Supernatural

by ALICE HENDERSON

  He heard Jason stir and looked over at the sleeping hunter. His brow was creased with a nightmare, and his eyes moved rapidly beneath the lids. Dean would never admit it, but he felt pretty good keeping watch, looking out for someone. His whole life felt like he’d been looking out for people. Sammy when he was little, strangers who’d been attacked by monsters. This was the first time in his life he felt obsolete. Sam didn’t seem to need him anymore. He barely talked to Dean about things that mattered, and Dean knew he was suffering with images of Hell. Dean felt a punch in his gut and tried to push away the thoughts that caused it, but he couldn’t. Dean felt guilty. Maybe he didn’t deserve Sam’s regard.

  When he was a kid, Sam’s life had been saved by a little girl, a kitsune—a fox creature that has to eat a certain part of the human brain to survive. The girl had killed her own mother to protect Sam. Later, as an adult, she had never killed. She worked as a mortician, getting the brain matter she needed from the dead. But when her son got terribly sick, she realized she had to get him fresh meat and killed a human for him. When her son recovered, she swore to Sam that she would never kill again, and he spared her life. But then Dean went behind Sam’s back and killed her. She had murdered people, after all, even if the victims she chose were scum—a heroine drug dealer among them. Dean had a mission, didn’t he? He had to protect humanity.

  He felt bad about her, though. She haunted him. Dean had sent her son away on his own, vowing that if the boy ever murdered anyone, he’d show up and kill him. The boy had stared at him with hatred, and sworn that the only person he’d ever kill was Dean. Then he’d run off.

  If Sam ever found out, Dean knew it would change his brother’s opinion of him. He would be tarnished in Sam’s eyes.

  Dean knew that even when you make a decision you think is for the best, it can change how people feel about you. Killing Amy was right. He knew that. She would have killed again. But it had put the trust between him and his brother in jeopardy. Sam would feel betrayed if he found out Dean had gone behind his back.

  God knew, that’s how Dean felt about Castiel, though Cas sure as hell had made far more epic mistakes than Dean. Castiel had once told him that he thought of Dean as family. Dean had begged the angel to defuse after he’d taken on the power of all those souls from Purgatory, but Cas hadn’t listened, and instead became drunk with power, his original good intentions lost in his megalomania.

  He’d betrayed them all. Dean had trusted him, remained loyal even when Sam and Bobby suspected that Cas was going dark side. Dean had refused to believe it then, but they’d been right.

  Dean forced himself to think about something else. He wondered how Bobby and Sam were faring at the seaside, and if Bobby would talk to Sam about his Hell memories.

  The temperature continued to dip lower. The snowflakes, which had been huge and clumped together at first, were now smaller and discrete, a sure sign of increasing cold. Dean shivered a bit, then stood up to walk around the perimeter in an attempt to get warm.

  On Dean’s second lap, Jason sat bolt upright with a garbled shout.

  “What is it?” Dean said, scanning the surrounding trees.

  Jason looked around, confused. “Nightmare. Sorry.” He slumped back into his bag.

  Dean made another circuit, glancing at Jason as he tossed and turned. Finally, Jason sat up again. “I can watch for a while.”

  Grateful, Dean took him up on his offer and climbed inside his own warm sleeping bag while Jason took the watch.

  Snow floated down, dusting his eyelashes. With only his face sticking out of his bag, Dean drifted off to the sensation of his nose going slightly numb with cold. Around him the forest creaked and gusts sighed in the trees. He knew it was just the wind, but he couldn’t fight the feeling that the aswang was close by their camp, breathing in the darkness.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The bell rang above Sam’s head as he exited Johennie’s shop, a bag full of spices tucked under one arm. He also now had the stingray barb and the hemp and twine for the whip.

  In the west, a glow was still visible above the horizon, though the sun had now set. The deep blue of the sky there blended into night in the east.

  He was halfway to Bobby’s van when a splitting pain erupted in the back of his head. He crashed down hard, thinking at the last minute that he couldn’t land on the bag. He twisted, landing on his back.

  As the blinding pain surged forward, forcing his eyes shut, Sam struggled to get his bearings. Vaguely aware of a VW Rabbit parked beside him, he slid the bag under it.

  Gripping the back of his head with one hand, he tried to rise. Warm stickiness met his cradling fingers. He forced his eyes open in time to see a two-by-two come swinging down for a second strike. Instinctively, he rolled on the asphalt, the wood hitting the street instead of his face.

  Fight-or-flight adrenaline forced his brain to focus. Sam shook his head and got his bearings. He was on the street. Someone just clubbed him with a board. He reached out, steadying himself against the Rabbit. There was blood from his head wound on his hand.

  The man with the two-by-two swam into focus above him as Sam got to his knees. He was a scrawny bastard with faded jeans and a worn leather jacket. His scuffed boots cried army surplus. When Sam met his eyes, he saw a familiar reflective glint; a flash of silver he’d seen before. Vampire.

  As his head cleared, he heard the crunch of boots on gravel and glanced to his left in time to see a pair of brown cowboy boots draw nearer.

  Leather Jacket swung the board again and this time Sam caught it. He pushed it forward with all his strength, throwing the vampire back against a parked truck. The attacker lost his grip and Sam swung the board around in an arc, hitting Cowboy Boots in the head with a sickening crack.

  Blood streamed down the vampire’s face. Sam had broken his nose for sure. He heard a rough voice behind him yell, “Grab him!” and whirled around to see three more vampires approaching cautiously.

  Damn it. He had no immediate way to do them any real damage. If he could get to Bobby’s van, he could use the machete to decapitate them. None of the other vampire stereotypes worked—no crosses, no stakes through the heart, even the sun didn’t hurt them more than causing a bad sunburn.

  Sam lunged out with the two-by-two and the trio backed off. But already he could hear Leather Jacket getting to his feet and closing in behind him. Sam took a gamble and ran for Bobby’s van.

  As blood trickled down his back, he fished in his pocket for the keys and pulled them out. He knew he’d left the spices under the Rabbit, but would just have to come back for them or he’d be dead. He was badly outnumbered. He heard Leather Jacket laugh in a cocky way as he struggled to unlock the door with slick, blood-soaked hands.

  “Having trouble there, Winchester?” the vampire gloated, moving closer. Sam wanted to punch him in his smug, blood-sucking face.

  Instead, he put all his effort into getting into the van, then locked the door. The vampires closed in around him, pounding on the glass. Then suddenly a cacophonous shot rang out.

  Leather Jacket laughed arrogantly again, and Sam heard him yell, “That pea shooter isn’t going to do much to kill us, grandpa.”

  Sam got the van started and backed up in the direction of the gunshot. He heard a satisfying thump as he hit one of the vampires. The others kept pounding on the glass, running alongside him.

  Johennie stood in the doorway to his shop, a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. “Maybe not, you ghoulish son of a bitch, but it’ll hurt like hell.”

  He unloaded a round point-blank into Leather Jacket’s face. The vampire howled, bringing his hands up. Johennie fired a third round into another vampire’s chest.

  Sam pulled up level with the store. “Get in!” he called out.

  Johennie rushed up to the passenger door and hopped in. They roared off down the road, Sam swerving to hit two of the vampires who’d been slamming their fists against the glass.

  “That was a close one!” Johennie said. �
��What the hell were those things?”

  “Vampires.”

  “Vampires? I thought they were just the concoction of Polidori and Stoker.”

  “Most of them have been wiped out, but there are still nests of them here and there.”

  Odysseus gave a long, low whistle. “I’ll be damned.”

  Sam turned down the highway toward Point Reyes Station.

  “Where we heading?”

  “Back to Marta’s. Those vamps were lying in wait for me back there. They knew my name. This feels like a setup. We’ve got to warn Bobby.”

  Odysseus opened the breech of his shotgun and reloaded it. Then he snapped it back together. “I’m game.”

  “I see that.”

  As Sam entered the town of Point Reyes Station, he could see an orange glow on the horizon, but this time it wasn’t the sunset. By the time he turned onto the little street that led to Marta’s restaurant, he could see the source.

  The Pelican’s Nest was on fire.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Sam jumped out of the van, running to the front door of the Nest. The place must have just caught on fire because even the fire department wasn’t there yet. Sam called 911 and reported it.

  Johennie joined him and they looked for a way in. The kitchen seemed to be the seat of the fire.

  “Bobby!” Sam yelled. “Marta!”

  He didn’t see any movement inside. He ran around back. The door was open. Marta appeared in the flaming doorway, her arms full of old books.

  Sam rushed to her. “Where’s Bobby?”

  “Inside,” she said, coughing. Soot coated her face, stained her brown hair ebony. “He’s getting the last of the manuscripts.”

  Sam ran in, saw the burning hallway and Marta’s office just to the right. A blast of heat hit him like a visceral force, and he felt as if every little hair on his face was instantly singed off. The office hadn’t caught yet, but the fire was drawing dangerously close. Thick black smoke hung heavily, so dense he could barely see. He ducked low, entering the office. Bobby stood at the desk, scooping up spices and a few ancient leather-bound texts.

  “Bobby!”

  He saw Sam and ran to him, dumping the books and supplies into his arms. “Wait for me outside!” he ordered, then coughed.

  “Not a chance!” Sam yelled back. The fire hissed and sputtered, working its way down the hallway. Sam choked, trying to bend down lower to get beneath the layer of acrid smoke.

  Bobby took another stack of books and added them to Sam’s load. “This is the chance I never got with my place!” he said, then went into a coughing fit. “These books are irreplaceable.”

  He returned to a shelf, got two armfuls of books and staggered back to Sam. “Now we get out!”

  They passed through the outside door, the wave of cool night air a blessed relief. Sam breathed it in, then started hacking.

  Marta passed them and ran inside.

  “Marta!” Bobby called to her in protest.

  Sam and Bobby rushed to the van, dumped the books inside, and sped back. Sam didn’t see Johennie around.

  As he and Bobby went back inside for the rest of Marta’s research material, Sam heard the wail of a fire engine’s siren in the distance. Relief flooded over him.

  Inside the office, the air temperature had grown searingly hot. Sam could feel it burning his lungs as he grabbed the last of the books and retreated with Marta out of the door. Bobby was the last to leave, rolled manuscripts tucked under both of his arms.

  They carefully piled the ancient books and scrolls inside the van, then sat catching their breath and coughing.

  Sam looked around for Johennie. “Something’s wrong,” he wheezed.

  Bobby wiped soot from his eyes. “You mean other than the towering inferno?”

  Sam moved away from the van, checking the other side of the building. “Johennie was with me.”

  Marta looked incredulous. “Odysseus left his shop?”

  “It was sort of an emergency. But I don’t know where he is now.”

  The sirens grew in volume and soon red flashing lights filled the night sky. Firefighters piled out of the truck, ordering them to move to a safe distance. Instantly the hose was out, water pouring onto Marta’s restaurant.

  She watched the flames consuming the kitchen and two of the walls. “This is sickening,” she said.

  Neighbors emerged from houses and nearby restaurants and shops, all staring at the blaze.

  They moved Bobby’s van farther away, and got out.

  Sam stared around the faces looking for Johennie, then a glint caught his eye in the darkness, off to the side of the restaurant in a vacant lot. The lot stood on the very edge of town, with no buildings beyond it. Sam lifted a hand to block out the furious brightness of the fire, and peered at it.

  There was another flash of light, and Sam saw it wasn’t one pinpoint, but several. They blinked and moved, and he realized he was staring at eyes.

  A flashlight clicked on in the lot, and illuminated in its beam was Leather Jacket, holding a knife to Johennie’s throat.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Sam turned to Bobby and Marta. “There! In the field! Vampires. They attacked me outside Johennie’s shop. And now they’ve got Johennie.”

  The two hunters followed Sam’s pointing finger, seeing the reflective eyes in the darkness.

  “Vampires?” Marta asked. “I didn’t know there were any nests left around here.”

  “This is special,” Sam said. “They knew my name. They’d come specifically for me. They might not be locals.”

  Bobby coughed into his sleeve. “They probably set this fire to drive us out.” He glared in their direction. “Divide and conquer.”

  “Those bastards,” Marta hissed. “They burned me out of my restaurant. Didn’t they? Didn’t they?” She turned to Bobby. “What do you have in your van?”

  “Two machetes. A chainsaw.”

  Marta set her jaw. “That’s a good start.”

  Bobby opened up the back and they armed themselves, hacking and coughing. Then they marched toward the field.

  As they walked, Bobby gripped one of the machetes, his knuckles white. Marta swung the other one, getting used to the weight. Sam opted for the chainsaw. If it weren’t for them pausing to hack up a lung every few feet, they’d look pretty formidable.

  Sam could still feel the heat from the blaze, even in the vacant lot. He counted six pairs of eyes.

  “Winchester,” sneered Leather Jacket when Sam drew closer. His face was a mess. The buckshot had tattered the flesh. “You ran like a squealing little pig back there.”

  “Now you have to fight three of us instead of ambushing me.”

  The five other vampires clustered around in a semi-circle. Sam recognized Cowboy Boots and a couple ofothers who had pounded on the van’s windows. One of them sported a black Mohawk. Another struck Sam as out of place, a professor type in an honest-to-goodness tweed suit with elbow patches. One circled them in a rockabilly red and black bowling shirt with a skull vomiting fire. The last was a gaunt and pale female, her dark eyes glittering beneath a mane of tangled, ebony hair.

  Mohawk held Johennie’s shotgun, trained in Sam’s direction.

  Leather Jacket sneered, moving the blade tighter against Johennie’s neck. The spice shop owner’s face remained expressionless. He stared up at the sky, unmoving.

  “We’re willing to make a trade,” said Leather Jacket, apparently the leader of the nest. “The old man for Winchester and Singer.”

  Johennie shifted, moving for the first time. “That’s hardly a fair trade. I’m worth ten of them.”

  That made Bobby smile.

  “No trade?” the vampire growled.

  “What am I? Chopped liver?” Marta said.

  “Listen. We don’t want to fight,” the lead vampire said. “We just want to kill you.”

  Sam looped his fingers through the pull for the chainsaw.

  “Oh, hell,” Leather Jacket added. “Who a
re we kidding? Of course we want to fight!”

  He had no sooner finished his sentence than Johennie spun suddenly, forcing the vampire’s knife hand down and stabbing the blade into its belly. In a flash, Johennie threw him to the ground, then lashed out and grabbed the barrel of his sawed-off. He slammed his fist down on the end, causing the stock to careen upward and smash Mohawk’s mouth. His hands went slack and Johennie took back the shotgun.

  Sam revved up the chainsaw, feeling the powerful thrum of it. The female and Rockabilly scattered at the sound of it, but the other four held their ground.

  The creatures attacked, running toward them. Marta stepped in, wielding her machete like a samurai. She swung it forward over her head, connecting with Mohawk. His head flew off in a spray of blood, landing in a bush some ten feet away. Then she ducked and rolled under the Professor as he tried to dive-tackle her. The vampire hit the ground and Sam closed in with the chainsaw, sawing through the creature’s neck as he tried to stand up. The body flinched, toppling over in the dirt. Two down, four to go.

  Sam moved in toward Leather Jacket, who stood with a hand clasped to his injured side. The chainsaw was bulky and cumbersome, but Sam knew it would be hard for anything to get near him and keep its head.

  Leather Jacket started circling.

  Bobby closed in on Cowboy Boots. Blood streamed from the vampire’s broken lip. Sam saw the eyes flash again, and the vampire barreled toward Bobby. Johennie darted out of the shadows and threw out his leg to trip him. He went sprawling, cowboy boots stretching into the air. He rolled to a stop and Bobby came down fast and hard with the machete blade. The head rolled away.