause you difficulty.”

Albert seethed.

And then, all of a sudden, it came to him.

Batman and Lethal Weapon 2. Those were the posters Tommy had in his office.

He wondered why he remembered that now....

The first thing Sam Winchester did after Albert Chao disappeared was grab the demon-killing knife.

Leaping into the Devil’s Trap, he thrust the knife at the man who was possessed by the demon.

The man parried the strike with the hook sword, and the impact sent painful vibrations up Sam’s arm.

He had to be the one to use the knife—his status as Lucifer’s intended vessel meant the demons couldn’t harm him. This one, however, didn’t seem to have gotten the memo. Or didn’t care, because he swung the sword right at Sam’s head.

Sam ducked and thrust upward with the knife, but the demon jerked back, tucking in his stomach so that Sam only stabbed air.

The Heart of the Dragon then swung his katana, flames trailing behind it, but the demon was able to parry that as well.

It backed to the edge of the Devil’s Trap, looking back and forth from Sam to the samurai, holding the sword heart ready.

“Neither of you is gonna bring me down,” the creature snarled. “It’s taken a century and a half for this to come together, and you’re not taking it away from me.”

Simultaneously, both Sam and the spirit of Yoshio Nakadai attacked.

The demon parried both strikes, using the base of the sword to block the katana while catching Ruby’s knife in the curved hook at the tip.

Then a shot rang out.

The bullet slammed into the shoulder of the body the demon had possessed. He hardly even jerked, and glanced over at Dean.

“What the hell do you think you’re—”

The distraction, however, was all Sam needed to slide the blade between two ribs.

Frozen in place, the demon glowed with a light that seemed to come from inside his body, even as he screamed and fell to the floor, dropping the hook sword.

Sam scooped it up, looked straight at the Heart of the Dragon, focused on him, and filled his mind with thoughts only of the fiery spirit. As he did so, he recited the same spell that his father had uttered twenty years earlier.

Doragon Kokoro stared at him in anticipation.

When Sam got to the final part of the spell, he raised the blade over his head and swung downward. The curved hook penetrated the chest of the spirit where his heart once beat.

The flames around the spirit burned so bright that Sam had to shield his eyes. It was a pure white flame—a thing of beauty.

As the spirit faded from view, Sam heard one word echo through the office.

“Arigato.”

Then the office was empty, save for the two brothers, and the dead body on the floor.

Sam looked at Dean.

“I think we did it.”

“Looks like,” Dean said with a nod. Peering around, he shrugged in the direction of the door. “C’mon, let’s blow this pop stand.”

They went out the back way—the same way they’d come in, just like John Winchester had done twenty years ago— emerging into the alley where Castiel was waiting for them, standing on the other side of the Impala. Oddly, the angel appeared to be alone.

“Where’s Chao?” Sam asked.

“We must go,” Castiel said.

Dean approached the driver’s door, which was on the street side.

“Yeah, but what happened to—?”

“Uh, Dean?”

Sam had run around to the other side to get into the passenger seat. Seeing his brother’s face, Dean walked round the car to join him.

What was left of Albert Chao was pretty messy. There were gaping, bloody wounds all over his body, from his head all the way down to his feet.

Castiel spoke again.

“We must go. The authorities will be here soon.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed and both boys got into the car.

A moment later Castiel appeared in the back seat behind them. Sam still hadn’t got used to that.

Dean started the engine and backed out of the alley and into Ellis Street’s traffic.

“What the hell happened to him?” he asked the angel.

“The Heart of the Dragon kept Albert Chao alive, and protected him from all harm. When you cast the spell that sent the spirit away—”

Sam nodded.

“He wasn’t protected anymore, and it all caught up. God, that must’ve been, like, every wound he ever got all hitting him at once.”

Castiel responded without emotion.

“He did scream rather loudly, which is why I believed it was important to remove ourselves from the scene. I could have simply telepor—”

“No!” Dean bellowed. “Just—no.”

Sam smiled, an action that still hurt his bruised face. He didn’t see what the big deal was, but he was pretty sure it was mainly because Dean hated any mode of travel that wasn’t the Impala.

“You did well,” Castiel said, although his face betrayed almost no hint of emotion. “Had the demon been able to control the Heart of the Dragon, it would have been catastrophic.”

Sam turned around to question Castiel further, but the angel was gone. He looked at Dean, but his brother just shrugged.

They had solved a problem that had plagued their parents and their grandparents, and kept a dangerous spirit out of the hands of the bad guys in the angel-demon war. Sam wasn’t convinced there were any good guys in that conflict, but he also knew that he didn’t want the demons to win.

The Heart of the Dragon was an advantage he didn’t want them to have.

Dean drove them back to the Emperor Norton Lodge, where they packed their bags and went to the lobby to check out.

Dean put the two key cards on the registration desk.

“Checking out of 102,” he said to the clerk.

“Sure.” The clerk typed at the computer, then quoted Dean a price.

Dean handed over the amount in cash, taken from his poker winnings, plus a bit extra.

The clerk dutifully counted the money. Sam noticed that it took him a couple of tries.

Guess nobody pays in cash anymore.

“Uh, sir? This is twenty-five dollars over.”

“I know,” Dean said. “I called the city ‘’Frisco’ a couple of times. That’s my fine for the emperor.”

The clerk frowned.

“Emperor?”

“You don’t know about Emperor Norton?” Dean sounded incredulous. “Dude, don’t you work here?”

“Oh, that guy,” the clerk said, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, I haven’t... he wasn’t....”

Dean rolled his eyes, then turned and headed out, Sam right behind him.

“Kids today,” Dean grumbled, “no sense of history.”

Even though it hurt, Sam chuckled.