"The little weasel ratted on us! I'm gonna kill him!"
"He's just a kid."
"I'm still gonna kill him."
"Never said you shouldn't. Through here."
"There they go! Hey, you punks, get back here!"
The pair of them pressed into the crowd, heads down. In time, the shouts became fainter and fainter, and they continued down along the same street, hoping no one would recognise them.
"Ladies and gentlemen, come up, don't be shy, and bear witness to the amazing, marvellous, miraculous feats of Conrad the Magician!"
She nudged his arm and pointed. He nodded, and the pair of them went over to look. They would stand out more than ever if they didn't stop to look at some of the entertainers.
The man who had spoken was tall and dark haired. He was in a tuxedo with a red swishy velvet cloak swirling around his ankles. His assistant was sitting off to one side, passing the time before she was needed to assist by reading people's futures.
"You will meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger."
"Please. These people give the real psychics a bad name." He mumbled under his breath.
She grinned. "'You will go on a cruise and meet the love of your life. He'll have bad breath and a wig and you'll get stuck in the same monotonous cycle until one day you shoot him and inherit everything in his Will.' For all we know, some of these guys are genuine. But no one really wants to know what's in their future, in case they don't like it."
He grunted, his distaste etched on his face.
"Do you think you can do better, then?"
He narrowed his eyes, picking out one particular girl that appealed to him at the time. "See that little blonde over there? Her cat's going to die in two weeks. And so is her grandmother. She trips over the cat."
His friend looked at him with some amusement. "You're making that up."
"No way. See that middle aged guy with the glasses? His girlfriend's cheating on him with another woman. That tall man over there? He's paying child support to his ex-wife for five children when only one is actually his. And that girl in the gutter popping pills has just inherited her great-grandfather's estate worth 5 million."
"God, you should go into business."
He gave a sly smile. "Now that would be easy."
"Do another one." She urged. The previous sense of danger had passed, leaving them both feeling a little high.
This time he looked up at the street performer, this Conrad the Magician. "Okay."
But as soon as he reached forward to suss out Conrad's aura, the magician's head snapped up and the man stared right at him. He smiled as he pulled a rabbit out of a ridiculous purple top hat, and as people cheered, he mouthed something.
Don't make me hurt you.
"I think we should go."
"Why? If you look closely you can just about make out the strings. This guy's such a crank."
"I mean it. Now." He took her arm and pulled her away.
"Evening, Winchester."
Cornered. "Michael. Good to see you again." He almost pulled off the flippant tone he was aiming for, but not quite. They were blocking the way out, these three men with their bulging muscles and towering physique.
The one called Michael placed one hand on each of their shoulders.
"Get off me."
"Now, Miss Harvelle, we wouldn't want to make a scene, would we? Especially in the middle of all these innocent people."
"You piece of shit."
"Wow. She's got a real gutter trash vocabulary, this one. How do you put up with her, Winchester?"
"What do you want?"
"Us? We're just following orders. The boss wants to speak with you in person. And he's rather you were still in one piece. Though as long as you're alive, that's not a real requirement." He leered at them and the two began to walk. Any other time, Jo and Sam would have turned around to take them, but they were in the middle of a crowded street and there was no telling how many others there were, waiting.
They turned off the main street, away from the Psychic's Fair. "Open the door." Michael instructed one of his men.
Sam and Jo were flung into the building and the door slammed behind them. A bare light bulb snapped on, illuminating the people in the room, four of which had various weapons aimed at them.
"Sam Winchester and Jo Harvelle. I was wondering when you'd come my way."
The one who spoke was an older man with scruffy, greying hair and beard. He wasn't armed as far as they would see, and was casually wiping a glass as he spoke. Placing the tumbler gently down, he came out from behind the bar.
His right leg gave a metallic chink each time it made contact with the wooden floor.
"I'm Danny Moriarty. Welcome to my pub."
"You killed one of my hunters." Moriarty put the charges to them in a flat, ugly voice. It was obvious he was the top dog hereabouts, and his crew operated like the well-oiled machine they were. You took one of them down and they'd come after you with their knives and crossbows and guns.
"What? No!"
"He was dead when we found him."
"If that was true, why did you run? Surely that's not the act of innocent people."
Neither of them had an answer to that.
Sam had never dealt with hunters this crass, this violent before. And they were so organised, which made them even more formidable. They wore their scars like a badge of honour. The man to Moriarty's left was missing a hand and part of his nose, and the woman to his right was minus an eye.
"Why were you there?" Moriarty asked.
Sam sighed. "Jacob Harmon had called one of my friends and said he had information for me about a… about something. My friend arranged a meeting with him, which was for tonight. But when me and Jo got there, someone had already killed him."
"'Someone' had disarmed him and plunged his own silver dagger into his heart." Moriarty said. "I saw what had been done. It had been executed perfectly. I knew Jacob Harmon for thirty-five years. Only another hunter would have even had a hope to disarm him, let alone kill him. We are not simple, Winchester."
"We didn't kill him!"
"Can anyone here possibly vouch this story of yours, then?"
"Yes!" Jo almost shouted. "Louie Penfold!"
The woman with one eye gave a snort.
Moriarty frowned. "Perhaps Louie would have given you an alibi. He was prone to doing unusual things. However, he was found in the alley half an hour ago. His throat had been slit from ear to ear."
"But that's impossible. He showed us how to find Harmon. Less than half an hour ago."
Moriarty smiled whimsically. "There are more things on Heaven and Earth… The thing is, since the pair of you turned up in my town, strange things have been happening. Poltergeists. Zombies. Vampires. Werewolves. And now my people are ending up dead. And I'll tell you one thing. Not on my watch."
Sam understood Moriarty's frustration. How could he hope to protect the civilians under his care when his own people were dying in the streets?
Moriarty stepped forward. Standing nose to nose, he was only just shorter than Sam was. "I need to know what's happening." He growled. "They're my people out there, dying, because of the menagerie of beasties you brought with you from whatever hole you crawled out of."
Sam opened his mouth to defend himself. Moriarty raised a finger. "Stop. How lies have built you up into a thing of legends, boy. The crazy hunter. The last Winchester. The Psychic. All that crap. But no matter how many crazy adventures you go on, how many cute girls you sleep with, how many beasties you skewer, you're still just a kid. A kid that palms the blame onto someone else when he finally gets caught. Now, TELL ME THE TRUTH!"
"I-" He swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper as he stared into the older man's bloodshot blue eyes.
"Yes?" Moriarty hissed.
His mobile rang. Sam glanced down at his pocket and back up to Moriarty. Moriarty stepped back and raised his hands in mock-defeat. Sam flipped out his phone.
Incoming call from: Deacon.
"Yeah?"
'He's awake and he's not happy.'
There was only one person Deacon could have been referring to. "Alright. Get Gabriel on it. Call again if you have problems."
'You're supposed to be back already. Hit a snag?'
"Could say that." Sam said. He could feel a trickle of sweat slide down the side of his nose as all the hard-bitten hunters stared at him beadily.
'Oh, and some older woman has been calling up about you. Says she's been hearing about us and wants to know what's going on.'
"What's her name?"
'Devlin. Grace Devlin.'
Sam hung up and glanced at Jo. The normally tough blonde was looking a little intimidated as the three burly women in the roomful of men glared at her like she was a traitor to her sex for hunting with a man.
"You want to know the truth? Fine. We need to raise an army for the coming of a demon called Lilith, who wants to bring about the end of the world."
The worry lines around Moriarty's eyes smoothed as he looked incredulous. Then he laughed, causing others in the room to chuckle or snort. "Isn't it always?" He crowed. "Isn't it bloody always. Sammy boy, you're gonna have to do better than that."
The door swung open and closed behind them. Neither Sam nor Jo turned to inspect the newcomer. "It's true." Sam said softly, hardy audible over the mirth. "It's true."
"Back to the matter at hand." Jo growled out. "Are you going to kill us or not?"
The hilarity dropped away in a second. "You have no one to support your innocence." Moriarty said gravely. "And so-"
"I vouch for them." There were two men sitting in a shadowed corner. As the one who had spoke gave a wide, sparkling grin, Sam recognised him.
It was Conrad the Magician.
"Harmon's place is across the street from my stall. I saw 'em go in and come out in about five minutes, moving like the Hound of the Baskervilles was after 'em. No time to kill a hunter like Jacob."
"I'll vouch for them too." Said the second man. "I knew them both as kids and they're good people who would have never killed anyone in cold blood." He stood up, his grizzled face in the light.
Sam and Jo stared.
"Bobby!"