Sam stared at Henry for a second after hearing Bela's version of events.
"…Henry," he said carefully, "look, I really don't want to say this, but whatever you're doing? Madison would probably consider it cheating."
Henry looked genuinely horrified. "Sam, are you seriously believing her over me?" he asked. "Nothing happened. It was an accident."
Dean twisted around in his seat immediately. "Hold on," he said, pointing between them. "So you two actually did end up together in the water?"
"That is not the point of the story," Henry snapped.
Bela, meanwhile, looked completely pleased with herself. "You see?" she said sweetly. "Dean understands nuance."
Henry looked ready to throw her out of the car.
Then a scream tore through the night from inside the house.
All four of them froze.
The joking atmosphere vanished instantly.
Dean shoved the car door open first, Sam right behind him while Henry nearly slammed the back door off its hinges getting out. Bela followed after them, expression sharpening immediately.
Another crash sounded from inside the house.
They ran straight for the front door.
Henry reached it first and drove his shoulder into it hard enough to smash it open.
The group rushed inside—
and stopped.
Peter was lying on the floor near the hallway, body soaked completely like he had been dragged out of the ocean. Water spread beneath him across the wooden floor while his skin looked pale and swollen.
Dead.
Seawater still dripped slowly from his clothes.
Dean lowered his gun slightly while scanning the room.
"Well," he muttered grimly, "the ghost got him first."
Bela stepped into the room behind them and looked down at Peter's body without much reaction.
"See?" she said calmly. "Your efforts are pointless. If you want to stop the ghost, the Hand of Glory is the only thing that matters."
Dean glanced at her. "And I'm guessing you conveniently know where it is."
Bela gave a faint smile. "Actually, yes."
That immediately got everyone's attention.
"It's currently being displayed at a private party," she continued. "Rich collectors, antique traders, the usual crowd of people with too much money and terrible taste." She crossed her arms lightly. "I already have an invitation."
Sam narrowed his eyes slightly. "And what's the catch?"
"I need a partner to get inside," Bela replied smoothly. "Once we're in, we take the hand, burn it, and the ghost problem ends."
Dean and Sam both slowly looked at Henry at the exact same time.
Henry immediately noticed.
"…No."
Dean grinned. "You didn't even let us ask."
"Because I already know where this is going," Henry replied. "I am not going to some fancy-ass party filled with rich peacocks staring at each other like they're in a perfume commercial."
Bela looked amused.
Henry kept going. "I hate tose kinds of parties. Fake smiles, fake laughs, people silently judging shoes for three hours—fuck that."
Dean was still smiling.
Which was never a good sign.
***
The next scene—
Henry was wearing a suit.
A very expensive one, unfortunately.
Beside him, Bela clung naturally to his arm as they approached the entrance of the estate hosting the party.
She wore a sleek black evening dress that fit her perfectly, elegant and sharp at the same time. Silver jewelry caught the light against the dark fabric while her expression carried the same effortless confidence she always walked around with.
Meanwhile Henry looked like he wanted to punch whoever invented formal clothing.
"I look ridiculous in this fucking suit," he muttered under his breath while they walked toward the entrance.
Bela didn't even look at him. "You clean up surprisingly well," she replied smoothly.
"That's the problem."
At the doors, a man in a black suit checked the invitation Bela handed over.
His eyes briefly moved between them before he stepped aside.
"Enjoy your evening."
"Now, dear," Bela said softly while tightening her grip around Henry's arm, "try not to start a fight within the first five minutes."
Henry looked toward the brightly lit ballroom ahead of them with immediate distrust.
People dressed in expensive suits and dresses moved through the hall with wine glasses in hand, smiling too much and laughing too loudly at conversations nobody actually cared about.
Henry already hated it.
As they wandered further inside, Bela greeting people here and there with effortless charm, Henry glanced sideways at her.
"So," he said quietly, "what exactly are you playing at?"
Bela looked up at him innocently. "I'm helping."
Henry snorted softly. "Nope," he replied immediately. "I can practically see the ulterior motives written all over your face."
That made Bela smile slightly.
"And what," she asked smoothly, "is wrong with a woman having ulterior motives?"
Henry gave her a flat look. "Usually nothing," he said. "Until bodies start dropping around those motives."
Bela laughed quietly at that, though her grip around his arm tightened just slightly as they continued walking through the crowd.
"You know," she said after a moment, "most men at these events spend their entire evening trying to impress me."
"Yeah?" Henry muttered while eyeing a waiter passing with drinks like he was considering stealing the tray. "Sounds exhausting."
"And yet you keep looking at me like I'm about to rob the building."
Henry finally glanced down at her properly. "That's because you probably are."
Bela's lips curved slightly as they continued through the ballroom. "So," she said casually, "I heard from certain ghosts that even demons are afraid of you. Apparently they'd rather run than come anywhere near you."
Henry gave a quiet snort at that. "Well, good. Means they're learning."
Bela studied him carefully for a moment before speaking again. "Still," she said lightly, "that sort of reputation usually comes with a rather dramatic story."
"It comes with surviving," Henry replied.
They passed another group of wealthy collectors admiring paintings nobody actually understood while soft music played through the hall.
Then Henry looked at her again, expression calmer now.
"But you," he said quietly, "are being hunted too."
Bela's smile weakened just slightly.
"Because your contract's almost up," Henry continued. "Which means sooner or later the hellhounds come for you."
*****
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