Supernatural Fresh Meat

by ALICE HENDERSON

  They were halfway up the stairs when the front door opened and a woman in her fifties stepped out. Her brown hair hung loose and wavy around her pretty face. Intelligent eyes twinkled at the sight of them. She grinned and threw her arms around Bobby. “Bobby Singer,” she said, giving him an affectionate hug.

  “Marta,” Bobby said in greeting.

  “And this must be Sam Winchester.” She grinned at him.

  Sam held out his hand, taking an instant liking to her. “Good to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” She gave Bobby another squeeze and Sam was amused to see him get a little bit shy and flustered.

  “Come on in!”

  They followed her inside the restaurant, and she locked the door behind them. Something smelled amazing, like freshly baked bread and exotic spices. “Getting ready for the dinner rush,” she explained, gesturing toward the kitchen. “We open in half an hour.”

  “Get a lot of business here?” Sam asked her.

  “Tourists mainly, but we have a few devoted locals. It’s a nice day job to have to support the other one,” she told them quietly. Sam knew she meant hunting. “Let’s go into my office.” They followed her through a set of swinging doors, down a hall, and through another door. Inside was a cozy office, with a large batik print of a whale hanging on one wall. A Tiffany art deco lamp cast soft light on the red walls. She shut and locked the door behind them, then gestured for them to sit down in the office chairs next to her desk.

  “So you really think you’ve found an aswang?” she asked.

  Bobby nodded. “Seems that way.”

  “I’ve never known someone to hunt one.”

  “Me, either. Were you able to dig anything else up?”

  She unlocked a drawer in her desk and pulled out an old leather-bound book. A ribbon marked a particular page and she opened to it. “This legend says that to keep the aswang away, the villagers created a special weapon that could spear it and drag it down to the earth. But it needs to be steeped in special spices and have an enchantment cast upon it.”

  “Can you do it?” Bobby asked.

  “I think so. I’ll need to get together all of the ingredients, and some are pretty obscure.”

  “Like what?” Sam asked.

  “Like ajowan and screw pine.”

  “Wow. I’ve never even heard of those spices. Screw pine? Really?” Sam agreed.

  “It’s also called pandan spice. I can do the enchantment part with Bobby.” She looked at Sam. “Can you gather the spices we’ll need to soak the whip in and the stingray barb for the hook?”

  Sam pulled out his small notebook and pen. “No problem. Just give me a list.”

  She skimmed over the book and said, “Okay. Salt, ajowan, galangal, screw pine, tamarind, wattle seed, kokum, kaffir lime, and lovage.”

  “Lovage?” Sam asked. “There’s really a spice called ‘lovage?’ Screw pine and lovage?”

  “Yes. And the whip has to be made out of twine that is two parts hemp and one part seaweed.”

  Sam finished writing it all down, then read over the list. “Okay. This is all going to smell pretty bad, isn’t it?”

  Marta was all business. “You’ll have to make a trip to Odysseus’s Spice and Curio Shop. It’s out on the coast. You can find just about anything there.”

  Sam folded up the notebook and put it back inside his jacket. “Will do. How much time will you need on your end?”

  “About a day, I think.”

  “We really appreciate this,” Sam told her.

  She smiled. “Just don’t tell any of my kitchen staff. They think I spend my nights doing extreme LARPing.”

  “We’ll be discreet,” Bobby assured her.

  “I figured you would, Bobby Singer.” She grinned again, and this time Bobby held her gaze for a few seconds longer before looking away, slightly embarrassed. Bobby was amazing in a fight and knew more about arcane magic and obscure creatures than anyone Sam knew, but he could get flustered when it came to regular human stuff. Bobby didn’t do regular too well. In fact, none of them did.

  Bobby walked Sam out to the van. “She an old friend of yours, Bobby?”

  “Something like that,” Bobby said evasively. “You get the spices and meet me back here. I’ll get started on the spell.”

  “Think we can get all those items and do the enchantment before tomorrow?”

  “We’re sure as hell gonna try.”

  NINETEEN

  Dean fired, and the figure vanished into the brush, moving away quickly out of sight.

  “Who the hell is that?” Jason shouted, bringing out his gun.

  Dean searched for any sign of motion. “Did you get a good look?” Dean’s heart hammered.

  Jason stared around, pointing his gun. “No!”

  Dean could feel eyes boring into his back. He spun. High up on another granite outcropping stood the thin figure, staring down at them. “There!” Dean shouted, pointing his gun. The figure vanished.

  Dean turned to Jason. “We need to track this thing, find out where it’s holing up.”

  “The speed that thing moves, we’ll have our work cut out for us.”

  Dean walked to where he’d first seen the figure close up, standing by the tree. There were two boot prints in the depressed soil.

  Sudden voices in the trees attracted Dean’s attention on his left. Catching sight of a flash of color through the branches, he stepped off the trail, followed by Jason.

  Jason met his eyes. “Hikers?” he mouthed.

  From the cover of a huge ponderosa, Dean peered out. Sure enough, hikers. Two of them with big backcountry packs on their backs. Dean scanned the ridge above. He had to get rid of them before Speedy came back.

  Jason stayed hidden while Dean moved through the trees, intercepting the hikers on the path. Flashing his F.B.I. badge, he approached them. “Special Agent Plant.”

  The two hikers stopped. Both were in their late twenties, a man and a woman, holding hands and laughing. Instantly their smiles vanished. “What’s the problem?” the man asked.

  “We’re cordoning off this area for a manhunt,” Dean told them.

  They looked alarmed. “Are we in danger?”

  “Not if you return immediately to your car. Where are you parked?”

  “At the Finder Mountain Trailhead. We just got started.”

  “Good. Please return to your vehicle and leave the area.”

  The woman grabbed the man’s arm and turned back.

  “Who are you hunting?” the man asked.

  “Let’s just say that you shouldn’t stop along the way for any reason.”

  That was enough for him. He took his companion’s hand and hurried back the way they’d come.

  When the couple were some distance away, Jason appeared. “Smooth.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Should we tail them back to their car?”

  “Yep.”

  They followed at a distance. Dean noticed Jason’s limp had improved.

  “Feeling better?”

  Jason nodded. “Yeah. It’s slowly getting back to normal. Ribs still hurt a bit, though.”

  Dean didn’t have the heart to tell him how much worse fighting the aswang had been than fighting the wendigo. They were going to get worked over if Sam and Bobby didn’t get back soon with the weapon.

  Dean watched the couple get into their Subaru Outback at the trailhead parking lot and then slipped back into the trees. He hadn’t caught a glimpse of any other movement.

  Clouds started moving in, and with them a cold wind that bit through Dean’s jacket.

  Jason glanced around at the sky. “Looks like a storm might be on its way.”

  Above them the clouds moved and spiraled, layers building up in dark gray.

  “It’s going to be dark soon,” Dean said. “We should find a good place to make camp.”

  The wind sighed in the branches above and Dean decided going without a fire might be the best course of action. It was a good defens
e against a wendigo, but a bright warm fire might attract the aswang. He didn’t like the thought of fighting something like this; they knew so little that he felt like he was making it up as he went along. Hell, he was.

  “First I should climb to higher ground and check in with Bobby.”

  “I’ll go with you to the bottom of the hill.”

  Two hundred feet away rose a steep incline of granite. Dean bounded up it, keeping alert for any sign of the thin man. At the top, he turned on his cell and got a signal. He dialed Sam’s number.

  His brother picked up on the third ring. “Dean.”

  “Sam.”

  “How’s it going out there?”

  “Turned away a couple hikers. Being stalked by something skinny and fast moving. Can’t make out much more about it.”

  “You okay?”

  “So far. You?”

  “We’ve met the hunter, and she’s already started preparing ingredients for the weapon. I’m heading out for a spice shop on the coast tonight.”

  “Bobby doing okay?”

  “Yeah. I think this hunter’s got a thing for him.”

  “I bet that’s making him blush.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Well, hurry it up. I’ll call you back in six hours.”

  “Okay, Dean. Be safe.”

  “Bye.”

  Dean pressed ‘end’ and headed back down the steep granite to where Jason waited below.

  “Everything good?” Jason asked.

  Dean nodded. “Yep. Let’s find a place to hole up before it gets dark.”

  Jason looked nervous. “Yeah, okay.”

  Snow flurries cascaded down on the wind. Dean looked up at the darkening sky. Layer upon layer of clouds had gathered, and he smelled more snow in the air. A storm was on the way, and Dean hoped they were prepared for it.

  TWENTY

  As the western sky turned gold from the sunset, Sam drove out toward the coast and the little-known shop that sold spices and historical fishing equipment, Odysseus’s Spice and Curio Shop.

  He entered the Point Reyes National Seashore and drove past the Bear Valley Visitor Center with its huge barn-looking building. Deer meandered in open fields, and quail scooted around in the underbrush as he drove past. The twisting road took him through forest and then past a handful of historic ranches. Cows grazed in the fields, gazing out at the wide spaces. He passed over a cattle guard into the Tule Elk Reserve. He watched them milling about, huge antlers shining white in the sunshine.

  Then at last he saw the ocean. Steep cliffs descended to a wild and crashing surf. A bank of fog hovered out at sea, and the wind created white caps, flashing white on the blue. The gold of the sky reflected upon the water.

  The spice shop lay almost at the end of a little beach access road. Sam drove past a small cafe that advertised the best BBQ oysters in the area, and a little touristy shop selling kites and wind socks. At the end of the tiny row of stores, he spotted Odysseus’s.

  He pulled up and walked inside. The breeze coming off the ocean was chilly, and Sam wondered how Dean was doing out in the forest.

  A little bell rang overhead as Sam entered the shop. The place smelled like brine and old rope, and was littered with antique anchors, barrels, and fishing nets. A long counter covered with jars ran the length of the place. More jars lined shelves on the wall behind it.

  From a door at the back of the shop, a diminutive man stepped out. He looked at least ninety-five years old, with a wisp of white hair on top of his pale head. He stared at Sam through glasses so thick they distorted the eyes underneath. He slowly made his way to the counter, pausing by the cash register.

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Odysseus?”

  “Yes.”

  “Marta told me that you could prepare some ingredients for me?”

  At this, the little man moved away from the counter. He lifted a wooden board and emerged onto Sam’s side. Tottling closer, he said, “Marta said that?”

  “Yes.” Sam held out his hand as the man drew closer. “I’m Sam Winchester.”

  The man took his offered hand and shook it so powerfully Sam let out an involuntary grunt. “Wow. Quite a handshake you got there.”

  The little man stared up at him. “I’m Johennie Odysseus, proprietor of this establishment. You’re taller ’an sasquatch. Where’d they grow you?”

  “Kansas.”

  “I see. I see.” He released Sam’s hand and tottered back toward the counter. “Marta phoned me to say you’d be coming by. Some of the spices she mentioned are pretty rare. Don’t have much use for ’em. They’re up there on the top shelf.” He pointed behind the counter, at a collection of jars too high up even for Sam to reach. “Got a stepladder around back. I’ll see that you get fixed up with what you need and send you on your way.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The man smiled. “Ooooh! ‘Sir.’ Don’t hear that too often these days. It’s all backtalk and twittering and talking during movies now. Movies used to be a treat. Now people act like they’re in their living room instead of in a movie house. Drives me to distraction.”

  As he talked, Johennie lifted the wooden board and returned to the other side of the counter. He waved Sam toward him. “Come on through.”

  Sam did so.

  “Now let’s see here.” The man fumbled around in his apron for something and pulled out a list. Sam read the same herbs that were on his own list. “Let’s get started.”

  In the back room of Marta’s restaurant, Bobby pored over an old leather-bound illuminated manuscript that dealt with a lot of Pacific-island creatures. “This is an incredible book.”

  Marta stood at a small table, crushing some rock salt with a mortar and pestle. She looked over her shoulder at him. “It was compiled by a Spanish missionary who served in the Philippines in 1742. I came across it in the library of a hunter who was killed in the area a few years ago. He had no will and everything went into probate. His entire estate was auctioned off, and I got a few of the books.”

  Bobby flipped to a disturbing drawing of an aswang. “Wouldn’t want to meet this sucker on a lonely banana plantation at night.” He carefully turned a few more pages. “This is the book with the incantation for the weapon?”

  She nodded. “I marked it for you.”

  Bobby saw a long blue ribbon hanging out of the pages and turned to it. Another rendering of an aswang stared up at him. A sharp proboscis stood out from a cruel, angular face. Eyes, wide and insectile, peered out from a slanted brow. Leathery wings opened wide, and clawed feet and hands flexed, ready to kill. “This matches the description Sam and Dean gave.”

  “I thought so, too, when you described it to me on the phone.”

  Bobby stared at the image for a few moments. “A Spanish missionary. That’s interesting.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “How so?”

  “Well, it might explain how this thing got here. The Spanish frequently traveled the Pacific Ocean then. This thing could have stowed away on a missionary ship and come to California.”

  “They don’t like crowds. Maybe it was looking for a brand new world? Somewhere it could continue to kill unnoticed?”

  Bobby nodded. “So it came to the New World. Only the New World was growing, expanding. It could have started out on the coast, then kept moving inland as more and more settlers took up residence in San Francisco. Maybe it’s been moving east, trying to stay in remote areas. A place gets too populated, it moves on.”

  “And now it’s hit upon the wilds of the Sierra Nevadas. That’s good hunting ground there.”

  “Skiers, hikers, boaters, gamblers in the casinos. There’s a constant influx of transient people.”

  She stopped grinding the salt and met Bobby’s eyes. “This thing’s smart. This is the first time someone’s picked up its trail, and it’s been hunting for a long time.”

  Bobby thought of Dean out there with it, armed only with the spice concoction he’d made. “I know. The sooner we
get this weapon made, the better I’m going to feel.”

  He saw a drawing of the weapon on the next page. A long whip ended in a stingray barb.

  “We still don’t know if it’ll work,” she warned him.

  He stared again at the insectile eyes, the sharp, cruel features. “It’s got to work. It’s the best shot we have.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Dean and Jason found a small clearing in a ring of trees and laid their bags on the ground. Though Dean had a tent, he didn’t relish the thought of sitting in one if the aswang attacked. So they slept out, unrolling their gear on a soft bed of needles.

  “I’ll take the first watch,” Dean offered as darkness fell.

  Jason slept fitfully while Dean sat against a tree, rifle gripped in one hand and a jar of the concoction Bobby had made in the other. Snow drifted down, dusting the ground and making everything a little brighter. He watched for any trace of activity and strained his ears listening for sounds in the dark.

  Everything was so quiet in a snow-covered forest. Dean put his hood up, hearing an almost musical tinkling of snowflakes hitting the material over his head. As he stared out, a chuffing noise snapped his attention behind him. He stood up, tense. Branches snapped and low breathing broke through the silent snowfall. Dean remained quiet, waiting.

  The breathing grew louder, and he saw something massive and dark push through the brush and enter their clearing. A head rose from a muscular body and sniffed the air, finding Dean and Jason on the wind. It was a black bear. It stared at Dean, pinpointing him in the dark. Dean stared back.

  The bear tossed its head, moved a little closer, then turned away. With a crash of branches, it disappeared into the underbrush.

  Dean let out his breath.

  He sat down again, training his ears to the quiet. He couldn’t hear anything but the sound of snow on his hood and the rush of his own blood in his ears. The wind had died down. He couldn’t hear traffic or the buzz of electricity or anything out here but the wild. He imagined what this place must have been like for the Donner Party.

  He knew that, miles away, Interstate 80 ran right through the Camp of Death where the emigrants had resorted to eating each other. Now people sped by at seventy miles an hour, but it used to be nothing but wilderness stretching from Fort Bridger in Wyoming to Sutter’s Fort near Sacramento. They couldn’t resupply in Reno or Truckee because they didn’t exist yet. But right then, right where he sat, it couldn’t have been very different than it must have been for them. He could yell and cry out and no one would hear him. Without his car, it would take days to hike out to civilization.