The news had spread so quickly through the supernatural sects. While most of the Coven had been destroyed or gone into hiding, those that still feared them over the events of the past year had lost a significant amount of that fear upon believing Rene to be gone.
How else could they have managed a successful attack on Notre Dame? Rene's wards were gone. That magic had been permanent, old, eternal ... even Rene himself could not undo it under the command of the Grand Coven. So how was it broken? The only logical explanation was that Rene was gone, completely gone from existence. And if the Grand Coven no longer had Rene, then their level of dangerousness had dropped significantly ... just as their numbers had.
Witches were growing lawless again. And with lawlessness came boldness. Unfortunately, sometimes bravery and stupidity walk hand in hand. Some witches slip up. Some witches get caught. Some witches get dead.
But the one witch that everyone thought was dead, gone for good ... was not. But that was a secret, wasn't it? As long as the Coven still thought him dead, he was safe. All he had to do at this point was live. But how could he just keep his head down when the world was going mad?
A simple appearance, just as he had done many times before ... the image of a mirror shifted, the mirror in Sam Winchester's room, deep in the Men of Letters bunker in the heart of Kansas. Instead of the reflection of a sleeping hunter and his surroundings, the image of a gaunt and pale witch took its place, illuminated by the golden glow of the candles in his secret altar room. His dark hair, much longer than when they had last met, grazing his shoulders just barely. His skin white, darkened circles embedded in the flesh around cognac eyes ... eyes that were curious at this point, that -- despite the appearance of their body -- actually appeared quite full of life. Renewed vigor, perhaps.
Silent, he pulled himself through that mirror, the surface rippling like water as the slender body crossed through the portal, holding onto the edge of the mirror as though climbing through a window. Bare toes touched the floor with not a sound ... crossed to the hunter's bed quiet as a fox creeping to a hen house, leaning over Sam with a slight tilt of his head.
