Contains information of record on certain spirits and actual spells. So, here's one for you, dear reader, to keep you safe.
The Prayer of Protection
Oh great and eternal virtue of the highest, which through thy disposition, these being called to judgement, Vaicheon, Stimulamaton, Esphares, Tetragrammaton, Olioram, Cryon, Esytion, Existion, Eriona, Onela, Brasim, Noym, Messias, Soter, Emanuel, Sabboth, Adonay, I worship thee, I invocate thee, I implore thee with all the strength of my mind, that by thee, my present Prayers, consecrations, and conjurations be hallowed and wheresoever wicked spirits are called, in the virtue of thy names, they may come together from every shore, and diligently fulfill the will of me the conjurer. Fiat, fiat, fiat, Amen.
Sioux City, South Dakota – December 2006
"Hey, Bobby," Sam called out as he searched the rows of rusted hulks that made up the back lot of Singer's Salvage Yard.
"Over here!" came a shouted reply and, two rows over, near the fence, Sam finally found him. The older hunter was standing next to an ancient, faded orange, VW Superbeetle and a smile broke out on Sam's face as he came nearer.
"Dean's first ride," Sam said and rubbed his hand lovingly across the top quickly recalling him and his brother tooling around the salvage yard and occasionally down to the local Dairy Queen when John was gone and Bobby took his eyes off of them for half a second.
"Yeah, I was just checkin' through it and I found this under the back seat. It's got your name on it."
Bobby held out a wooden box about 8 inches square on which Sam's name was written in a feminine hand in ink on the top.
"Oh, wow," Sam said with a smile, "I remember this. I got it for Christmas one year."
"Well, what in Pecla's it doin' hidden in Dean's car?"
"You got me."
Sam set the box down on the car's roof and opened it. He picked up the folded piece of paper that lay on top and opened it and read aloud.
"Dude,
You're what now? Ten? Well, it's about time you stopped hanging onto this because dad already thinks you're gay and he'd be pretty pissed if he knew you were playing with a witch's ball...or your own for that matter. So, I'm putting this in a place where you'll never find it again…unless you're messing around where you don't belong. So leave it where you found it and get the hell out of my car.
Your awesome brother,
Dean Winchester"
Sam looked up at Bobby in complete shock, his face turning crimson while Bobby just laughed, loud and hard. He could just imagine Dean, his head bent over a desk, his pencil gripped tightly in his fingers, writing the letter to his brother then hiding it between the pages of a Playboy magazine until he had time to fold it up and hide it, along with the beautiful glass ball, in the car.
"You really think this is a witch's ball?" Sam asked pulling it from the box and holding it up to the sun.
Bobby examined it from afar and shrugged.
"Who knows? Glass balls have been around since the invention of glass. Besides, it's only a myth that witches are dumb enough to fly into one just 'cause it's pretty and sparkly…unless she's Paris Hilton."
Sam was about to put the ball away when he spotted something else that lay nestled in the bottom of the box. He pulled it out and handed it to Bobby while he replaced the ball in the blue silk lining.
Bobby's smile faded as he looked at a photograph. Turning it over he saw something written on the back in Dean's strong handwriting. 'Jewels and Grace Downey' and under it 'Grace Winchester'. Bobby sighed.
"Who is it, Bobby?" Sam wanted to know looking at the the photograph.
"It's Jewels Downey and her little girl. You were only about five and Dean had just turned ten so you probably don't remember her. She helped save your dad when he got hurt on a hunt."
Sam thought back and may have vaguely remembered but he couldn't be sure.
"Whatever happened to her?"
"When Jewels got home to Massachusetts her parents were dead and," he pointed to the little girl in the picture, "her daughter Grace was gone."
"Jesus…" Sam started.
"Had nothin' to do with it," Bobby interjected, "It was probably Azazel," he had surmised and added, "Anyway, Jewels disappeared. I heard she was hunting for Grace and for the same demon your father was hunting but I haven't heard anything about her for years...not that we're a tight knit group."
Sam turned the photo over and caught a glimpse of a brother he never knew existed. A brother who, at fifteen, had hidden the ball and the photo and who had had a brief fantasy of someday marrying a girl named Grace.
Bobby told him, "Your dad took it real bad and Dean, he took it even worse."
The Impala's powerful engine announced the arrival of his brother with Chinese take-out and Sam stuffed the photo back into the box and closed the lid.
"You gonna put it back?"
"Hell, no," Sam said and shoved the box under his jacket, "It's mine."
Later that evening, in the room he used when staying with Bobby, Sam staring at his laptop in search of more information on psychic vampires. He looked over at the newly found glass ball sitting on the table next to the computer and remembered it hanging in different motel room windows as they traveled the country. He also remembered Dean always taking it down before their father returned. Sam guessed Dean had finally gotten tired of keeping his present from Jewels a secret and had ditched it in the Bug. His dad was gone now and he didn't have to do what Dean told him anymore and he was strangely drawn to it's delicate shape and beauty.
"Dude!" Dean said sticking his head into the room.
Sam quickly covered the ball with his beanie and turned to see what he wanted.
"I'm headed out to the Do Drop Inn. You game?"
Thankful for a respite from his research, Sam turned off the laptop and picked up his hat but not before moving the ball behind the screen and out of his brother's line of sight.
"Yeah, but I'm the pool hustler tonight and you're the hustlee."
"Okay, but who's gonna believe I could ever loose to a jerk like you?"
"Anyone who's ever seen you play, bitch" Sam assured him and, opening the door the rest of the way, he pushing his brother out into the hall.
Their raucous banter died out as they headed down the stairs and out the front door, the search for psychic vampires and the glass ball forgotten for the time being. As it rested on the table Sam would have had the answer to his earlier question about the beautiful glass ball as it began to spin, slowly at first, then picked up enough speed to move it like a whirling top to the edge of the old wooded desk. It fell to the floor with a crash and shattered into exactly six-hundred and sixty-six tiny shards, an unlucky number in any hunter's book and a portent of things to come in Sam Winchester's Season of the Witch.