Disclaimer: I do not own the concept or characters from the show "Supernatural." Any other characters not related to the show or the Nightwold series, however, are mine and are not to be used in any other fan fictions. Some concepts were also borrowed or loosely adapted from L.J. Smith's "Nightworld" and "The Vampire Diaries" series. This fan fiction takes place right after "Road Kill," (approx. end of Feb. '06). This is the sequel to my Supernatural fanfiction "Possession."

Dean slammed his cell phone shut.

"Damn it."

Sam opened his sleep filled eyes and stretched in the seat next to him.
"What's up," he yawned.

"I just called Lenore to check up on Abby. She's gone."

Sam sat up straight and looked over to his brother concerned.
"What do you mean she's gone?"

"She left. Lenore said she just took off one day and left note saying 'Thank you.' She has no idea where Abby went. All she said was she was sure of Abby's abilities. Meaning, she's not going to chomp on a human anytime soon."

Dean had to admit, after seeing her face the night in the vacant apartment, he had some doubts. She transformed into something inhuman after she drank Sam's blood. He had his suspicions on whether or not anyone or anything could actually control it.

It had been a year since that night. He'd kept tabs on her, calling Lenore every now and then to make sure she was alright. For the longest time, there was no change. She walked around in a daze, wearing black, spinning the rings he'd saved for her on her fingers. It was only a couple months ago that Lenore told him she was getting better and was using her time for more than just moping around. In fact, Abby had even requested going on a hunt. Her request, however, was denied until her full mental facilities could be established. That's around the time Lenore said she took off.

"Hey Dean, we're here," Sam said as he rolled down the window, sucking in the sea air.

"St. Augustine, Florida. Man, this city has some smoking hot chicks," Dean said as two blondes in bikinis rollerbladed down the street.

"It's also the oldest city in the United States," Sam interrupted with more of his useless, nerdy information.

"Ok, Magellan, what are we doing here?"

"There have been eight mysterious deaths in the same apartment complex. All single woman…ring a bell?"

Dean thought back to the case where they had encountered the ghost of H.H Holmes in Philadelphia.
"So we're dealing with a ghost?"

Sam shook his head no and continued to explain the deaths. One girl fell down two flights of stairs and broke her neck, but she was an accomplished gymnast and her balance was excellent. Two others where found drowned in their bathtubs with no drugs in their system. Three more where found stabbed to death with no murder weapon to be found. What made their case curious, as well as the last two victims who died with their throats slashed, was the mysterious lack of blood.

"I mean, Dean, there was some at the scene but most of it was gone."

"So…we're not dealing with a ghost?"

Sam shrugged, meaning he had no clue. But that was their job; find out what was fucking around and blow the thing away.
Dean took the main street and scoped out the purported building. Sam explained that it used to be an old mansion and was converted into apartments by the new owner. The exterior of the building appeared to be newer, but the sign out front showed it's age; it read "Kings Inn, established 1700." Still being a history geek, Sam continued to explain that the house was actually built in 1700 and wasn't established into an inn until recently. Crime scene tape covered the door and the apparent owner was out front talking with police. Dean overheard them discuss having the house vacated completely for the evening.

Knowing that no young women would be there to attract whatever-the-hell-it-was that was killing, they both agreed that they should wait until the next day start the investigation. Sam said he'd do some more online probing until then, causing Dean to make fun of his 'online probing' comment for the rest of the ride.

The Impala roared onto the Bridge of Lions as Dean searched for a hotel.

He found one right on the water called Captain Salty's Inn. After they checked in with the surly cashier, obviously Capt. Salty himself, they found their way to their room. It was decorated in a nautical style with fish and shells everywhere. He threw himself down onto the bed, only to find it swish and sway.

"Sw-eet…look, Sammy. Water beds!"

"Oh, and what a nice view," Sam said as he closed the drapes.

"What do you mean, I thought they said it was right on the - ," he said as he opened the curtains, realizing why Sam had shut them so quickly. Instead of the hot bikini clad women he hoped to be ogling, the beach was full of overweight, hairy, Speedo wearing men. He quickly shut them, wondering how he could burn the image from his retinas. Sam laughed behind him.

"Shut up, Sam," he looked to his brother, who was already researching on the computer.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."