PART 1

Bobby Singer was the unofficial librarian of the hunter community. His knowledge of chants, spells and incantations was rivaled only by his large collection of rare and dangerous literature. His simple, faded home was a valuable repository of deadly knowledge. He worked hard to add to it. Anyone who visited was mystified by the elaborate and complex locking system in place; what in this shabby and simple house could warrant such measures? But those who knew, understood.

On countless occasions, the Winchesters had called upon Bobby for help in difficult cases. He always came through. Thus it was when he called Dean to discuss a particularly nasty little book. Bobby had heard of this small, old journal long ago. It's spells, and their unhappy effects, had surfaced from time to time. Bobby always chased it, to no avail. It inevitably seemed to be pulled underground again. Until now.

He'd heard of it again. It had apparently been used in New Orleans. A few spotty details of a particular form of mayhem had surfaced in that old Louisiana city. Details that pointed to a powerful incarnation of vodun, more commonly known as voodoo, seemed to indicate that the little book was once again in the hands of someone skilled enough, and cold enough, to use it effectively. And Bobby needed help in chasing it. He had a sharp mind, sharper than most, but he wasn't young anymore...and if things got difficult he'd need someone reliable watching his back. Sam and Dean were his first choice; they were both strong, and always ready to jump into the fray. And the added bonus was that they were currently touring in the south.

Dean got off the phone and pursed his lips, leaning back in his chair and pushing his toes through the soft sand at his feet.

"What...?" Sam asked. He was nervous about the answer.

"Bobby. He wants to meet us back in New Orleans. He's got a lead on some kind of voodoo book he's been after for a few years, wants us to help him track it down."

Sam's gut tightened with worry. Their recent experience in that state was hardly easy, and it was the last place he wanted to return to. But he kept his concerns quiet for now. "Really? Huh...that's something we haven't seen in a while. Where is it? What does he want us to do?"

"He's calling back to confirm. He wanted to know if we were in first. I told him yeah, of course."

Sam nodded. Of course...anything for Bobby. He'd saved their asses on so many occasions; they owed him big time. But damn, it had to be back in Louisiana.

"Voodoo.." Dean mused. "That's pretty weird shit. Must be an important thing, this book...he's sure coming far to go after it."

Sam nodded. He had nothing more to say, but his expression spoke for him.

"What, Sam..?" Dean sighed.

"It's just...I'm a little skittish about going back there, after..."

"And you think I'm not? Hell, Sam, there's a million other places I'd rather drive through right now, but Bobby needs this!"

"I know, Dean. We owe him. He wouldn't have asked-"

"If it weren't important. And anyway, Sam; it's not like the whole state is full of Jessups. We just had the crappy luck of tangling with that bastard. It'll be fine."

They'd both been having itchy feet lately. After some initial Winchester-style distractions, they'd enjoyed five harm-free and laid back months of Mexican life. Work had been plentiful; the resorts were all in dire need of construction labourers after the devastation of the last hurricane, and they'd rented a room through a fellow resort employee. Javier was one of the kitchen managers and he'd delighted in sharing his culinary skills with his two newfound friends. They didn't mind it either. And they had been able to return the favour by solving a little vengeful spirit issue for Javier's kin. They were tanned like mahogany. And finally, after all the injuries and mishaps that had plagued them before, they were both strong and healthy again. And bored. Even in such surroundings, a vacation can grow stale if it stretches too long. Sam hadn't realized just how much he enjoyed the mental challenges of figuring out the various mysteries thrown their way. He missed that aspect of the hunt. And Dean was showing signs of adult ADHD by now. He was tired of planting palm trees and pouring concrete. He needed to feel some adrenalin in his veins, and if he didn't, he would have to substitute tequila again, and end up picking fights and finding trouble here in paradise. Bobby's request for help was actually very timely.

But leaving, well...it wasn't going to be easy. Both brothers had adapted well to the lifestyle offered by the Mayan coast. The sun, sand, the sea…and the people who had welcomed and accepted them. And christ, the food. Javier's cooking was impeccable; Sam was hardly able to even contemplate the idea of road-grub again. But he knew, —they both knew; that this was going to end at some point. He was surprised and grateful that it had lasted this long. They'd both been able to heal and relax, and the pace here was just what they needed to regain some sort of positive perspective. But nobody in real life lived permanently with so many palm trees, or an ocean of that particular shade of blue. This was a fantasy. The pause had been perfect, but they were part of a more visceral life and it was useless to ignore it. When Bobby called back, they knew it was time to return to the real world.

After all the tearful goodbyes, the parties, the drinking & toasting, they found themselves back on the road to Texas. Both were silent for some time. Knowing a change was inevitable didn't make it any easier. The hangovers didn't help either. Sam had the first shift at the wheel. Dean sat in silence, examining the string of calluses on his fingers; he was getting decent at playing the guitar, thanks to Javier. His tutor's choice of music was pretty cultural; hardly his own...but with practice, he could have extrapolated to playing the type of tunes he liked. He'd actually thought of picking one up, second hand, but he finally decided against it. It would take too much room in the car, and Sam was liable to juicy-fruit it over his head after listening to his novice twanging for hours on end. Maybe later…some other time...some other life.

"Did Bobby say where we were supposed to meet?" Sam asked, breaking into Dean's reverie.

"Holiday Inn on Chartres. He's at least a full day behind us. We'll set up there and wait for him. Don't know why he wanted that place, not exactly cheap." Dean griped.

"Holiday Inn? Oooo...Klassy." Sam answered. He smiled to himself. It wasn't that expensive. But Dean felt completely out of sorts unless he was slumming to the lowest common denominator with regard to their accommodation. It was one of his many little quirks.

They passed through Texas without incident, and continued on to their destination, trading driving duties periodically. Dean wore his tension on his face, after his last experience there. He scanned the ditches, trying to be prepared for anything that could possibly have the stupid idea of leaping out in front of the car, or worse, flashing lights behind them. Nothing did, thank goodness. They reached Louisiana in darkness and silence. At last, in the wee hours, they found their hotel. They checked in and crashed for a while.

When morning was well established, they joined the world at their own leisurely pace, still adjusting from a place where time didn't mean quite so much. They were awaiting contact from Bobby. In the meantime, Dean busied himself with a task he'd had the luxury to put off for the past while. He carefully and methodically checked, cleaned, and oiled all their weapons. It was a mental exercise as well; it prepared him for a return to a world he'd largely ignored for nearly six months.

Sam was at his computer, researching the case. Through Bobby, he had the skeletal info about it, and it was now up to him to flesh it out. He searched the typical sources, and used the back doors to other sites that were always useful. Ultimately he had a better picture of what they were looking for.

"Five people, so far. All suicides. Bobby is sure they relate to his book. They were all under doctor's care for some kind of illness that no one could pinpoint. There were no diagnoses, as far as I can see. Some were even under psychiatric care. They had the same symptoms; excruciating bouts of pain, but no physical evidence of injury or disease. And they all offed themselves in the end, when they couldn't get help. Weird."

Dean grunted. "So he thinks someone is using the book to voodoo people to death? Like the pins-in-a-doll thing?"

"Seems so. The question right now is who. I'm gonna see if I can find any common thread between these people. For starters, I need to isolate the area that these happened…give us a starting point."

By afternoon they were well-rested and in a holding pattern until Bobby showed up. Dean had begun to pace. "Guess we could start looking around while we wait for him. Got any area in particular?"

Sam had isolated a neighbourhood that seemed likely, according to the residences of the victims. It was pretty broad territory. Dean was pleased to see that there was a good stretch of the heart of the French quarter encompassed. Research could prove to be entertaining. They spent the afternoon wandering around the city, doing the tourist thing. It was a beautiful, degenerating old place. Wrought and cast iron decorated balconies, fences, and roof crests. Old, multi-storied buildings crowded the sidewalks, which thronged with people, both local and visiting. Here and there; stately, ancient oaks stood defiantly, hung with shrouds of Spanish moss. Dean felt a mysterious and decadent pulse to it all, and he loved it. Sam too found it interesting, but it's air of self indulgence and slow decay repulsed him a little. It felt old, in a desperate and death-rattle way that unnerved him; like an aging whore, beautiful and provocative when viewed from the safe side of the street, but god-forbid you cross over to her...

They finally returned to their lodging to grab some dinner and figure out their evening. Once fed, they discussed their possible choices. Sam was all for staying in and continuing his searches online, while waiting for further contact from Bobby. Dean had other ideas. His afternoon walkabout had awakened in him a need for some sort of action; something a little more pro-active than watching porn on an undersized motel TV. They agreed to pursue things in ways that took advantage of each of their particular skill-sets.

Dean went about research in his usual full-throttle way. He checked out the hot spots in the area, triangulated by the reported deaths. There were a few of them; New Orleans was hardly a sedate little hamlet. He had made the rounds, playing up his tourist-in-search of-wild-times routine...finally settling on one spicy little joint in the French quarter. He spent a good few hours at the bar there. It had a great feel to it; a little exotic, a little dangerous, and a lot of potential on all fronts. It was all for the sake of the job, of course, but there were perks to the line of work. Sam could sit at his computer or library chair all he liked; this was a way better way to siphon off some info.

He'd been having a friendly rapport with the bartender; a mid forties Jamaican man with a shaved head and a ready and genuine grin. He called himself Benoit, and he effortlessly entertained Dean as the hunter sat and consumed his preferred poisons. Dean's questions about the area, the lore, and voodoo in general were met with willing and animated discussion. He learned a lot that evening, but nothing about the book, or it's current keeper, despite his veiled probes. He'd been eyeing the women present, and there were several that were showing promise. All in the name of research of course… One in particular was watching him hungrily. She'd sidled over when he had started his conversation with Benoit about the culture of voodoo magic, and the existence of books of spells and other curses.. She had skin that glowed cinnamon, eyes that were dark, fathomless. Her hair was dark too, slightly reddish, very textured. And she wore it in interesting long dread-like ringlets. She had an air of mystery, or menace. Either one was equally attractive to Dean. She looked like a supple feline that was only barely tame.

She addressed him in a honeyed tone, a slight, un-identifiable accent shaping her words. "Now why would you be wanting to know about such nonsense…?" she asked, tracing a line, a shape; on his hand lightly.

He grinned his most charming grin for her. "I dunno, just curious. You know...when in Rome... Hell, this is the place for that kind of thing, isn't it? I mean, I can find normal anywhere, but this is New Orleans, the cradle of freaky."

She smiled. It reminded him of a snake... a beautiful, coppery snake. "You like the freaky, huh…? Well...I just might know a bit about that. What's your name, anyway?"

"Dean."

"Hmm. Well Dean….You think you want to learn something about the voodoo, yeah? You know; this isn't something you little sightseer farm boys should get into...you gonna be in over your sweet little head." She laughed softly, mocking him. She leaned forward, offering a tantalizing glimpse of what she could offer him, if she was so inclined. She brought her lips to his ear and whispered, "You know, I don't think you gonna be strong enough for this kind of magic...but I can teach you; just a little. If you dare."

He cocked an eyebrow, momentarily at a loss for words . He was normally the one coming on strong, this was an interesting role-reversal. Dean had a strange combination of feelings. He was intrigued, very turned on, but he had the hairs on the back of his neck rising up in a revolt of caution. This chick was not playing coy. She was openly hunting. He felt like a rabbit, frozen and waiting breathlessly as the coyote's gaze passed back and forth across its place in the grass, debating the wisdom of running.

And there it was again…that goddamned phrase he'd heard too many times; not strong enough. It was the red flag to his snorting bull. "Listen...you want to go someplace and…talk?" he asked; his well-founded caution chased away by pride and his attraction to her.

She looked down demurely, raising her gaze slowly up his form and settling on his eyes. "Talk. Sure, we can do that. Give me a minute…I need to use the ladies room. Don't you run away now..."

He solemnly shook his head and watched her leave, smiling smugly to himself.

"Hey.." Benoit put down his glass and leaned toward Dean, tapping his shoulder. The bartender glanced around, almost fearfully. "Listen to me, ok? You seem like a fun guy. I like you; so lemme give you some advice here, ok? You don't wanna get with that. You hear what I'm saying? You really don't. That chick—man; you gonna find a world of hurt. You gonna regret it, I'm telling you. Just walk away from that."

Dean leaned forward, hardly trying to suppress his cocky smile. "Why's that, Benoit? C'mon, man, I'm a big boy-I can take care of myself. What's so scary about her?"

The bartender opened his mouth, but abruptly shut it as she returned. She stared at him pointedly. He dropped his gaze and backed away, catching Dean's eye one last time before returning to his drying of glasses. But his warning was lost on Dean. He wanted this girl now; she filled his senses so completely that he thought of nothing else.