Lex tied up the loose ends alone.

He went back to the mansion to look into his father's ruined spell work, and he did the research himself. He'd apparently summoned a pretty specific glamor for John to "hunt," tied to some objects in the house, which was a relief: it meant there wasn't a loose ghost out there somewhere.

Lex made arrangements for John's remains, and he filed the paperwork with the police, even though he knew the murder would never be traced back to his father, and if it was, nothing would ever happen anyway. The man was unstoppable now.

And late that night, Lex knelt in the empty guest room. Empty, save the body lying over the covers on the bed. He couldn't stand to tell the others, yet, that Chloe was dead.

It was his fault.

Lex had known from the start. Hunters lived dangerous lives; researchers were in no less danger. Especially in Smallville. He'd spent so much time justifying what he was doing. Telling himself Chloe would investigate anything and everything anyway, and go off reporting, putting herself in the spotlight, in the crosshairs of who-knows-what. Convincing himself he could protect her if he kept her close—and keep her comfortable in the meantime, by paying her well and treating her with respect.

As if that justified giving her access to everything, letting her study the bodies of monsters and the behavior of insane living mutants, putting her in reach of madmen again and again . . .

Clark was the one who had dealt the death blow, but it didn't matter. That, too, was something Lex could have prevented, if he'd been there sooner instead of leaving the actions of his impulsive eighteen-year-old friends to chance. If he'd come alongside Clark, taught him how to fight safely and lie convincingly and trust when trust was deserved. If he'd been honest about Chloe knowing Clark's secret.

No, Lex couldn't blame Clark. Clark was doing what he'd been taught. Chloe was doing what was in her nature. Lex was the one who had made the choice.

Lex took her cold little hand in his and blinked back tears. He would not allow himself to cry. He didn't deserve the release.

. . . No. Deep down, he knew why he wasn't crying, even if he hadn't admitted it to himself yet. It was for the same reason that he hadn't told anyone she was dead, not even her father. Especially not her father.

Lex gave Chloe's hand a final squeeze, and he placed it at her side. "I'm sorry, Chloe," he said.

He went to his own room, where he'd been saving a little box for emergencies, and he got into his cheapest car and took a long drive in the darkness to the nearest crossroads.

He wanted to call Bobby, like he had so many times during a hunt, but he couldn't ask anyone for advice about this. He knew what they would say, what any hunter would say, and he didn't care. Lex knew what he was going to do, and he knew he was playing with fire.

It didn't matter. If there was a hell, he was going, anyway. If he had to go sooner to give her a full life . . .

He pulled over and got out to bury the box, then he stepped back.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Lex's heart sank. Maybe he'd done something wrong. Maybe this whole thing had been a myth . . .

"Lex Luthor."

Lex whirled around to find a familiar man standing behind him.

"Crowley?"

"I was wondering when I'd be seeing you again. What's it been, two years?"

"You're a crossroads demon, too?"

"I dabble. Ever the opportunist." He took a step closer. "But you didn't call me here to chew the fat."

Lex swallowed, forcing himself to keep his back straight, his expression unflinching.

Crowley raised his eyebrows, looking Lex in the eyes.

"So," Crowley said. "Let's make a deal."

End