Chapter Three
Dean and Sam were cruising down a side street looking for the address Sam had written down on a piece of paper in his hand. They had stopped for a bite to eat at Hooter's, at Dean's insistence, and Sam's hang-over seemed to be getting better as the surplus of greasy food worked it's way through his system.
'Dude, I think that's it down there.' Sam pointed to a two story white Victorian, complete with shutters, wrap around porch and a white picket fence.
Dean squinted at the place. 'What is this? Martha Stewart's witch doctor cousin?'
'No man, this is the place. See,' Sam pointed at the paper and then the house number. 'Number 97, this is it.'
'I don't believe this,' Dean said disgustedly. 'All this way and she doesn't even fit the profile. I mean, where are the animal bones? Where's the two dozen stray cats?'
Dean pulled the car forward a little more and parked at the curb. From where he was, he could now see a driveway that ran along-side the house and a garage towards the back. Parked in front of the garage was a white 1970 Dodge Charger. Dean let out a low whistle and said, 'Looks like the Lady has a greaser in for a palm reading right now. Let's get a closer look at that car.' Dean was excited. He loved badass cars, and the only thing more badass than a 1970 Charger, was his '67 Impala. He opened his car door to get out.
Sam frowned, 'Dean, maybe we should wait until the guy comes out. You never know how he'll react to seeing a couple of strangers looking over his ride.'
'First of all,' Dean said patiently, as if Sam were three, 'he'll see my car out front and he'll know that I'm a car guy too. He'll probably want to look over the Impala. Now you can come with me or you can sit here straightening out your skirt, whatever you want.' And Dean was out the door and up the driveway, running his hands along the beautiful ghost before him.
'Vanishing Point, nice!' Dean said appreciatively.
'Vanishing what?' Sam asked, coming up behind him.
'Vanishing Point,' Dean repeated. Sam had a stunned look on his face. 'You know, the first great American muscle car movie.'
Sam shrugged.
'Boy, I should beat you senseless!' Dean was shocked that his kid brother had never heard of the movie, or even truly appreciated the mint beauty of the car before him.
'Sammy, you might have the book-smarts of the family, but your knowledge of Pop-Culture is abysmal,' Dean lectured. Running his hand lovingly over the hood of the Charger he softly crooned to it, 'Somebody loves you.'
'That somebody would be me,' came a smoky voice from the porch.
Dean looked up to see a woman on the porch, and she was smoking hot. She had a cloud of wild curls trailing half way down her back, the color of brown honey, big eyes and small features, except for her chest, which was very generous. Dean paused to wonder if they were real and decided that he didn't care. Dean flashed his patented Winchester smile at her.
'I bet you think you could charm the panties off a preacher's wife don't you?' She belittled him. 'Scratch the paint on that car and believe me, you'll regret it,' she threatened.
Dean, feeling annoyed that this chick had threatened him, said, 'It's real nice of your boyfriend to let you drive his car.'
'It's my car, thank-you,' she said tersely, 'and I would appreciate it if you would stop drooling on it.' She began to climb down the porch steps, slowly making her way towards them, heels clicking on the concrete. Her tight clothes accentuating the way her hips rolled as she walked, like a feminine version of a gunslinger's gait. Dean was suddenly overcome by a feeling that something wasn't right here. There was something about this girl that Dean was finding disturbing; it was like there was an alarm going off inside his brain but he had no idea why. He was beginning to think that this chick was looking for a fight, and if Dean didn't fight monsters for a living, he might have been tempted to grab Sam and take off. Something wasn't right.
Before Dean could make a smart-ass come-back, Sam cut in. 'Hi, my brother and I were looking for Lady Annathea, is this the right place?'
'Oh, this is the right place,' she said, never taking her steely glare off Dean, even though he had stepped away from the car.
Dean's mind was racing. Something wasn't right and he couldn't put his finger on it. He had lived off his instincts for too long to ignore them now, and right now his gut was telling him this girl was going to be nothing but trouble for him.
'The Lady Annathea crap is for the rubes and tourists, you can call me Anna.' She continued, tossing her wild hair over her shoulder.
'Wait, you're the person we're here to see?' Sam cut in but was ignored as the other two continued to give each other icy glares.
Suddenly, realization came to Dean, an image of flying hair on a bar dance floor, and later that same hair fanned out on a pillow. Without thinking he blurted out, 'You told me your name was Layla!'
'Oh, he remembers me now, how touching,' she mocked him. 'Layla is the name of the song that was playing when you first started hitting on me. You were so horned up that if the bar was playing Lynyrd Skynyrd, I could have told you my name was Freebird and you wouldn't have thought twice about it.'
'You gave me a fake name?' Dean accused her.
'What? You think you invented using fake names? You told me your name was John Bonham for Christ's sake.' She bit back at him. 'Tell me, John, any chance of Led Zepplin making a reunion tour? I wasn't able to get tickets for the London show.' She had her arms crossed across her chest and her hip cocked.
'You fake-named me…well I'll be damned.' Dean cursed.
'Sweetheart, you certainly are.'
'What?' Dean snapped.
'Dean, you're damned. You sold your soul and that's why you're here.' She replied shortly.
'How did you know that?' Dean was glancing back and forth between Anna and Sam, 'If I gave you a fake name before, how do you know my name?' A rising panic was welling up in his chest.
'Yeah, how do you know his name?' Sam asked, coming to stand protectively next to Dean.
Smiling sweetly at Sam she said, 'You are Dean and Sam Winchester, your father was John Winchester. John sold his soul to save Dean's life. His spirit was released from Hell when you two opened the Devil's Gate in Wyoming seven months ago. Dean sold his soul to save you, Sam, and that's why you're alive.' She sauntered a few steps closer to the brothers. 'You're here, in my driveway, looking for help out of that Demon deal.' She was standing in front of Dean now, cockily staring him in the eye, a finger under his chin to hold his gaze. 'You need my expertise,' she whispered to him. 'Fate's a bitch, isn't it?'
'How do you know all this?' Dean was fighting to keep his voice from shaking. He was royally freaked that this girl he nailed once was spewing out details of his life that few people knew.
'Well, when you're the Winchester's, you tend to be a little famous in some circles. The spirits watch what you're up to like humans watch Britney Spears and Lindsey Lohan. I'll let you two decide which one gets to be Brit and who gets to be Lohan,' she mocked him, gently scratching a long finger nail across his cheek before stepping a few paces back.
'I've been tracking your progress for the last few weeks, and I was expecting you today,' she said sweetly to Sam.
'But how do you know these things?' Sam asked her, his voice low.
'The spirits gossip like old women,' she replied. 'They've been following your movements since you decided to lure your brother here.' She shot Dean a nasty glance, as if she could hear what he was thinking, which happened to be nothing complimentary. 'They've been watching you like house wives watch soap opera's.'
'All right, that's enough!' Dean interrupted. Pointing a finger at Anna he said, 'you're crazy! I don't know how you know these things, but stay away from us. Sam, we're leaving.'
'What's the matter Dean? Not in your element if you can't lie?' She cocked her hip and looked fiercely at him. 'Don't like the idea that you can't hide what you're thinking? That things are watching you and there's nothing you can do about it? That they've been telling me everything you've been up to?' She pouted her lips at him, 'No secrets to protect you?'
Dean felt trapped and nauseous, like he was moments away from hyperventilating.
'I know about the swathe you've been cutting through the female population lately. I also know about the dry spell you've hit recently.' She stepped up to him, staring up at him because she was so much shorter than himself, though that didn't seem to phase her.
'You don't know anything,' he breathed.
'I know that the girl in the trucker hat thought you were cute until she saw how old you were. Honestly Dean, you shouldn't set your sights on such young girls, a guy nearing thirty is ancient to a twenty year old.'
'Shut up!'
'And I know that you struck out with Suzie-Q last night. It must have hurt to find out she latched herself onto Sam instead.'
'I said shut up!' Dean yelled at her. She was pushing dangerous buttons and Dean wasn't sure he could keep his hands from circling her throat for much longer.
'You put you're hands on me, and I swear, you'll really miss the last few months of your sex life,' she whispered menacingly.
Dean pulled back, 'how…?' How did she know he was thinking of grabbing her?
'The spirits told me,' she ground out. 'I know you're not usually this slow on the up-take Dean, but I'll spell it out real clear for you anyway. The spirits know what goes on in that head of yours. They tell me what I need to know.'
'There are spirits reading my mind right now?'
She nodded. 'You're thinking of taking out your EMF and doing a reading.'
Dean could have laughed if it were happening to some one else. As it was, he felt like he and Sam were in an old west stand-off, only instead of an ugly cowboy spitting tobacco and pointing a gun, they were facing a pissed off former lover who could read minds and talked to dead people. Great, just freaking great.
'Look,' Sam interrupted, 'you're right. We're here because we need your help.' Dean saw Sam give Anna his puppy dog face, the one he used on cases when he was trying to pump people for clues. Dean didn't think puppy dog faces were going to work on this bitch.
'I know,' she conceded. 'Like I said, I was expecting you today. I could have turned you away already.'
'So you'll help us?' Sam looked hopeful.
'Wait, wait, wait.' Dean interrupted. 'How exactly can you help me anyway? I don't even know why we're here. Sam never said much about what you do.'
'I act as sort of a…legal moderator…for people who gamble away their souls to demons.'
'What does that mean?' Dean asked acidly. 'A legal moderator?' Dean said it like it was the same as fish gutter.
'It means, that for a fee, I get shmucks like yourself out of the trouble you've gotten yourself into. Demons are very sticky about some things, but if you know how they operate, you can work counter-deals.'
Dean started laughing. 'You hear that Sam? For a fee she sweet-talks demons into giving up their prizes.' Dean was almost doubled over from laughing. 'How exactly do you get into a business like that?' He rounded on her. 'Didn't like home-ec in school so you went into demon-law instead?'
'Look you pig! You came here to me because you thought I could help you stay out of the pit, and I'm the only chance you got. So fuck-off with the attitude.' She turned to Sam and said softly, 'I charge a fee to stupid idiots because dealing with demons is dangerous. Most of the cases I get are people who sold their souls for something foolish like a date with their crush, or a promotion. Hunters are pro-bono because the world needs people like you.' Pointing her thumb over her shoulder at Dean she said, 'even assholes like your brother.'
