Seven Island Suite Continued From Book 36
3 - JAMAICA - BLACK CLOUDS
While the tropical storm had raged outside, the Winchesters and the Angels had been safely ensconced in their hotel in Barbados. It had been a little frightening to Gail to see how swiftly the weather had turned dark and malignant, though, almost as if it had been chasing them back there. Practically the moment they'd entered the lobby from their boat trip, the skies turned pitch black, and the hard rain and high winds cut a swath through the resort.
The employees had spent several hours preparing for the storm, so the property had been fairly unaffected. That was just a fact of life when you lived and worked in the Caribbean. Sometimes the weather turned on a dime, and you had to be prepared for it.
The following morning, the four of them were sitting at a table poolside, talking in hushed tones. Though everyone had been prepared as they could be, there was still debris laying around, and the resort's staff were all pitching in to clean it up before too many more of the guests showed up for breakfast.
There was bad news on that score, too. The resort had suffered a brief power outage as a result of a burnt-out transformer in town, so breakfast was going to be cold sandwiches and warm drinks, only.
"That's OK; I've pretty much gotten used to warm milk, anyway," Sam said to the others. "I wonder how it is that they're able to dispense the fruit drinks and the sodas cold, but the milk always somehow comes out warm."
"What are you doing drinking milk, anyway?" Dean asked his brother, cramming a handful of bacon strips into his mouth. "You know who drinks milk, Sammy? Babies."
"Are you eating cold bacon?" Sam said, making a face. "Why are you eating cold bacon?"
Dean stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Ummm...because it's bacon," he replied.
Sam rolled his eyes. "And they put rum in every drink here," he went on, looking at Cas and Gail.
"Are you kidding? That's one of the good things," Dean said around a mouthful of bacon. "The really bad part is, everything's got fruit in it."
"Will you two stop acting like 'Ugly American' tourists for just half a second?" Gail said irritably. "Is it just me, or is anyone else starting to wonder what the hell we're even DOING here?"
"Having the time of our lives, that's what we're doing here," Dean remarked. "Come on, Gail, you've gotta admit that you've been having fun."
But that was just it: she HAD been having fun. Lots and lots of fun. But in her experience, fun was never free. There always seemed to be a hefty price tag that followed. Years ago, they had hosted a magical Christmas, only to be split up right afterwards to fight Lucifer's death squads for a year. Then they'd had another great one, following which she and Cas had had to get a divorce. Maybe they should all just forget about Christmas, then. But how about their last house party, the one where she'd been forced to kill her brother? Oh, or the one before that, which had set off the chain reaction of Cas's bitter revenge plan in Hell? Look how well THAT had gone. Maybe they should all just wear sackcloth and ashes, and attempt to never have any more fun. Ever.
But Cas was at the opposite end of the spectrum right now, as far as emotions went. He'd been having an increasingly foreboding feeling that they were being afforded a unique opportunity now, and that they should take it. It was funny, too. Normally, Castiel would be the one to try to give everyone the wake-up call. To tell them that they shouldn't eat, drink, and be merry. Instead, they should remain sober and vigilant, for when the fighting began. But he didn't want to be "that guy" right now. Over the past couple of days, he had felt the yoke of responsibility loosen around his neck and shoulders, and now he felt able to put it aside for the time being. He would still need to don it again when the time came, but for the time being, he felt good.
Sam had already called Zach, who told him he'd be happy to take them to Jamaica. So after breakfast, they checked out, went to the airfield, and got on the plane. Once again, the flight was slightly bumpy, but uneventful.
Another day, another resort, and the one in Jamaica was just as nice and fun-filled as the last one. Once they'd gotten settled in, they were at poolside, scanning the list of activities.
"Hey, here's one for you, Dean," Sam said good-naturedly. "A pineapple-eating contest. Finally, you can put that gluttony to good use."
"More fruit? Gimme a break," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "For a second there, I thought you were going to say a 'pie-eating contest'. Then, we'd really have something."
"Oh, this isn't just an eating contest," a young activities coordinator said to them. "It's a test of teamwork, and strategy. We hang the pineapple on strings from the ceiling, and you and your partner have to finish eating the pineapple, together."
Dean thought for a moment. "That doesn't sound so hard. What's the catch?"
"Both of your hands are tied behind your backs," the young man said, his lips twitching.
"Why don't you and Sam try that?" Cas piped up. "The two of you are a great team. Gail and I will come and root you on."
"That sounds great!" Gail enthused. "Hey, if they hang the pineapple from the ceiling, the two of you will be halfway there, already."
So they went over to the building where the staff were setting up for the contest. It was fortunate that this activity was one of the ones that had been planned for this particular morning, because the employees hadn't quite finished cleaning the tree branches and palm fronds from the pool area yet.
Once the contest got underway, though, the brothers were finding it much harder than they'd thought it was going to be. They'd gone in aggressive, but that was a bad strategy. The pineapple was on a string, and so every time one of them would go to take a bite, it would begin to swing back and forth, like a pendulum. And the harder the men would try to chase after it, the more it would swing.
Gail was laughing delightedly. "Take a picture, and send it to Frank," she told Cas, nudging him. "He's going to love this!"
"Stop, Dean," Sam instructed. "Hold on. I've got an idea. One of us should hold the fruit steady with our face, and that way, the other one can eat it down to the string. Right?"
Dean shrugged, but actually, that did sound logical. So he said, "OK, Sammy, you're the guy who likes to eat healthy. Have at it."
Once the pineapple stopped swinging, Dean held it steady, and Sam made quick work of it. "We have the winning team!" the activities coordinator announced, and the brothers were grinning. The young man untied their wrists, and gave them towels to wipe their faces from the fruit juice.
"We have a choice of prizes, over in the gift shop," the coordinator said, handing Sam and Dean a voucher each. "Come by before the end of the day."
"So, what's next?" Dean said, clapping Cas on the shoulder. "Hat-making? Origami? Etiquette lessons?"
Gail rolled her eyes. "Does everything have to be sarcasm with you?"
Dean put his arm around her shoulders. "Believe it or not, I'm not being sarcastic," he told her. "I'm in the mood to try new thing. You can't just sit around drinking all day, you know. What you got there? Pick something, and I'll try it."
"OK, you're kind of scaring me now," Gail quipped. "But, if you really mean it..." She consulted the schedule. "Okie-dokie. How about a Spanish lesson?"
"Sounds good," Dean said, nodding. "Lead on. Arriba, arriba. Andele, andele."
Sam grinned. "Maybe you don't want to go in there sounding like Speedy Gonzalez."
All four of them attended the lesson in rudimentary Spanish, and even though they came out of it having learned only a few words, it had still been fun.
"So THAT'S what 'cerveza' means!" Gail exclaimed, laughing. They had just been taught that it was the Spanish word for beer. "All this time, I thought that people were being kind of rude."
"Rude?" Sam said, puzzled.
"Yeah. You know, when they're at the bar, going 'cerveza, cerveza', I thought they were demanding service!" Gail replied, shaking her head. Sam laughed.
"Who knew learning another language could be this useful?" Dean joked.
"Only anyone who's travelled anywhere internationally," Sam remarked dryly.
"Is there anything else you'd like to do, my love?" Cas asked Gail.
She pulled the schedule out of her pocket. "Well, I was thinking about horseback riding," she said. "I've never ridden a horse before. I just thought it might be something different to do."
"You've never ridden a horse?" Dean asked her dubiously.
"No. Why, have you?" she asked him, trying to take the focus off the subject. Of course she had, when she and Cas had been in Camelot. But they'd never shared that chapter of their previous lives together with any of their family, and Sam and Dean seemed to have no recollection of it, themselves. Even Gail had almost forgotten, until now. And maybe that was just as well, considering what had ended up happening to her there.
"Sure, I have," Dean told her. He lowered his voice. "Cas sent me and Sammy back to the Old West, one time. Didn't we ever tell you that story?"
"No," she said, amazed.
"Oh, man, it's a good one, too," Dean enthused. "Remind me later."
"Have you ever ridden a horse?" Sam asked Cas.
Cas gave him a patient smile. "Of course I have. And a camel, and a donkey, and an elephant..."
"One mammal at a time, there, Big Guy. Let's go," Dean said.
But when they got to the place where the horses were, Gail looked up at the animals apprehensively. "I didn't know they'd be so...big," she said nervously. Either she'd been a lot taller as Guinevere, or the horses had been a lot smaller, back then.
"Here, let me help you," one of the activities coordinators said to her. He bent over beside one of the horses and cupped his hands together.
"He wants you to step on his hands," Cas said to her. He was petting his horse gently, preparing to step up into the saddle. "Then, he will boost you up, so that you can sit in the saddle." He'd initially been a little puzzled by her insistence that she'd never ridden a horse before, but Cas had just put it down to PTSD over having been burned at the stake in Camelot. And that was certainly understandable.
Oh. Okie-dokie. Gail stepped on the man's hands, and he lifted her up. She was trying to get her leg up and over the saddle, like she'd seen the men do, but..."I'm stuck," she said, embarrassed.
"Look at that! She's got T-Rex legs, too!" Dean exclaimed, laughing. "Hey, Sammy, get a picture, quick!"
Cas hopped down from his horse and rushed over to help her. Eventually, he and the activities coordinator were able to maneuver Gail's lower body so that she could sit upright on her horse. "Thank you, sweetie," she said in a subdued tone. How humiliating. And then it got even worse, when Cas returned to his horse and hoisted himself up into the saddle, as if it was nothing.
Sam and Dean were both laughing now. "You okay there, Annie Oakley?" Sam teased her.
"Et tu, Sam?" Gail said, raising an eyebrow.
"OK, so we're going to go for a ride around the eastern perimeter of the resort," the activities coordinator said, mounting his own horse. "Then we'll cut through the jungle path, go along the beach, and then come back here. Follow me."
The men started off, but Gail's horse just stood there. "Ummm...how do you start this thing?" she called out to them.
"Put the key in the ignition," Dean wisecracked.
"Nudge its ribs gently, with the heels of your feet," Cas told her over his shoulder, and she glared at his retreating back. "Maybe I could, if I was six feet tall like you guys are!" she exclaimed. "My feet don't even reach the stirrups!"
The activities coordinator halted his horse, turning it around to face hers. "Pull on the reins," he told her.
Oh. Okay. She did that, but nothing happened.
"Pull harder," he told her.
Gail did, and finally, her horse started to move. The others had waited for her, and Sam and Dean were still smirking. But there was nothing she could do about it, because she would have been, too, if the situation were reversed.
They rode along companionably for a while, and Gail started to relax. Her horse fell in step with the others, and she was feeling better about the whole thing now. But then, Sam's horse got a little too close to Gail's, and her horse suddenly reared up on its hind legs. She yelled, holding onto the reins for dear life.
Cas halted his horse immediately and jumped down, rushing over to Gail's horse. "Easy. Easy," he said to it, stroking its nose. "Have you got a carrot, or an apple?" he asked the activities coordinator. But the young man shook his head. "Then, maybe you should," Cas admonished him. "Perhaps he's just hungry." Cas looked at the horse. "You will be very calm," he said to it. "That's a very precious passenger you're carrying." He smiled up at Gail. "He should be fine, now. Are you all right, my darling?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, Cas. He just scared me there, for a minute," she replied.
Dean was laughing again. "Not exactly ready for the rodeo, are you?" he teased her.
Gail glared at him. She should just have Dean's horse attack him. See how he would like that. But, she had to give him his due: he was obviously a natural horse rider. Actually, all three of the guys were. Of course, Dean had always wanted to be a cowboy, Sam was gentle and patient, and Cas had his charming, animal-taming thing going on. He'd probably ridden the first horse that God had ever created, or something. But, horses made Gail nervous. They had big teeth, and they were just so...big. It was harder for someone of her diminutive size. She told the men this now, and Sam grinned. "I think that's why Napoleon became a General," he joked. "So he wouldn't have to ride a horse into battle anymore."
"Next time, we'll get you a pony," Dean chipped in. He was grinning, too. Oh, well. At least she was providing them with some cheap entertainment.
Their ride concluded without further incident, and Cas hurried to lift Gail down from her horse. Then the four of them walked back to the resort.
Gail was hanging onto Cas's arm. Her legs felt a little wobbly. Dean made a crack about not telling anyone it was her honeymoon, in case they misunderstood why she was walking funny, and she burst out laughing.
They went to the bar, and Dean ordered them all a drink. "Here's to the best damn holiday I've ever had," he said to the others, and they all clinked glasses. Even Cas had a drink. They were all laughing and teasing each other, having a great time, when Cas's cell phone rang. He excused himself and stepped away from the bar to take the call.
"Cas, it's Frank," Gail's brother said. "Do you have a second?"
"Sure, Frank," Cas said. "What is it? Is everything all right?"
There was a pause, and then Frank said, "Yeah, Cas. Fine. It's fine."
"All right," Cas said, puzzled. There was another odd silence, and then Cas prompted, "Not that I don't enjoy speaking with you, Frank, but...is there a purpose to your call?"
"Right. A purpose," Frank said, and then there was yet another pause. Then Cas heard him clear his throat and he said, "We had a visitor here, Cas. She said her name was Abigail. Gail's mother. But, she looked like she was Gail's age." There was a silence, and then Frank said, "Well, you know what I mean."
Cas let out a breath. "Obviously, she is still being provided with her so-called 'youth drink'." He felt a flash of anger. If the woman had been anyone else but Gail's biological mother, Cas would probably have been inclined to just torture her for Vincent's whereabouts. The one and only time that Cas and Gail had ever spoken to Abigail, the woman had been completely objectionable, to both of them. But, Vincent was obviously keeping her alive, for some reason.
"What did she want, Frank?" Cas asked his brother-in-law.
"She said she had a message for you guys," Frank replied. "She said you have to go to some bar in Bermuda, to meet a woman called Placida."
"Placida?" Cas repeated. Why did he know that name? Then, it dawned on him. That was the island woman who had introduced Vincent to the voodoo cult. His pulse started to race. Now, they were getting somewhere. "Where did she say we have to go?" Cas asked Frank.
"I'll text you the name and location," his brother-in-law responded. "How're you guys doing down there? Everything OK?"
"Yes, Frank," Cas answered him. "How about you? How is Jody? Did you ever find out what was going on with her?"
There was another, fairly lengthy pause. Cas's phone whistled, and he looked at the screen, telling Frank that he had just received his text.
Instead of answering Cas's question, Frank said, "That Abigail is sure a piece of work, isn't she? Tell Gail she didn't miss anything, there."
Cas was getting a strange feeling from Gail's brother now. There was something that Frank wasn't telling him. And there was a strange quality to his brother-in-law's voice, too. "Are you sure everything is all right, Frank?" Cas asked him now. "Are you under duress? Do you need me to come there?"
"No, Cas, it's fine," Frank replied. "Just, do me a favour. Kick Vincent's ass. If you get a chance to kill him, take it. No messing around. And if you find his stash of that stupid youth drink or whatever, dump it in the ocean. Let the fish regress to caviar. But, Abigail and Vincent? They've gotta go, Cas. They're pieces of crap."
Cas was a little bit surprised to hear Frank say that with regards to Abigail. Now he recognized the main tone of Gail's brother's voice. Frank was angry, but he was trying to control his temper. Cas could relate to that, and he could certainly understand. If Abigail had spoken to Frank as rudely as she'd spoken to Gail, it was no wonder that Frank was mad. But Cas was intuiting something else in Frank's voice now, too. Gail's brother was scared, for some reason. Cas tried to remember if he had ever seen Frank afraid, before.
"I've gotta go, Cas," Frank said. "Say hi to the guys, and give Gail a kiss from me." He cleared his throat again. "Come home safe, and come home soon." Then he hung up.
Cas stood there for a moment, wondering what to make of the phone call. Then, he looked at the text. The name of the bar was The Embarrassed Tiki. He knew that name, too. That was the name of the bar that they had read about in Oliver's journal, the place where Vincent had made the inquiries that had led him to the voodoo cult. So, Placida was willing to meet them there? Interesting. And, Abigail had gone to Frank's house to deliver the message. Were the women in Vincent's life conspiring against him? There would be a certain poetic justice in that, if that were the case. But what the hell did all of this have to do with Blackbeard's chest, and the urn?
Then, he noticed the date and time of the meeting. That was tonight! Cas hurried back to the bar area.
"You're just in time," Gail said, putting her hand on her husband's arm. "I told Dean if he made one more joke about my horseback riding skills, I was going to have you punch him."
"Excuse me," Cas said to the bartender. "Is there any way we can get from here to Bermuda in two hours?"
The man laughed. "Flap your arms, and fly."
Cas let out a frustrated breath. He supposed he and Gail could just pop the brothers over there, but he didn't want to just go in blind, in case it was a trap. No. Better to go the human way, because it was slower. That way, he could exercise caution, but he could still teleport the others out, if there was any sign of trouble. "Sam, can you call Zach immediately? Tell him it's an emergency."
Frank sat down heavily in his chair at the kitchen table. "OK. Message relayed. Now, let's go. Talk," he said to Jody.
"Do you want to not bark at me, please?" she said irritably.
He put his hand on hers. "I'm sorry, Babe, but that Abigail woman pissed me off. Imagine how it feels to have some whacko woman you've never met come to your house, and tell you your wife is sick."
"Yeah, that must really suck, for YOU," Jody said sarcastically.
"You know what I mean," Frank said to her. "Now, can you please tell me what's going on with you? It's been driving me nuts."
"So much so, that you coerce Cas into trying to read my mind?" she said bluntly. Then, she sighed. "I wasn't going to talk to you until there was something to talk ABOUT. I went to see Nelly. I told her about my headaches, and my nausea, and the fact that I forget things, sometimes. She said it's probably just because I'm middle-aged, and I have four kids in my house."
Frank smiled faintly, but he knew that his wife wasn't finished yet, so he waited patiently.
Jody sighed again. "But there's more to it than that, Frank. I know there is. I'm not just middle-aged forgetful. When Gail and I went clothes shopping before she left for the Caribbean, I couldn't even remember Nelly's name. We've been friends for decades now, and I couldn't even remember her name."
"So, what did she say?" Frank asked his wife.
"She said it could be a lot of things," Jody replied. "Then she asked me some questions, and shone one of those little lights into my eyes. Then, she told me she wants me to go for an MRI."
"When's the MRI?" Frank asked her, trying to stay calm.
"Tomorrow," Jody said shortly.
"I'm coming with you," Frank stated. "We'll get the boys to stay here with Angela."
"No. I don't want to say anything about this to them. You know how Rob is. He'll flip out," she said to her husband.
"He probably already knows," Frank said, but even as he said it, he realized that Rob had been having fewer psychic visions lately. Or fewer than he had wanted to share, anyway. As Rob grew older, he was becoming more and more reticent about that kind of thing. He and Eric still lived here in the wing that Cas had built for them, but they were grown men now, coming and going as they pleased. That was inevitable, Frank knew. But it still made him feel sad, in a way.
"I'll call Bobby, and find out if he can send Liz, or somebody," Jody told her husband. "But don't say anything to anybody about anything yet. Okay, Pookie?"
Frank grinned. It had been a while since she had called him that. "You know, it's too bad you weren't one of the guys," he said to her. "I have so many empty-headed MRI jokes, it's not even funny. Which is ironic, if you think about it. Oh, here's one: Who's the MRI technician? Sarah Bellam-y? Get it? Cerebellum?"
Jody rewarded him with a smile. "Actually, that wasn't bad, considering you just made that up on the spot," she told her husband. "By the way, how are the fearsome foursome doing?"
They were entering the Embarrassed Tiki in Bermuda now, a little jelly-legged, but none the worse for wear. Zach had come through for them once again, showing up to take them there at the last minute. Cas had pressed some money into his hand, insisting that he take it. After a moment, Zach did, joking that they could call him in the morning for the next island, if they weren't too hung over from where they were going now. Then he'd slapped Dean on the back and gotten back into the plane.
"You know what? Zach's growing on me," Dean had remarked. Then they'd taken the cab that Zach had radioed ahead for to the bar. And when they walked into the place, they were transported into an alternate world, albeit metaphorically.
4 - BERMUDA - DATE NIGHT
The Embarrassed Tiki was a small, hole-in-the-wall type of place, dimly lit, with tiki sculptures, flowered necklaces and bamboo predominantly featured as decor. It was empty at the moment save for a well-built black man, who was polishing glasses behind the bar.
Cas pulled out a chair next to the wall for Gail to sit in, and then he sat beside her. That was the way he always favoured sitting with her anyway, and this evening, it was as much about protection as it was about romance. Considering who they were about to meet, Cas thought it would be prudent to be in a position to shield Gail. Placida was a Voodoo Priestess, was she not? And they still weren't entirely sure what her intentions were, with regard to this meeting.
"I wonder why this place is called The Embarrassed Tiki," Dean commented idly, looking at the drinks menu.
"It is because our drinks are so strong that you may be embarrassed at what you do, after a few of them," Barnabas said. He was the man they had seen behind the bar, when they had first come in. He was standing by their table now, smiling at the quartet. "My name is Barnabas, and I am the owner of this establishment. What can I get for you?"
"What's in the Flaming Parrot?" Sam asked him.
"That drink is not for the faint of heart, or the weak of liver," Barnabas said with a smile.
"That sounds like a challenge," Dean said. "I'll have one of those."
"What's the 'secret mystery ingredient'?" Sam persisted.
"Why don't you try one, and we'll guess?" Dean said to his brother. "We'll have two," he told Barnabas.
"Excellent," the man said, smiling again. "Then, after a couple of those, we will see how embarrassed you will feel." He looked at Cas and Gail. "And how about the two of you? May I bring you one of our couples' drinks?"
"What's a couples' drink?" Gail asked him curiously.
"It is served in a large pukka shell, with two longer straws," Barnabas replied. "Several types of overproof rum, fruit juices, and dry ice. We light it on fire, and as the flames burn down, atmospheric smoke is released."
"You guys gotta have that," Dean enthused.
"Very well. Bring us one," Cas said absently. He was preoccupied, looking around the dark corners of the bar. Vincent had been in this very place, a number of years ago, looking to become a Voodoo Priest. He had spoken to this man Barnabas. Yet, Barnabas looked like a man in his 30s. Did he belong to the voodoo cult, as well?
Barnabas had frowned momentarily at Cas's tone, but he turned his back quickly on the four of them so that no one would notice his sudden change of expression. It was as Vincent had advised: this Angel thought that he was the Master of any domain that he walked into. Well, he would soon learn otherwise.
"If we're going to have overproof rum, we'd better have something to eat, too," Sam said to his brother, grabbing the food menu.
Dean looked over Sam's shoulder at the menu, and he grinned suddenly. "You've gotta be kidding me."
"What?" Sam asked him.
Dean pointed. "Pu-pu platter? Really? I bet it tastes like crap."
Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring Dean. But his brother went on: "I'd order that, but I'm afraid it might draw too many flies. I wonder if they make you eat it in the bathroom."
"Oh my God, Dean. You're the most immature guy I've ever met," Gail said, shaking her head slowly.
"You've actually met your brother, right?" he retorted.
Gail opened her mouth, then closed it again. She had to admit, he kind of had a point, there.
"I think I want to go wash my hands," Gail said suddenly. She had grabbed a drinks menu to read out of sheer curiosity, but it was sticky to the touch. She was reminded of her Uncle Andy's house.
Cas stood, partly out of habit and partly to let her by. His eyes followed her to the back of the bar, where the restrooms were. He sent her a message over their frequency to call him immediately if she encountered any trouble, and she said that she would. But before they had left the resort in Jamaica, they had all grabbed a weapon, and so she had her Angel blade in the pocket of her pants. Cas was taking no chances.
But when Gail got to the two doors for the Mens' and Ladies' washrooms, she stopped short, puzzling over them. There was a Tiki on each of the doors, but which Tiki was which? One of the Tikis was longer, with a bigger nose, so she gambled and went in the other one.
Phew. It was the right one. She washed her hands, starting to laugh. She should really be writing these things down. Jody and Liz would get a kick out of the dilemma she'd had a minute ago, Gail was sure. She wondered idly how Jody was doing. Cas had told her during the flight here that Frank had advised that everyone was fine, but Cas didn't share his sense of foreboding with his wife. She had been having a wonderful time, and there was no sense alarming her for no reason.
Gail dried her hands, glancing at herself in the mirror. With some surprise, she noticed that she looked a little tanned. Though not nearly as tanned as Cas, of course. How in the heck did he DO that? Still, it was nice to see that she had a little colour. As a person who disliked the heat as much as she did, and an Angel who had spent so much time in Heaven up until just recently, Gail never really got much colour on her skin.
When she got back to their table, Gail saw that the drinks had arrived. As Cas stood up to let her back in, a young couple came into the bar and they sat down at the two-seater table next to the Winchesters and the Angels.
Cas scrutinized their faces. He doubted the girl was Placida. Her skin was more brown than black, and even though everyone associated with the voodoo cult seemed inordinately youthful, this girl looked like she was in her early 20s. The man was a white man, with a sandy beard.
"Hey, how're you doing?" the man said, extending his hand to Cas for a shake. "I'm MacKenzie, and this is Reema. We're from Canada. Where are you guys from?"
The four of them introduced themselves, and suddenly, Cas and Gail's drink started to smoke. They had barely touched it, but the flame had burned down now, activating the dry ice.
"Cool," MacKenzie said. "We've gotta get one of those."
"Reema," Cas remarked. "That's an unusual name."
"It means 'white antelope'," the young girl said. She smiled. "Mac and I are on our first date. We were staying at different resorts, and we got bored. So I got out my cell phone, swiped right, and here we are."
"'Swiped right'?" Cas asked, puzzled. He looked uncertainly at the Winchesters. "Is that a slang expression that I am unfamiliar with?"
"They met on Tinder, Cas," Sam explained patiently. "It's a dating app."
"Oh." Cas thought about that for a minute. He looked at the young couple. "Can people really fall in love that way?"
"Whoa, eh? Eh, whoa," Mac said quickly, holding his hands up. "Who said anything about falling in love? We just met, dude!"
"Cas," Dean said under his breath. "Cas!" He kicked his friend's leg under the table.
"Yes, Dean?"
"They're probably just gonna hook up," Dean said in a low voice.
Cas looked at him blankly. 'Hook up'? Oh. Right. That expression, he was familiar with. He didn't understand the concept, though. He took Gail's hand, giving it a tender kiss. Imagine being intimate with each other, and then never seeing each other again. It was unfathomable to him.
The young people were staring at Cas now. What a weird guy. Mac nudged Reema with his foot under the table. "I think we should totally skull our drinks, and get out of here," Mac said to his date, and she nodded.
"'Skull your drinks'?" Dean said, his forehead wrinkling. "OK, I've never heard that one before."
"I made it up," Mac said affably. "I'm trying to make it a 'thing'. My claim to fame, you know?"
Dean rolled his eyes. Yeah, OK. Whatever. People in their 20s were like a different species.
A quick drink later, Mac and Reema got up and left the bar, hand in hand. Cas stared after them. Tinder, eh? Strange.
"Skull their drinks," Dean scoffed. "What a stupid thing to say."
Sam was thinking now, and his mind was free-associating. He was pondering the legend of Blackbeard's skull, now. It wouldn't surprise him one bit to discover that, not only did it exist, but it was probably sitting around in a place like this, being used for decoration.
The door to the bar opened, and a beautiful and statuesque black woman walked in, accompanied by another, younger, even more beautiful black woman.
"Bring us the usual, Barnabas," Placida called out. She headed straight for the quartet's table, pulling up a chair beside Cas. The young woman she was with did likewise, sitting beside Dean.
Placida eyed the four of them. She hadn't expected the men to be so tall, and so handsome. She nodded at Gail approvingly. Vincent's daughter was just a little slip of a thing, but Placida could feel the power emanating from her. This was obviously Castiel, sitting beside Gail. He stared back at Placida, unblinking and on high alert. She put her hand on his arm, giving it a playful squeeze. "I suppose goodness has its good points, if the Angels look like you do."
The woman sitting beside Dean was appreciating her own view. She put her hand on Dean's thigh, and his eyes widened.
Cas moved his arm away from underneath Placida's hand as Barnabas brought the ladies their drinks. Then the proprietor moved to the front door of the bar and locked it, and then he walked to the rear of the bar and vanished from their sight.
"I am Placida, and that is my daughter, Blaise," the woman sitting beside Cas said.
"Your daughter?" Dean blurted out, and Placida smiled.
"Yes," she responded. "Isn't she beautiful?"
"You're Vincent's daughter?" Gail said to Blaise, but the young woman laughed.
"No," she answered sassily. "Phineas is my father." Her hand slid further up Dean's thigh, making him squirm. "But, Vincent is my father, too. Papa Legba. He is the sun, and the moon, and the stars. He is an excellent lover, too," she added, giving Dean's thigh a squeeze.
Yikes. Dean's mind was processing what Blaise was saying. Phineas? Wait a minute. Wasn't he that snake guy? He grabbed Blaise by the wrist, removing her hand from his leg. She smiled again.
"I like this one, Mother. He's handsome," Blaise said, nodding her head towards Dean. "Can I keep him?"
"I'm sorry, my child, but the answer is no," Placida said calmly. "Papa still needs him."
Blaise pouted, but she moved her chair uncomfortably close to Dean's now, and she moved her body close to his, too.
"Look, Squeaky," Dean said angrily. "I don't know what you think's going on here, but I don't go in for any of that weird voodoo crap. We're here to find Vincent, and take him down."
Both of the women laughed. "That will be quite impossible, I assure you," Placida stated.
"He is the One True Being, and he is immortal," Blaise rhapsodized.
"I only wish that our son felt the same way," Placida sighed. "I can see by the confused looks on your faces that you thought it was Blaise whom Vincent and I conceived in the Secret Cove that day. But, no. We had a son. He was the First. He has turned his back on his heritage. Many people accuse me of being heartless, but he surely broke my heart when he left us and our ways to join a Christian church, of all things. He is one of yours now, Castiel. A mealy-mouthed, hymn-singing, Holy-rolling Baptist. Imagine my shame."
"What is the purpose of this meeting?" Cas said angrily. "We were under the impression that you were coming here to tell us where Vincent is."
Both Placida and Blaise laughed again. "Now, why on earth would I do that?" Placida said.
"Because Abigail told us you were going to meet us here!" Gail blurted out, exasperated.
"Ohhhh. Abigail. Well, that explains it," Placida said with amusement. "She has always been jealous of me, and my relationship with Vincent. She obviously used her psychic abilities to intuit my curiosity about you, and she was hoping that you would kill me."
"Give me one reason we shouldn't," Cas growled.
"Vincent wasn't exaggerating about you, I see," Placida said pleasantly. "I really can't give you a good reason. Well, not with your wife sitting right here, anyway. It's a shame Vincent wants her kept alive. Otherwise, my daughter and I could kill her, and then we could show you men a really good time." She laughed once more. "And now, Blaise and I will take our leave, before the weapons come out."
She took a handful of powder out of her pocket, and threw it on the table. A huge wall of flames rose out of nowhere, forcing the quartet to back away. A moment later, when the flames went out, the women were gone.
They all sat there in silence for a moment, and then Gail exclaimed, "What the hell was the point of that?"
Dean was wondering that too, but he was feeling the effects of his Parrot drink now, so he grinned. "Wow, Gail. I thought you were gonna kick her ass, when she got close to Cas like that. Go all 'Krav Macaw' on her."
"What?" Gail said, puzzled.
"You know, the ancient art of fighting," Dean replied, taking another drink. "Kerav Macaw."
"Macaw?" Sam said, bemused.
"Yeah," Dean insisted. "You know. The Martial Art."
"I think that's your Parrot talking," Sam said, gesturing to Dean's drink. "Cause I'm pretty sure that a macaw is a type of parrot."
"Oh, well, if it's puns you're after, toucan play at that game," Gail quipped. She blessed the brothers for distracting her like this, giving her the chance to calm down after what they'd just experienced.
Cas was seething. Gail was quite right: What HAD the point of that been? Just more games? And if so, who was playing them?
Suddenly, they heard a strange sound, one they couldn't quite figure out. Dean looked down at the floor, and he was startled to see a bright white skull, rolling towards their table. He stopped it with his foot, relieved to note that it was merely one of the ceramic decorations they'd noticed around the bar. It must have fallen from a high shelf, or something. He picked it up, and a note fell out of it.
"'Go to Trinidad and Tobago, Dean Winchester'," Dean read aloud. "'There, you will find what you have been looking for. Treasure is everywhere, if you know where to look for it.'"
Dean looked up from the note at the others. "Treasure?!" he exclaimed. "Now we're talking!"
"We're not here to look for treasure, Dean," Cas admonished him.
"Says here we'll find what we've been looking for," Dean pointed out.
Cas was skeptical. "What do you think, my love?" he asked Gail.
She sighed. "Truthfully? I don't even know any more, Cas. I don't even know, any more."
They flew to Trinidad and Tobago the next day in Zach's plane. And they never saw the young pilot again.
5 - TRINIDAD AND TOBAGO - NO WOMAN, NO CRY
All four of them were out of sorts when they got to their next destination, Dean most of all. He was wondering why the hell that note had referred to him specifically. It was Gail's crazy-ass father that they had come here to find, and all the previous notes had been addressed and delivered to Cas.
That note had said that he would find what he was looking for here. But, what WAS he looking for, exactly? Pirate treasure? Yeah, okay, that'd be pretty cool. What guy wouldn't want to find that? But there was something else he wanted just as much, if not more. And he hadn't talked to anyone about it, not even Sam.
Dean sat poolside at this new resort, pounding back the drinks. Their night out at The Embarrassed Tiki had been cut short, and they'd had Zach fly them here that same night. But now, they were stalled again. None of them had any idea what to do next.
But Dean did. He was on holiday, and he was overdue. He'd started with beer, but now, he was on the rum and cola.
"I'll just 'skull' a few of these drinks, and then I'll do...something," Dean murmured, smirking briefly.
Everything was quiet poolside right now. There was music being played at the bar, and usually it was hard to make out, because there was so much noise at these types of places. But Dean could hear the song very clearly now. He'd never heard it before, because it wasn't the kind of music he would normally listen to. Some song about a woman who didn't want to be tied down to one man. Funny, it was usually the other way around. Or maybe it wasn't so funny at all.
The day before the four of them had left for the Caribbean, while Gail had been clothes shopping with Jody, Dean had gotten Cas to take him to Nicole's place to say goodbye to her.
He had apologized, saying he hoped she wasn't too mad at him for leaving town again. He had been wanting to spend more time with her before she went traipsing around the world again, working on the next movie. But, something was always coming up.
"That's OK, Dean," she'd said coolly. "You've gotta do what you've gotta do. Just the same as I've gotta do what I've gotta do."
He had looked at her curiously. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," she'd said shortly. "It means nothing."
"Are you mad at me?" Dean asked her.
"Why would you say that, Dean? Just because you left the party at Cas and Gail's place without telling me? Because Bobby had to assign one of the Angels to take me home? Now why should that make me mad?" she said sarcastically. "Why did you leave so suddenly, Dean?"
Because I was ditching a dead man's car, to cover up his murder. "I can't really tell you that," he told her.
"Why does that not surprise me?" Nicole said, tight-lipped. "Just like you guys didn't tell me that Gail had brought you back to life, until three days later."
OK, she was right, but: "I thought you forgave me for that," he said.
"And when were you going to tell me that you were in jail for murder, or that you had been convicted for it?" she said angrily.
Dean's heart sank. Oh, geez. "How did you find out about that?"
"Does it matter?" she countered. "Shouldn't I have found out about it from you? Or from Sam, at the very least? See, this is the problem, Dean. You keep saying that you want us to be closer, but yet, you keep those kinds of things from me. I'm not saying I need to know every little detail about your life, but those are BIG details, Dean! If I hadn't been around at the time, would you even have told me that you and Gail were married for six months?"
"OK, now you're just being ridiculous," Dean remarked.
Nicole glared at him. "I know you haven't been in many relationships, Dean, so let me clue you in: never, ever tell a woman that the way she feels is ridiculous. Even if you think it, you should never say it out loud." There was silence for a minute, and then she said in a calmer tone, "OK, maybe that last one WAS a little ridiculous," Nicole admitted. "But you can see my point, right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I can," Dean acknowledged. "I'll tell you what: how about we have a real conversation when I get back from the Caribbean?"
"What do you mean?" Nicole asked him.
"I mean...how about we talk about a more permanent arrangement?" Dean blurted out. "I hate all these separations. I want us to be together."
Nicole smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Then can you do me a favour, Dean? Answer this question honestly, and then we can talk about that: What really happened when I came to visit you in the bunker, right before we went to Quinn's place? How come I was apparently there for hours, yet I have no recollection of having been there? How come?"
Crap. Double crap. He really didn't want to tell her about that. As it was, it was a miracle that Dean had been able to get past it. But if he lied to her about it now and she found out about it somehow, like she'd found out about his conviction for murder, Dean was pretty sure that they would be over. So he took a deep breath, bit the bullet, and told her about Ammit's possession of her.
Nicole stood there, open-mouthed. Now, it all made sense. One minute she'd been in her apartment, packing to go location-scouting, and the next, she'd apparently changed her mind, and gone to the bunker. Suddenly, she remembered a dark-haired woman who'd knocked on her door, saying she had a delivery. But then, when Nicole had opened the door, everything had gone black.
This was unbelievable. "So, this - Demon Goddess, you called her? - she was in my body that whole time, when you and I were - " She couldn't even finish the sentence.
"Yeah," Dean said uncomfortably. "But, I didn't know about it. I swear."
"Oh, so you just thought that Demon slut was me," Nicole said sarcastically.
Nope. No way. There was no way Dean was about to open his mouth. No matter how he responded to that, he was screwed.
"OK, you can leave, now," Nicole had said angrily. "Go to the Caribbean. You go your way, and I'll go mine. The next time I feel like having wild Demon sex, I'll let you know."
So Nicole had kicked Dean out of her place, and he'd had to call Cas from the street corner to come and pick him up. Cas had shown up right away, looking at him quizzically.
"I don't want to talk about it," was all that Dean had said to his friend, and mercifully, Cas had left it alone.
But now, as Dean sat morosely, drowning his sorrows, he wondered if he'd just been trying to force the issue. Nicole had never indicated that she'd needed, or even wanted, a commitment from him. One of the things he'd always liked about her was that she liked her freedom and independence. They'd never discussed being exclusive to each other because they'd never really found themselves in that position. But, whose fault was that? Was it hers, because she never seemed to stay in one place for long enough for them to have that conversation? Or, was it his fault, because he had hidden so much from her that he had made it impossible for her to trust him?
"Dean?" It was Cas. "Dean, are you all right?"
Dean sighed, putting his glass down on the table. "Yeah. What's up, Cas?"
"I was walking through the lobby, and the clerk at the front desk told me to tell you that you have a message in your mail slot," Cas told him.
Dean sighed again. He wasn't even surprised. "Let's find out where we're supposed to go next, then," he said, resigned, standing from his chair.
"'Treasure can be yours, if you go to Pebble Beach'," Dean read aloud. "'See Captain Beaumont, and set sail for the Dominican Republic. Happy hunting'."
6 - DOMINICAN REPUBLIC - NIGHT MOVES
Ken Beaumont had gone to the Dominican Republic a decade or so ago with his wife on a holiday, in a last-ditch attempt to save their marriage. She was always whining about him working long hours. She got bored sitting at home all day, with nothing to do. It was damn annoying. The whole reason he worked so hard was so that they could be in a financial position that would allow her to stay at home all day. In Ken's father's day, a man was a failure if his wife had to work outside the home. He'd also been trying to build up a nest egg for their retirement. Or more accurately, his, since Debbie didn't do anything to retire FROM. They'd never had kids, so there would be plenty of money to live on. But she'd finally talked him into spending some of it on a vacation to the Dominican, and it had been a real eye-opener for Beaumont. He couldn't believe that people actually lived that way. Life moved at a much slower pace on the island. A "Dominican minute" meant that whatever you had been waiting for would happen when it happened, and not a moment sooner. The tides went in and out, people came and went, and life went on at its own leisurely pace.
It had been a revelation to Ken. Who the hell needed the stress of the fast-paced rat race? He'd announced to Debbie that he was going to quit his job and live in the Dominican, and she'd announced to him that she wanted a divorce.
A decade later, Ken had gotten his captain's certification, and he now owned a boat called Ex Marks The Spot. The name worked on a couple of different levels. He hired out his boat and his sailing expertise to tourists who were interested in finding buried treasure, left behind by pirates. Not that there was any, of course, but that didn't stop people from believing the legends. And the boat was all that he had left, after Debbie and her divorce lawyer got done raking him over the coals. Still, Ken was content. He loved the sea, and the Dominican lifestyle.
He'd even met a legend. A few days prior, Papa Legba himself had come onto Ken's boat and paid the Captain handsomely not to take any other charters until the four people that Vincent was describing came to see him. When they did, Ken was to take them back to the Dominican on his boat, from Pebble Beach in Trinidad. So Ken had been waiting there as instructed, because Papa had paid him extremely well, and because the Voodoo Priest was nobody to mess around with. His legend preceded him. People all over the Caribbean talked about him in hushed tones. He was everywhere, and he was nowhere. He caused tropical storms to arise out of nothing, sinking ships, and destroying homes. If you had his favour, you and your loved ones would prosper, in every aspect of life. But if you got on his wrong side, his wrath was fearsome to behold.
Ken had always thought the rhetoric was a bit much, but when Papa Legba introduced himself with that dark grin of his, suddenly the Captain wasn't so sure. Why take chances? He had a good enough life, and he wanted to keep it that way. So he was properly deferential to Vincent, assuring him that he would transport the foursome safely to the Dominican, and then, to their final destination.
Vincent had giggled briefly when he'd taken his leave of the Captain. Just one more day of fun for the four of them, and then, it would be down to business. He could just picture Dean Winchester's face falling as he realized that there was no pirate treasure. Well, not for him, anyway. It was Vincent who would be receiving the treasure, in the form of Blackbeard's chest, and the contents therein. As for Dean, well, that was just too bad. But Vincent had left instructions at the resort that Captain Ken was to tell them to go to upon their arrival, for them to attend a night game at a Dominican baseball stadium. And a diamond was a sort of treasure, wasn't it?
Vincent giggled again, then disappeared in a puff of black smoke.
So Captain Beaumont had delivered them safely to the Dominican Republic as promised, giving them his business card and telling them they were to stay at the designated resort, and attend the baseball game that night.
Cas had been livid. Admittedly, he and Gail had been having a lovely honeymoon, but he was not accustomed to being led around by the nose like this. But Dean had grown complacent, Sam was still doing his research, and Gail was a baseball fan. And, really, hadn't Cas known all along that the endgame was just around the corner? But meanwhile, this break had been good for him, too. A chance to rest and recharge his batteries before the battle began. So Cas had agreed to one more day of following their mysterious instructions. Just one more day. But if a genuine goal was not in the offing tomorrow, he'd told the others, he was taking them all home.
Gail agreed, although a part of her would be very reluctant to let go. She too had suffered from bouts of anger and frustration here in the islands, but she'd also had a lot of fun in the Caribbean. Travelling with Sam and Dean was never dull, and she and Cas had never been closer. They'd come to the Caribbean nearly a week ago, on edge and ready for a fight. But now they were happy, tanned, and relaxed. This was truly what a vacation was supposed to be all about. She blessed their mystery benefactor for the calm before the storm.
They piled onto the rickety old school bus that was parked in front of the resort to take them to the ballgame, and the bus driver went up and down the aisle, counting heads. Then he went to the back of the bus, grabbed a box that was sitting on the floor, and proceeded to pass out bottles of rum to everyone on board.
"Oh, great. More rum. Because we haven't had enough of that yet, apparently," Sam said dryly.
"Oh, great! More rum!" Dean enthused. "Because we haven't had enough, yet!" He cracked his bottle open and looked across the aisle at Cas and Gail. "Bottoms up, Mrs. Buzzkill."
Gail looked at him, then at her bottle of rum. Why not? If tonight was going to be her last night of frivolity, why the hell not? She took a swig. Yikes.
"Oh, look. The driver's drinking, too. Fantastic," Sam said sarcastically. The bus took off with a jerk, and Sam opened his bottle and took a healthy swallow. Well, at least if they were gonna die in a fiery crash, it might not be as painful this way.
Cas didn't drink, but he was looking pensively out the window as the bus proceeded through the jungle roads. They came upon a small village of modest houses, with clotheslines hanging outside and children playing in the dirt, in the yards. What would life be like for those children, growing up here? Cas wondered. Presumably, they went to school somewhere in the town. Would they grow up happy with their lot in life, or would they aspire for better? Would they grow to resent the faces of the tourists, most of whom were white, who passed through their village looking at the people who lived there as if they were objects of pity? WERE they?
Darkness began to fall a short while after they'd left, and soon, they saw the baseball stadium. The building was a huge outdoor grandstand, with towers of bright lights illuminating the night.
"Wow," Gail marveled in a quiet voice. "I knew they loved baseball here, but I had no idea the place would be this big. It's like Yankee Stadium, almost."
The bus driver handed out tickets to everyone as they disembarked from the bus, and the four of them found their section and their seats fairly easily. Their view of the field was excellent. Apparently, the game was already in progress, because there was a batter up, and a runner on base. Gail looked at the scoreboard on the outfield fence, but there were no numbers posted on it, although there was a man sitting in a lawn chair right beside it. Maybe it was only the first inning, then. There were spaces for the count, and the number of outs, but perhaps the scoreboard man had decided that it was too hot to keep getting up and down for everything. Incredibly, there was a live chicken in his lap, and upon closer inspection, he appeared to be plucking it leisurely. Maybe that was how he kept track of the balls and strikes, she thought with amusement.
Crack! The batter hit the ball, but the shortstop for the opposing team vacuumed it up and stepped on second base, then fired it to first to complete a crisp double play. Suddenly, a group of men with brass instruments arose a little further up in the stands and started to play triumphantly. Now, Gail had a pretty good idea of who the home team was.
"I wonder if we can get some hot dogs over here," Dean said, looking around. He saw a vendor, and whistled. "Hey, Buddy! Over here!"
The man came over carrying a box, and he leaned it against the arm of the aisle seat. "Drink?" he asked Dean.
"Do you have any cold beer?" Dean said optimistically. "Cerveza?"
The vendor smiled. "No cerveza. Rum." He started passing out mickeys of rum to the four of them, one each, even though they hadn't asked. Then he handed Dean two cans of warm cola. "You share," he instructed them. Then he started to walk away, and Dean called out, "Don't you want any money?"
The vendor turned briefly around, shaking his head. "Playoffs," he said, as if that explained everything. Then, he was gone.
A few minutes later, another man came around, holding big wooden sticks with meat hanging off them. "Hot dogs?" Dean asked the vendor hopefully, but he was pretty sure he already knew the answer. The man shook his head, handing out the meat kebabs. "Try. It's good," he told them. Then he too walked away, leaving them to hold the sticks.
"I wonder what kind of meat that is," Gail speculated, giving hers a cautious sniff.
"I don't know, but have you noticed that there didn't seem to be any dogs in town?" Sam joked.
Cas smelled his. "I believe it's a mixture. Beef, lamb, and - " he sniffed again " - a little bit of goat, and..."
"There you go, Dean. The shepherd has spoken," Gail said good-naturedly.
"Huh?" Dean swallowed, then licked his fingers. His stick had already been consumed. "What?" he asked them. "The guy was right. It's good."
"Well, I'm glad you like it, 'cause here comes mine," Gail said, passing her stick to Sam to pass to Dean. She looked at Cas. He sniffed at his again, picked a piece of meat off, and chewed it slowly. Then he nodded. "Just as I suspected. A little alpaca, as well." Then he passed the stick to Gail to pass to Sam to pass to Dean, who was looking at the meat uncertainly now. Alpaca? Ah, what the hell. It was still good. He dug in.
But now, Gail had meat juices all over her hands. What the heck was going on lately? It felt like she was one of those germophobes who was always having to wash her hands. Stupid Andy and his stupid messy, sticky house. She excused herself, telling Cas she was going to find the ladies' washroom. He gave her the standard spiel about calling him on their frequency if she needed his assistance. She walked down the concrete steps and into the stadium building.
She found the ladies' washroom with no trouble, and as she walked in, a woman who was sitting by the door extended something for her to take. She peered at what the woman was holding, her eyes widening. It was a single square of one-ply toilet paper. Okie-dokie. Gail shook her head, saying she was just there to wash her hands, and the woman smiled at her. She wasn't sure if the employee had understood her or not, so she gestured with her hands, and then proceeded to the sink. Yikes. It was a good thing she didn't have to go to the washroom any more. One tiny square, with all the rum and meat they were plying here? How did humans DO it? She glanced at the door again, and then, she got it. As women were coming in, they were handing the attendant money, and she was giving out additional squares. Ohhh.
She washed her hands, and then looked around for something to dry them with. Uh-oh. Sure enough, here came another attendant, extending a square of paper towel. Gail looked at her sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I don't have any money," she said to the woman. The employee frowned, then yoinked the paper towel back from Gail's outstretched hand and walked away. Oh, well. They would air-dry in this heat, Gail thought, resigned.
The rest of the game followed fairly uneventfully. The sights and smells and excitement about hits and runs scored combined to make for a fun evening. They piled back onto the bus afterwards, carrying their bottles of rum with them, and astonishingly, the driver handed out more bottles before they got underway. Sam joked nervously that it must be to fortify them for the ride back in the dark, along the winding mountain roads.
But they got back to the hotel without mishap, and Cas inquired at the Front Desk, but there was no note there for any of them. "If we do not have any sort of a definitive goal tomorrow, we will go home," Cas told the group. "Agreed?"
"Yeah," Dean said, yawning and patting his stomach. "It's been great, but I think it's time to go home. I miss cold beer, and cheeseburgers."
They said goodnight, and retreated to their separate rooms. This particular resort was set up as one big bungalow, and it just so happened that their rooms were situated in the back, across a courtyard from each other. Once Cas and Gail got to their room, she moved instantly to open the sliding glass door, to get a little night air into the room. But she left the screen door closed, to keep the bugs out.
"It's kind of nice outside, but it feels really hot and stuffy in here," she remarked.
"Would you like me to go down to the hallway and get us some ice?" Cas offered, and she turned around to look at him, smiling. "That might be a good idea," she told her husband.
Cas grabbed the ice bucket and went back down the hallway, leaving the door to their room slightly ajar. Gail stretched languorously, sighing with contentment. This had been a wonderful holiday, and a very romantic honeymoon.
She sat down on the bed. When Cas got back, she was going to have a shower and change into a nightshirt. She was just starting to get excited, anticipating another romantic evening together, when she felt something drop onto her head. She jumped up, letting out a scream as a medium-sized lizard fell to the floor. It sat there stuporously, looking at her. She looked up above the bed wildly, wondering where the hell it had come from. The ceiling? The wall, above the pillows? Yikes!
The sliding screen door opened abruptly, and Sam and Dean came bursting in, guns in hand. Then, at the same moment, Cas popped in. He'd heard Gail scream too as he'd been coming down the hallway, and he'd dropped the ice bucket and winked himself to their room immediately.
Now, she was embarrassed. "What the hell, Gail?!" Dean exclaimed, looking around the room. "Why'd you scream?"
"We thought Vincent was here, or something!" Sam added.
"I'm sorry, you guys," Gail apologized to the men. She pointed to the lizard, which was still sitting on the floor. Even though three grown men had just burst in here, shouting, the stupid thing just sat there, looking at her. Was it mentally challenged, or was it plotting its revenge?
"Geez, Gail," Dean grumbled, sinking down to sit on the end of the bed. He lowered his gun. "Over a little lizard? Didn't you have hundreds of dead frogs in your room, when we were in Egypt?"
"Yeah, and it was gross!" she retorted. "I had to make an emergency call to Frank and Jody to come and shovel them out of there, before I could even get out of my bed! That thing was on my HEAD, Dean!" she said disgustedly. "Besides, shut up, Dean. You have a 'thing' about snakes, so you're being a hypocrite."
"Yeah, well, that's different," he protested. "A little lizard's not gonna hurt you."
"You know that lizards are just snakes with legs, right?" she said pointedly.
Dean looked at her, startled by the notion. Then he looked suspiciously at the lizard. Cas had bent down to pick it up off the floor. Now that he knew Gail was all right, Cas was faintly amused. He could only imagine the fright she had received, though. His poor wife was squeamish when it came to things like that.
Suddenly, the lizard stuck its tongue out at Dean, and Gail laughed. The timing was just too funny, as was the look on Dean's face. Then she laughed even harder when Dean stuck his own tongue back out at the lizard. They went back and forth like that a few more times, and then Gail rolled her eyes. "Obviously, there's a real battle of wits shaping up, here," she quipped.
"Yeah, and it could be a real standoff too, since the lizard and Dean have about the same IQ," Sam said dryly.
Cas was speaking softly to the lizard now, telling it that he was going to release it outside, and to please tell all of its little lizard friends not to come into their room any more.
"Yeah, tell them all to go into the room across the courtyard," Gail piped up, pointing. Dean glared at her. "What? They're just little lizards, Dean. They won't hurt you. Right?" she said sassily. "So, when you turn the lights off tonight and drift off to sleep, and you feel one or ten lizards plop onto your face from the ceiling, just remember that they won't hurt you."
Dean did a double-take, and then he made a sour face. "Next time, Sammy and I will just stay put, and let the bad guys get you," he told her, and he and Sam went back outside. Cas followed, thanking them for their quick response. He released the lizard into the garden area, then closed and locked the sliding door once he was back in the room.
"I'm sorry, Cas," Gail told him. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"I know, my love," he said gently. He walked over to where she stood, and touched her cheek. "I will always protect you against intruders, be they reptilian, or otherwise."
He was being too cute. "I'm going to take my shower, now," she said, "and when I come out, maybe we'll send you to get some more ice."
Cas smiled slowly. "I think I would be very happy to do that." He kissed her on the mouth, teasing her with his tongue. "Very happy, indeed."
7 - ST. VINCENT - PUPPET MASTER
Dean was hung over and cranky the next morning. When he and Sam had gotten back to their room after the Great Lizard Scare, Dean had made the mistake of throwing on his shirt and telling Sam that he was going to the bar for Last Call. But as it turned out, Last Call in the Dominican was apparently as flexible as their scheduling, and he'd stumbled back to their room in the wee hours, falling onto his bed fully clothed. But Sam had gone to sleep at a reasonable hour, and Dean's younger brother had been up at the crack of dawn, wanting to get in one more swim at the beach before they had to leave.
Cas and Gail came to the table where Dean was sitting, trying to stomach his morning coffee. "There was a note at the Front Desk for me this morning, and I think this is finally what we've been looking for, all along," Cas told their friend. "Where is Sam?"
"He's getting dressed, in our room," Dean said quietly. "He went to the beach first thing this morning, if you can believe that." He sighed. "What's today's note say?"
"It says that the beach with the black sands is on the island of St. Vincent," Cas told him, frowning.
"You've gotta be kidding me," Dean said, and Gail was nodding. "That's one reason we think it's legit," she said. "Only my dear old dad would have the nerve to hole up in a place so ironically named."
Sam arrived at the table with a cup of coffee in hand. The Angels told him about the note, and he started checking his phone immediately. A moment later, he made a face. "Boy, am I stupid," the younger Winchester moaned.
"Can we get that in writing?" Dean said irascibly.
Sam ignored him. "St. Vincent is a volcanic island!" he exclaimed earnestly. "They have an active volcano there, called La Soufriere."
"Sulphur Outlet," Cas translated. "What has that got to do with it, Sam?"
"It says here that the volcano hasn't erupted since 1979, but when it did, and the ashes cooled, the eruption turned the sand at about 95 percent of the beaches on the island black," Sam replied. "I should have thought of that."
"Geez, I know you're smart, but you're not a walking encyclopedia," Gail remarked. "Give yourself a break, Sam. Besides, we had a great time this week. Some of us greater than others, apparently," she teased Dean, nudging him. He moaned in response.
"Cheer up, Dean," Sam said. "One of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies was partially filmed where we're going."
"Arrrr you ready to go, then?" Gail joked, trying to get a smile out of the elder Winchester. But all he did was moan again.
"I have already called Captain Beaumont, and he told me that he will take us to St. Vincent," Cas said to the brothers. "If you will pack up your things, Gail has agreed to take our belongings to the boat, while the three of us go to the bunker to get the chest. I will then pop us over to where the boat is moored, and then we will stow the chest below decks until we get there." He looked at Dean. "Will you be all right?"
"Yeah, Cas," Dean replied. "It's fine. I'll be fine. Lock and load. Just give me a couple of minutes to pack, and throw up, and I'll be right with you."
"You should take better care of yourself, dude," Sam admonished his brother, rising from his chair.
"What do you want from me? I've been drinking fruit juice all week!" Dean groused. He got to his feet, clutched at his head, and took another sip of coffee. Then the brothers left to go to their room, still arguing as they walked away.
Vincent was excited. Today was the day that he was finally going to receive what he needed. And the delicious irony was that it was Castiel who was bringing it to him.
It had been a simple matter, really. Vincent had spoon-fed the instructions for the alleged location spell to Abigail through Placida, who had sent out strong messages for Gail's mother to receive. Placida had told Abigail, by telepathic means, that if the Winchesters and the Angels got the chest and put the bones of Vincent's brothers in an urn, together with his daughter's blood, and dropped the chest in the ocean at the black sands beach, the chest would lead them to Vincent. And she'd been telling the truth, in a manner of speaking. Then he'd told Placida to tell Abigail to tell Andy about it, and then he had sat back and watched the puppets dance.
There had been no need for them to see either Andy or Oliver, or to get their bones, and there had been no need for Gail to bleed. Absolutely none. There had also been no need for the quartet to visit all those other islands. Vincent had created all of that out of whole cloth, as a smokescreen for what he was really interested in: the chest, or more specifically, the item that was nestled in the false bottom of the chest. But when he was concocting the hoops for them to jump through, Vincent had thought that it couldn't hurt to have the bones and the blood for any future spells he might want to cast. Many voodoo rituals required such things as their ingredients, and one never knew when they could come in handy. But the rest had been pure fabrication. It amused Vincent to have them dance to his tune. Particularly Castiel, who at last report was just as arrogant as ever. And Vincent had magnanimously decided that he kind of owed his daughter a bit of fun, after that whole compound thing. Never let it be said that he didn't have a heart, Vincent thought with dark amusement. Besides, once her father got his hands on the Book of the Dead, Gail's life was going to be a living hell, if she insisted on continuing to play for Team Pious. So she might as well have a little fun now, while she still could.
Any minute now, Ammit and Raguel would be here for the meeting, and Vincent was going to break the news to them that their so-called alliance was finished. He'd had high hopes for them, but both had been a huge disappointment. The Archangel Raguel had the pedigree, and he actually had succeeded in precipitating Castiel's death, for a short time. But ever since then, Raguel had been all talk and no action. Oh, except for that incident in Heaven, that was. Once Raguel had found out that Castiel no longer held the High Office, the Archangel had taken the liberty of visiting Heaven's weapons room, looking to search the annex for any other powerful Biblical weapons he could bring to the bargaining table. Imagine his surprise when a loud, braying alarm had gone off as soon as he'd set foot in the place. He'd had no choice but to pop back out, before suffering the abject humiliation of being captured by a God who bore the ridiculous name of Bobby Singer.
Ammit had actually impressed Vincent when she had managed to infiltrate the much-venerated Winchester bunker. She had very cleverly succeeded in doing something that none of the others had been able to do, not even Vincent himself. But she had been careless, allowing herself to be discovered before she could accomplish anything of value.
The bottom line was that Vincent didn't need his so-called allies anymore; or, he wouldn't, once he received that chest. Nestled in the false bottom was Blackbeard's skull, the prize at the bottom of the Crackerjack box. Vincent was going to drink from it, and when he did, he would receive the vision he needed: the whereabouts of the Book of the Dead. And if the other two didn't like the fact that he was cutting them loose, Vincent could always sic Castiel on them. He may not like his son-in-law very much, but Vincent had to admit that the guy had his uses.
He sat serenely, waiting for his guests to arrive.
Ammit really didn't want to call Crowley. She really, truly didn't. But she was going to have no choice in the matter. Ever since she had been contacted by Vincent and he had given her his location for the meeting, the Demon curse that Crowley had put on the back of her neck had been burning, hotter and hotter, until the pain was all but unbearable.
She was on the island of St. Vincent too, several miles from Vincent's cottage. Crowley showed up immediately in response to her call.
"Has he got the Book of the Dead?" Crowley asked the Demon Goddess eagerly.
"What? No!" she exclaimed. "If he did, he wouldn't be calling a meeting, would he?"
Crowley nodded, thoughtful. That was likely true. From what he knew about the man, Vincent would probably have eliminated his rivals by now if he already had his hands on that particular tome.
Prior to the assassination attempt in Hell, Crowley had been rather complacent about the Books. They interested him, of course, but he had his own little fiefdom in Hell, and Crowley had been satisfied with that. But there were too many parties looking to upset the applecart right now. Why couldn't things just remain the way they were? Everyone had their own little playground to play in, and everything hummed along tickety-boo, for the most part. Lucifer had gotten free, and he had messed around with the status quo for a while. But then the ship had been righted, and things had gotten back to normal. Now, though, there were too many pieces on the chessboard vying for prime positions, and too many ancient, potentially game-changing items floating around. Vincent, Raguel and Ammit all wanted to get their grubby hands on those Books for their own selfish reasons. Ammit wanted to become the new Death, and if she succeeded, Crowley was toast. She held a personal grudge against him that went back quite a ways. Raguel wanted to rule Heaven, and vanquish Hell in the process. Didn't the Archangel understand that there was a need for Crowley and his kind? Even Death, the sour-faced, dried-up, humourless ancient being, recognized that there had to be a balance. God Himself had created Dark, to counterbalance the Light. And even Castiel, arguably the most self-righteous Angel of them all, hadn't pulled the trigger on the Holy War. Even when Castiel had stormed into Hell and chained Crowley to that chair, he had been on a personal vendetta, not looking to dismantle the entire Kingdom.
Not that Crowley had forgiven or forgotten about that little incident, of course, but he would get back at his brother for it in his own way, and in his own time. Revenge was a dish best served cold, and the Books concerned Crowley more at the moment. There was also his mother to think about. Rowena was out there somewhere with a set of codices in her satchel that could also be game-changers. But because they were supposed to be the Word of God, Crowley knew very little about them. He still had the Codex for the codices, but it was useless on its own. And the Angels had the writings from the Tablets at their disposal, which might hold the answers to a few riddles. Rumour had it that Kevin Tran was on the case, and he was working very hard on deciphering the ancient language. Crowley had eyes and ears pretty much everywhere. It was in his best interests to stay apprised of the various goings-on.
And that was why he was here right now. Out of all the parties Crowley was keeping tabs on, Vincent was by far the most enigmatic. None of Crowley's contacts seemed to know what the man's endgame was. Crowley wanted very much to know what that might be, and he also suffered from a considerable amount of curiosity about the individual who had reportedly sired him and Gail, aka Priscilla.
"Open your mouth," Crowley ordered Ammit.
She looked at him incredulously. "You've got your nerve," she said indignantly. "That aspect of our past relationship is off the table."
Crowley nearly laughed. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, rolling his eyes. "I merely want to attend that meeting with you. This Vincent character is well shielded, as is Raguel. So the only way I can personally attend will be as you. Therefore, I need you to open up."
Ammit's face screwed up in an expression of disgust. In many ways, what he was referring to now would be much worse. "Why should I?" she said defiantly.
"Because you owe me," he pointed out. "I could have just let Castiel kill you, you know." In fact, he still could. Due to their familial connection, Crowley knew that Castiel was on his way here, right now. They were coming by boat, so the four of them wouldn't arrive for a few hours yet. But if Ammit became too much of a thorn in Crowley's side, he could always arrange another meeting, one between Castiel and the King's former mistress that only Castiel would walk away from. But why should Crowley give her any warning?
Ammit let out a frustrated breath. "Very well. If you will remove your curse from my neck, I will transport you into the meeting."
Crowley's lips twitched. As if he was giving her a choice. Still, he could afford to appear magnanimous; after today, he wouldn't need the tracking spell any more, anyway.
"As usual, you drive a hard bargain," Crowley said, giving Ammit a slight nod of his head. He reached towards her neck, and she stood there stoically, looking him in the eye. He had to give her credit; she didn't even flinch.
"Ready, steady, go," Crowley murmured. He touched the mark on the back of Ammit's neck as she opened her mouth to let him in.
Vincent had told Placida, Blaise, and Phineas to wait at The Embarrassed Tiki for his call, but he was getting bored now. That was what he got for playing games. As one last parting shot, he had decided to brew up a nice little tropical storm for the intrepid quartet to deal with, meaning that their arrival might be further delayed. But he was having trouble with the delay of gratification now. So he'd called Placida to come to him, to keep him company. Besides, he thought that he would throw her a bit of a bone, so to speak. He was more powerful than she was, but still, she was a High Priestess, and she could be a very spiteful and vindictive woman. And her daughter, Blaise, was shaping up to be just the same. But Blaise wasn't Vincent's daughter, she was Phineas's. Or, so Placida claimed. She could just as easily have been sired by Barnabas, or any of the other men in their group. Vincent doubted that she even really knew, herself. All Vincent knew was that Blaise wasn't his daughter, Gail was, and the closer Gail got, the more excited Vincent became. So he and Placida had had a quick session up against the wall of the cottage, and now they were sitting in armchairs drinking rum punch from tall glasses, like the King and Queen of the Caribbean, about to receive their subjects.
Raguel was the first to arrive, and he looked even more sour-faced than usual when he saw Placida. Vincent wondered if the Archangel was a racist, as well. It wouldn't surprise him one bit.
"Have a seat," Vincent told him. "We're just waiting for Ammit to arrive." He didn't bother offering Raguel a drink; he knew better by now.
A few minutes later, Ammit arrived, and she also regarded Placida curiously, but with an expression of interest, rather than disgust. "Raguel," she said coolly, passing by his chair on the way to the bar. She helped herself to a drink. Vincent didn't mind. He was used to the Demon Goddess taking these kinds of liberties by now.
Crowley needed the drink to steady his nerves. Imagine his shock when he had walked into the cottage and seen the man who had come into that Scottish pub centuries ago. The man wearing all black, with the red, glowing eyes, who had offered Fergus MacLeod his Demon deal. That man had been Vincent? His father?
Crowley had been knocked for a loop, and he was also trying to make the adjustment to being in a voluptuous female body. It was a good thing that Dean Winchester couldn't do what otherworldly beings could do, Crowley thought with great amusement. Moose would probably never see his brother again, once Dean discovered the joys of self-exploration. He made himself a strong one and then sauntered over to the chair beside Raguel, slowly enough to get his equilibrium back.
"I asked the two of you here to let you know that I'm hereby dissolving our partnership," Vincent said calmly.
"What? Why?" Raguel said angrily.
"Because you're a pucker-faced, self-righteous prig, who won't let one drop of liquor pass your lips," Vincent said nastily. "Because you're a paper tiger. A Trojan horse. You're Fox News. All show, no go. You're a useless piece of shit, who thinks he's better than the likes of us. Need any more reasons?"
"How dare you talk to me that way?" Raguel demanded indignantly.
"How's that search for the Books going?" Vincent retorted. "Have you got any valuable information to share with your partners on that score?"
"No," Raguel replied, tight-lipped.
"Then, you're hereby voted off the island," Vincent said affably. "Don't let the cottage door hit your Sainted butt on the way out."
Crowley sniggered, and Vincent smiled. He wondered if Demon Goddesses held long grudges. After he told Ammit her services were no longer required, Vincent wondered if he could talk her into sticking around for a bit. Placida could stay, too. It wasn't like that would be their first time participating in those sorts of multiple-partner activities.
But, business first. "Oh, and Ammit, you're gone, too. I'm downsizing the organization," Vincent said, taking a drink. "No hard feelings, I hope. I've enjoyed our association tremendously. In fact, I was hoping you would hang around for a while afterwards, so that you and I and Placida could engage in a little...debriefing session. You should pardon the pun." He giggled.
Ammit's eyes widened slightly as Crowley realized what Vincent was getting at. Funnily enough, if Vincent hadn't been his father, Crowley might have considered it. It would certainly be...interesting. But there was no way. Vincent was Crowley's father. The King of Hell may be a vile, disgusting individual, but he had his morals.
Ammit was also present in the vessel, but because of Crowley's loftier standing, she was a witness only, unable to weigh in on the proceedings. She was surprised, but not outraged, as Raguel was. Truthfully, it was Vincent who was the useless party, as far as Ammit was concerned. She'd had success on her own without these men, and she was sure she would, again. But Crowley was in the drivers' seat now, and there would never be a better time for him to ask the question: "What's your endgame, Vincent? What are you hoping to accomplish, at the end of the day?"
Vincent looked at Ammit strangely. Bollocks. Crowley realized he was speaking like himself. What would Ammit have said? How would she handle being summarily dismissed like this? But, she wasn't telling. Let him figure it out for himself.
Ammit got up from her chair, draining her drink. Then she moved across the room and bent down to the table beside Vincent, affording him a generous view of her cleavage. "Want another?" Crowley had Ammit say in a throaty voice, picking up Vincent's empty glass.
Without waiting for a response, Crowley picked up Vincent's glass and took it and his own over to the bar, replenishing them. His ploy had worked. He'd distracted Vincent enough to move on from the sudden change in Ammit's speech pattern.
"I will find the Books on my own, and then, I will destroy you," Raguel said through gritted teeth. "I knew I should never have thrown in with the likes of you." He stood from his chair. "I will now take my leave of you."
Vincent laughed derisively. "You Angels. You're all so pompous. 'I will now take my leave of you'. Who talks like that? Give me a break. Maybe you should spend time with some normal people. See if they can't rub off on you. At least get laid, for Heaven's sake. Then again, who would want to be with a prig like you? Even Crowley's mother wouldn't throw you one, and she's a whore. Am I right, Crowley?"
Ammit's head snapped up, and Vincent laughed. "I knew it was you, all along," he said to his son. "Bring that drink over here, Fergus. Let's have a chat."
Gail and Captain Beaumont had chatted for a few minutes when she'd first gotten there. Cas had popped her over to the pier, helping her with the luggage. They'd had to stay out of sight, of course, so he'd gotten her as close to the boat as he could. Then he'd given her a quick kiss and said he would be right back with the Winchesters, and the chest.
She had struggled down the pier with the bags, and Captain Ken had seen her, so he'd gone down to help. The luggage was stowed below decks now, but there was still no sign of the men. Gail wondered if she should be worried, and then she decided it was too soon for that. Besides, it was Cas who had been worried about leaving her here, alone. But she had her blade in her pocket now, and it would not leave her side from now on. The vacation was over, and the mission had begun.
After a couple more minutes of idle chit-chat, Beaumont told Gail he had to do his pre-sail inspection. She was standing on deck, enjoying the breeze and waiting for the guys to appear. What were they going to encounter when they got to St. Vincent? Was this location spell thingie even going to work? And if it did, who and what were they going to find on the other end of it?
Ken had no "pre-sail inspection" to do. He'd just said that, to make it sound official. He was pretty sure the girl wouldn't know the difference, anyway. He took the piece of paper out of his pocket and studied it, then took the acetylene torch out of the tool box. He propped up the paper, fired up the torch, and scorched the symbols onto the wall. Then he hammered a nail above that spot, and hung a print of a sailboat on the wall to cover the symbol. He quickly repeated the procedure on the opposite wall. Then he burned the paper with the flame of the torch, as Papa had instructed him to do.
He finished just in time. He could hear the mens' voices as they boarded the boat. Vincent had said that they would be loading a very heavy chest. Captain Ken had asked him what was in the chest, and what the significance of the strange-looking symbols was, and Papa Legba had stared at him wordlessly for a moment. Ken's throat had dried up. Why the hell had he opened up his big mouth? Now, Papa was going to curse him for the rest of his life. But after a moment, the Voodoo Priest had merely chuckled and said that the contents of the chest were none of his business, and that the symbols were designed to make his guests feel more welcome. Then he had given the Captain some more money, calling it a damage deposit, and that had been the end of it.
Gail had been relieved to see the guys. She was on edge now, fearing what they would encounter once they got to the place. If all three of their enemies were there, they might be in big trouble. Cas could call on Bobby, of course, or Gabriel, if they needed backup. However, the only one of their enemies they actually knew how to kill was Ammit; they just had to get close enough to her to do it. But why on earth would Ammit allow any of them to get that close to her? If Gail were Ammit, she would just pop out of there, if she felt threatened. The guys had pentagram handcuffs in their bag, but Gail wondered if they would be enough to restrain Ammit. Assuming they were lucky enough to even get that close to her, of course.
They had no idea how to kill Raguel. None whatsoever. They had brainstormed with Gabriel about that, and he had told them that he didn't know. But there had been a certain tone to his voice when he'd said it, so Cas had pressed him. Finally, their Archangel friend had admitted that he might have been able to kill Raguel with his Angel blade, if he'd still had it. Cas had pursed his lips together in frustration. This subject had come up before, more than once. He didn't want to seem insensitive to the reason that Gabriel had pitched the blade in the first place, but Cas was really starting to think that they needed to mount some kind of search for the blade in future. It was on their To Do list. But as things stood right now, they had no way of killing Raguel, and Heaven's jail would not hold an Archangel for long.
Then, there was Vincent, himself. In a way, what they were doing now was sheer lunacy. Even if they found Vincent, what were they supposed to DO about him? They couldn't kill him. So then, what exactly were they hoping to accomplish?
Cas saw Gail's point when she expressed this thought to him, but he was tired of being passive about their enemies. What were they supposed to do, just sit around and wait for one of them to make a move? He didn't think so. As far as he was concerned, if Vincent couldn't be killed, that just made the man a better candidate for torture. Vincent had a lot to answer for, and Castiel was an eternal being, too.
So, as Captain Beaumont hauled the line and started up the engine, and Vincent was having his meeting with the others, the black storm clouds started to form in the distance. And the sigils that Ken had burned into the walls of his boat would ensure that the Angels remained on board for the ride.
VIGNETTE - WALK TO THE WATER
The trip began uneventfully enough. It was a warm, sunny day, but Gail didn't mind too much. She had grown a little more used to the warm temperatures here, and now that they were moving, there was a steady breeze that made the heat more bearable.
The four of them had nothing to do but relax until they got there, so they were sitting up on deck talking, reminiscing about their week.
"Boy, some of the people here are really poor," Sam commented. "You know, sometimes we forget how lucky we really are."
"I know," Gail agreed. "And I couldn't help but notice that all of the employees at the resorts are black, and all the guests are white. I can just imagine what Paul would have to say about that."
Cas was thoughtful. "I believe he has become more calm about the whole racial issue, but he would probably say that that was due to 'white privilege'."
"He would have a point, though, wouldn't he?" Sam said quietly.
"I suppose he might, Sam," Cas answered in kind. "But, because none of us has ever been black, it's hard for us to look at things from that perspective."
"Oh, I don't know about that, sweetie," Gail said to her husband, her lips twitching now. "Technically, you have, if only very briefly."
"I beg your pardon?" Cas said, puzzled.
"Remember when you had Paul's essence inside of you, in Paris?" she teased him. "You even spoke differently. It was weird, but it was kind of cute, at the same time."
"Well, that just confirms the old saying," Dean piped up, and all three of them looked at him quizzically. Dean was smirking. "Once you go Cas, you never go back."
There was silence for a moment, and then Gail burst out laughing. That had caught her by surprise, and maybe because she'd been feeling so apprehensive, she found the joke far funnier than she should have, perhaps. Still, she blessed him for giving her that release. Just like Frank would have done. She stuck her hand up. "Up top," she said, and she and Dean high-fived smartly.
Captain Beaumont came up from below decks. "I wanted to let you know that we'll be there in just a few minutes," he told them. "I'm dropping you off at the southernmost tip of the island. The beach there is predominantly made up of black sand. That's what you wanted, right? I'll wait for you to do whatever you need to do there, and then I'll take you wherever you want to go after that."
Ken was pleased. Financially speaking, he was making out like a bandit. Papa Legba had paid him a good deal of money to take these people to the island, and the one called Cas had paid him almost as generously to wait until they placed the chest they had brought with them into the water, and then follow it to where it led.
He threw anchor shortly thereafter, and the men carried the chest off the boat.
"Are we sure this thing isn't gonna just sink right to the bottom?" Dean said doubtfully.
Sam had been wondering that same thing himself. How could something that took three grown men to carry be that buoyant? But then again, look at what they were about to do, here. They were about to throw a stolen pirate's chest containing an urn which held the cremated bones of one live man and one dead one, as well as seven drops of an Angel's blood, into the water in hopes of tracking down an immortal High Priest of voodoo. You couldn't write something like that in a novel, because nobody would ever believe it. Sure, the chest would float. Of course it would.
"Are we ready to do this?" Dean asked the others, and Sam and Cas nodded. The men hefted the chest, and then threw it in the water with a big splash. It sank immediately.
"Oh, great!" Gail lamented. "What now?"
But suddenly, the chest bobbed back up to the surface, and then it slowly started to drift away from the beach. "Well, well. How about that?" Sam mused out loud, shaking his head.
They all watched the chest float leisurely away from shore for a moment, and then, just as the group turned to go back to their boat, Placida suddenly appeared.
She was laughing. "You men may be pretty, but you're not very smart," she said to them. "You have played right into his hands."
"What are you talking about?" Cas said angrily.
"He tricked you into bringing him the very thing he needs to find the Book of the Dead, by coming right here to our Secret Cove, where it all began," Placida said smugly. "Did you not wonder why you were bringing him Blackbeard's chest? Our Demon brother's skull is in it, and once Vincent drinks from it, he will be shown the way. Oh, and now he has the bones, and an Angel's blood, too. His own daughter's. Just imagine the spells he will be able to cast!" She laughed again.
Gail saw red. "Oh, hell, no! He's not going to play us for fools!" she shouted. The winds had picked up, and if Gail had been looking out to the horizon, she would have seen the dark clouds gathering off in the distance. But she was absolutely furious right now. Without stopping to think about what she was doing, she ran towards the water from the beach. She was about to jump into the water when Cas caught her by the waist, pulling her back.
"What are you doing?" he shouted over the noise of the wind, which was picking up with the approaching storm. "You can't swim!" But that gave Cas an idea. "Please take care of her," he said to Dean. Then Cas gave a slight nod to Sam, and the two of them quickly stripped down to their shorts and dove into the water, swimming after the chest.
Gail took out her blade, and Dean produced a gun from somewhere on his person. Gail hadn't seen where. They turned to where Placida had been standing, but predictably enough, she had vanished.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean exclaimed, frustrated. He grabbed Gail by the hand. "Let's get back on that ship. Here, give me Sammy's clothes." She had instinctively stooped to gather up the clothes that the men had shed. "We're gonna need his cell phone," Dean added.
They raced over to where the boat was anchored. "Ken! Kenny!" Dean shouted. "Let's haul ass!"
"To where?" Captain Beaumont asked, startled by Dean's tone.
"Follow Sam and Cas, and that chest," Dean commanded, pointing.
The Captain pulled up the anchor, preparing to do as his customer said. But now, he was looking apprehensively at the darkening clouds. "Whatever you're trying to do, you'd better be quick about it," he told Dean and Gail.
"Awww, geez," Dean said, but Gail smiled faintly. If the storm became too bad, she could just wink them all off the boat. She put her hand on his arm. "Why did you say we were going to need Sam's cell phone?" she asked Dean curiously.
Dean fished into the pocket of Sam's jeans. "You probably wondered what took us so long to get here, when we were only supposed to be getting the urn and putting it in the chest, right?" he said to her.
Gail nodded. "Yeah, as a matter of fact, I WAS wondering about that."
"This is why," Dean said. He took Sam's cell phone out of his brother's pants and waggled it at her. "We've been burned by stuff like this way too many times. So, when Cas was getting the urn out of the safe to put in the chest, Sam went into the storeroom to get a GPS locator. He linked the thing up to his phone, put it in a waterproof pouch, and stuck it in the urn, before we closed up the chest. This way, if those guys lose the chest now, we can still find it, using the tech."
Gail was astonished. "That's great!" she exclaimed. "Sam's brilliant!"
"Yeah, he's OK," Dean said, grinning. He turned the phone on.
The chest had started to pick up speed as it floated out into the open waters, and the men had noticed the darkening skies by now. "We'd better go back!" Sam shouted. "Look!"
Cas frowned. Sam was right. Besides, they had the GPS locator as backup. He too thought that had been a brilliant idea of Sam's. Especially now, now that they knew the real reason that Vincent had wanted to take possession of the chest. They had to stop him. "We'd better swim back," Sam said.
"No need," Cas told him. "If you can come over here, I'll pop us both back."
"I don't think you'll have to do that," Sam said, pointing behind Cas. The Angel looked, and he saw that the ship was coming towards them. They treaded water for a couple of minutes, and then Dean was bending down and extending his hand, helping the men on board.
"Is the program working?" Sam asked his brother, taking the towel that Gail handed him.
"Like a charm," Dean said. "Pinging away." He showed his brother the phone. "The chest was moving pretty fast there for a few minutes, but now, it's stopped."
Cas had already dried himself off, and he was getting dressed now. "That means that Vincent must be nearby," he remarked. He looked at Captain Beaumont. "Can you follow the GPS signal?"
"Sure I can," Ken said.
Vincent waded into the cove and retrieved the chest, dragging it onto the beach. Maybe it took three ordinary men to carry the thing, but Vincent felt super-strong right now. This was his home, and these were his waters. He sank to his knees and opened the chest.
"Here, hold this," he said to Placida, shoving the urn into her hands. But as Vincent felt around the inside of the chest, looking for the trip for the false bottom, Placida held the urn up to her ear. "What's that sound?" she asked him. She opened the urn and took out the pouch with the GPS locator, showing it to him.
Vincent's mouth fell open, but then, he started to grin. He tripped the switch for the false bottom and took out the skull, holding it reverently in his hands for a moment. But there was no time to gloat right now.
"Put that in here," he commanded Placida. She bent down and placed the bag in the chest. Vincent dropped the lid and pushed the chest back into the water. He spoke a few words, holding Blackbeard's skull aloft, and the chest started to float away, picking up speed as the pre-storm waters started to churn.
"What fun the four of you are going to be," Vincent said, grinning again. "Enjoy your storm." Then he looked at Placida, and the two of them disappeared.
"It's on the move again, in the open waters," Sam announced, looking intently at his cell phone.
"I thought you said it had stopped," Gail said, puzzled.
"It must have gotten stuck on something," Sam remarked. "It's moving pretty fast, now."
"We'd better hurry up and catch it," Dean said, squinting at the sky. "That storm's gonna be here any minute."
"I hate to tell you this, but it's too late," Captain Beaumont said to them. "As the saying goes, batten down the hatches. If I were all of you, I would get below decks, now. The storm'll hit in just a few minutes, and it looks like it's going to be a nasty one."
They went below decks as he'd suggested, and a few minutes later, the boat started to list from side to side. Gail looked nervously at Cas. At what point should they give it up, and just wink everybody off the boat? How bad was the storm going to be, anyway?
Vincent had been ready to release Raguel and Ammit after he'd cut them loose, but when he'd discovered that Crowley had possession of Ammit, Vincent had seen an opportunity. So he had enclosed Raguel in a ring of Holy Oil and set it on fire, and he had slapped a set of pentagram handcuffs on Ammit and chained her vessel to a chair with a Devil's Trap underneath.
"These things will not hold us long," Raguel had fumed, and Vincent had smiled at him.
"I know," Vincent said calmly. "But it amuses me to speculate which of you will get free first, and what that one will do to the other one. Or maybe you'll team up, and work together. I don't really care. Once I have the Book of the Dead, you'll all be dancing to my tune, anyway. That's if I let you live, of course."
Then he and Placida had disappeared from the cottage, leaving Raguel and Crowley to glare at each other.
"What are you looking at?" Ammit sneered, struggling with the bonds. Crowley was frustrated. Even though his was the dominant essence, hers was the weaker vessel. If he'd been himself, he could have at least slipped the cuffs by now, and been working on the chains and the Devil's Trap.
Raguel's eyebrows raised. He knew now that it was Crowley in that female's vessel, but it was still difficult for him to hear her talking to him that way.
"I am just thinking that I'm being afforded a unique opportunity," Raguel said casually, walking around within the flaming circle. "Once I figure out how to get out of this, I believe I may be able to kill you, while you are in that vessel."
"You think so, do you?" Crowley said, still straining against the cuffs. "You can't even step out of a hoop of fire, and you're going to kill the King of Hell? Good luck with that."
"I killed Castiel," Raguel bragged.
"No, you bloody well didn't!" Ammit shouted. "You're delusional. Take that off your resume, because it never happened!"
"Is Vincent really your father, Crowley?" Raguel asked him/her. He was trying to approach the border of the circle, but the fire kept repelling him back.
The King frowned. "So it would seem."
Incredibly, Raguel gave him a sour smile. "That surprises me far less than it should. But what's really surprising is the fact that Castiel's wife is your sister. I'm amazed that he would elect to be married to such a woman. As far as I'm concerned, all of you deserve what's about to befall you."
"Oh, really? And what about you?" Crowley said angrily. "What gives you the impression that you're any better? Because Father let you play with the Big Boys, once in a while? He used you as His blunt instrument, and now you're upset because they don't want you in Heaven. Why don't you just fall on your Angel blade, and be done with it?"
"Because the Book of Life is still out there," Raguel said, tight-lipped. "Let Vincent believe he is in control, but when I acquire the Book of Life, I will rule Heaven. Then, all but the Righteous will be vanquished."
Crowley rolled Ammit's eyes. "Yes, yes. Blah, blah, blah." Then the handcuffs fell to the floor with a clatter, and the chains soon followed. She smiled. It was about time. He rose from the chair and grabbed the handcuffs, moving to the edge of the Devil's Trap. Then Ammit squatted, scraping the metal of the handcuffs on the paint of the Devil's Trap. "Stop looking down my blouse," Crowley quipped. He was highly amused now. He would be free in a minute or two, and this stuffed-shirt, self-righteous prig would still be blowing on the flames, trying to put them out.
Sure enough, a minute later the Trap was sprung, and Ammit stepped outside the circle, smiling triumphantly. Crowley stared at Raguel speculatively. "So, where were we? Oh, yes. We were talking about how you were going to vanquish me." He snapped his fingers, and suddenly, he was holding an Angel blade.
"I cannot be killed with an ordinary Angel blade," Raguel told the King of Hell. "Don't you think Castiel would have done that by now, if it was that simple?"
Crowley shrugged. "Who said anything about killing you? Maybe I'll just remove a body part, or two. Maybe I should start with your nose, as you seem to enjoy looking down it at people like me, and my family." Crowley suddenly realized something: he was extremely angry. How DARE someone like Raguel throw in with Vincent, and then talk about them all as if they were lowly maggots that he was too good to associate with? The way that Raguel had talked about Gail and Castiel had especially bothered Crowley, for some reason. He wasn't familiar with the thought process, because he had never thought in terms of a sibling before; at least, not a live one, who was a constant part of his life. Cain had killed Abel without ever really getting to know his brother. But Crowley had known Gail for a number of years now, and he had spent way more time with Castiel since she had come into both of their existences this time round. Even though he had been extremely contentious with them both a number of times, now that he knew that Gail was his sister, Crowley felt a strange sort of protectiveness towards her. A tug of affection, even. Frank or Dean would have been able to tell him what that was like. They could rag on their siblings all they wanted, but Heaven help the guy who insulted Gail or Sammy on their watch.
Crowley's grip tightened on the blade, but all of a sudden, a big gust of wind shifted some of the thatch on the roof of the cottage, letting the rain from the storm in. Both men were soaked instantly, and the water doused the flames in the circle of Holy Oil, setting Raguel free. He disappeared immediately.
Crowley chuffed out a breath. Bollocks. Oh, well. He wasn't too worried about Raguel. The Archangel wasn't exactly a formidable foe, despite his vaunted reputation. Technically, Raguel outranked Castiel, now that Crowley's brother had stepped down from the Office, but Crowley knew which one of the two he'd rather fight. He idly wondered how Castiel and the others were making out on their boat. The King smirked. It couldn't be smooth sailing, not in this storm. Vincent had told Crowley and Raguel what was going on before he and Placida had left here, like a cliche movie villain. Castiel and Gail would be unable to wink themselves and the Winchesters off the boat, due to the sigils that Vincent had had the unwitting Captain Beaumont scorch onto the walls of his ship. Crowley had been highly amused by that. He could just picture them, pitching and rolling below decks, wondering why on earth they couldn't just pop out of there. If there was any kind of justice, Castiel would be green with nausea, vomiting off the side of the ship. But he wouldn't be, of course. John Alden would have faced rougher conditions as a seaman, back in the day. But Crowley could dream, couldn't he? He would pay dearly to see the scenario his imagination was conjuring up now. He truly would.
He snapped his fingers, transporting Ammit back to where his vessel was waiting.
At first, it hadn't been too bad. The boat had been rolling around a bit, but the four of them were going with it. To pass the time, they'd made a few nervous jokes about Gilligan's Island.
"I'm pretty sure this is what happened to the castaways," Dean said. "A three-hour tour, my ass." He nudged Sam. "Do you know how to make a radio out of coconuts, Sammy?"
Gail was shaking her head and smiling. Truth be told, her stomach was starting to feel a little fluttery, so she was glad of the distraction. "How many seasons was that show on, and they never got off the damn island," Dean grumbled. "I hate it when shows get cancelled like that, with no resolution."
"But they had that movie, didn't they?" Sam piped up. "Actually, I think they had several."
"Not the same," Dean said decisively. "Besides, can anybody tell me what the hell the Harlem Globetrotters were doing, stranded on a desert island? Anybody? Plotlines have to make sense."
Suddenly, Sam hiccupped, and he clutched at his stomach. "Things are getting pretty rough, you guys," he complained. "I hope I can hang in there long enough to come out the other side with all of you, this time."
Cas and Gail and Dean were all looking at each other now, and they were flashing back to another time on another boat, the one that was taking them to the New World.
"I saw you guys, you know," Dean said to the couple.
"I beg your pardon, Dean?" Cas said, but he took Gail's hand, smiling at her.
"I saw you two, in your favourite spot up on deck," Dean repeated. "Smooching away, like you didn't have a care in the world."
"We didn't, Dean. We were in love," Gail said simply.
"Yeah, well, times were different back then," Dean said, almost angrily. "You guys weren't even married, when we were on that ship. I never told anybody what I saw, but if I saw you, other people probably did, too. That was stupid."
"Why are you so angry, Dean?" Cas asked their friend, mystified.
"Because I'm sick of watching you die, Cas! You, too," Dean added, looking at Gail.
"Well, hosting your funeral wasn't exactly on our list of fun things to do, either," Gail retorted, "but, we did it. It's not our fault that people have been persecuting us, over the centuries!"
"Why?" Dean demanded. "WHY have they been persecuting you? Did it ever occur to you that that's weird? I'm sure there was a lot of extramarital hanky-panky going on, back then. Why single you guys out?"
As Gail was puzzling over that, the ship listed heavily to one side. They heard a crashing noise, and Sam put his head between his knees.
"The storm's getting worse," Cas stated, but now Dean was feeling too sick to call him Captain Obvious. And Gail was feeling it, too. "Maybe we should just get Captain Beaumont, and get off this thing," she said to Cas.
He thought for a moment. Perhaps that would be best. But then, what would happen to their attempt to find Vincent?
"No. Screw that," Dean said, struggling to his feet. "We didn't come all this way just to let that guy off the hook. Maybe we should go up on deck. See what we're dealing with."
Cas helped Gail to her feet, and the three of them started to get their sea legs as they began to move. Sam was still extremely queasy, though. He'd never made it to the New World back then, and he was starting to think he wasn't going to make it this time, either. In fact, death was starting to feel like the preferable option.
"Dean, if you will help Gail up top, I will take Sam off the boat, and back to the resort in the Dominican Republic," Cas said. "Here, give me your phone, Sam." He took the cell phone from his friend's hand and tossed it to Dean, who caught it neatly. "I'll be right back," Cas told Gail and Dean. Then Cas put his arm around Sam's waist and slung Sam's arm around his shoulders, supporting him. Cas went to wink them off the boat, and...nothing happened. He tried again. Still, nothing.
Dean had already taken Gail by the elbow and steered her up the steps to the deck. The ship was still pitching back and forth, but they both had fairly good footing at the moment. It was as if their recall of being on the boat on the way to the New World had helped them cope with the storm.
Dean actually felt exhilarated when they stepped out onto the deck. What an adventure this was turning out to be. He felt like he was in some kind of blockbuster seafaring movie, or something. "This is great!" he yelled to Gail, over the high winds and pelting rain. "I feel like I'm in the Pirates of the Freakin' Caribbean! This is the coolest vacation we've ever had!"
Gail couldn't help but smile. Only Dean could take a situation like this and make it into something that seemed desirable. "You're nuts!" she shouted. The rain was soaking her and the wind was blowing her hair all over the place, but she felt strangely exhilarated, too. "We're in a freaking hurricane, here! If the ship sinks while Cas is gone, you're going to have to rescue me from drowning!"
"Don't worry, I'll find a door for you to float on," Dean quipped, and he grinned at the look on her face. "Yeah, yeah. I saw the stupid movie, too. Don't tell Sam or Frank I said that, though."
"I heard. But, don't worry; I'm gonna be dead in a couple of minutes, anyway," Sam groaned from behind them. Cas was still holding Dean's brother up, and the younger Winchester was still retching.
"Cas! What the hell?" Dean exclaimed.
"I can't wink off the boat, Dean! Something is wrong!" Cas told him, agitated.
Great, Dean thought. Just great. Poor Sammy looked like he was gonna toss his cookies any second, now.
"Can you take him?" Cas asked Dean, handing Sam over to his brother. "I'm going to go find Captain Beaumont. Are you all right, my love?" he asked Gail.
"I'm fine, Cas," she assured him.
"Thanks for having such a crappy family, Gail!" Dean said cheerfully. Cas frowned. "Dean!" he admonished their friend, but Gail laughed and laughed.
"Hey, if I'm going to die, that wasn't a bad one to go out on," she said to Dean, grabbing on to the railing for balance.
"Nobody's going to die," Cas said harshly. "I'm going to get Captain Beaumont to take us out of this mess."
But the Captain was nowhere to be found, because when the quartet had been below decks, Ken Beaumont had fallen overboard, and his dead body had been washed away by the choppy seas. Cas came back to the group to tell them the bad news. They had no Captain, his and Gail's powers didn't work here for some reason, and Cas could do a lot of things, but he had no idea how to safely pilot a boat to shore.
"Oh, for crap's sake," Sam moaned. He lifted his head up to the skies and bellowed, "Bobby! Either help us out, or drown me, now!"
A minute later, the storm abruptly ceased, and Bobby was standing on deck with them. "Why dint'cha call me sooner?" he asked the bedraggled group.
Cas's face broke into a relieved smile. "I believe that would be my fault, Bobby," he said sheepishly. "I'm still so used to being God that it never occurred to me to call on God for help."
Bobby was looking around. "Where are the sigils?" he asked Cas, and the Angels looked at each other. Ohhh, so that had been the problem. But, why would Captain Beaumont have had sigils on his boat?
"I think somebody's been pullin' a fast one on you," Bobby said matter-of-factly. "So, where do we stand on finding the bad guys?"
Dean pulled Sam's cell phone out of his pocket, where he'd stashed it to try to keep it dry. He explained Sam's idea to Bobby, who nodded in approval. "Well, dollars to doughnuts that when you track the stupid thing down, Vincent's gonna be miles away from it," Bobby said pessimistically. "But that was still good thinking, Boy," he said to Sam, who seemed to be regaining the colour in his cheeks now. "Just to be on the safe side, we'll check it out, though," Bobby added. "Any chance you can tell me what those coordinates are? Latitude and longitude would be ideal, but if that program thingie can't tell me that, I'll just steer by the sun." He headed off towards the engine room as the four of them looked at each other. Bobby knew how to pilot a boat? Who the hell knew?
And as Bobby had predicted, by the time they got to where the chest sat, wedged in-between some rocks near another cove, Vincent was nowhere to be found.
