Ruthie kept her gun trained on the silhouette in the open door, her heart pulsing in her throat. Sam spun around, drawing his gun, too.
The man in the doorway put his hands up. "Don't shoot!" he begged in a heavy Spanish accent. "Please. I need help."
"Who are you?" Sam demanded, not lowering his gun.
"I am Enrique Macías."
Enrique. The unofficial leader of the missing field workers. Ruthie's throbbing heart gave a lurch. This was either an eyewitness and their best lead so far, or she and Sam were trapped in this barn with Azar.
Either way, her gun was pointless. She holstered it and pretended to feel calm. "Enrique, we've been looking for you. Can you tell us what happened?"
The man kept his hands up, his eyes on Sam's weapon. "He took us from the field. He had a gun. He told us to get in the van or he would shoot us all." His voice turned bitter. "We should have let him."
"And he brought you here?" Sam asked.
Enrique nodded. "To her." He pointed at Rachel Schultz's body.
Ruthie sidestepped to her left, to get a better look at the man's face, trying to read him. "So who had the gun?" Ruthie asked. "Who was he?"
"Her servant," he said, then shuddered. "A monster."
She exchanged a glance with Sam. Azar had a werewolf working for him? Their werewolf had been radio silent since Reeds Spring, when he'd recruited a small army of monsters to fight alongside him. Could this be the same one? Aligning itself with a powerful ally, still hoping for revenge?
"Then what happened?" Sam asked.
Enrique's face hardened. "She wanted us to sell our souls. My grandson, Felipe, was first." The man tilted up his chin. "He refused."
The man's emotions all rang true. Ruthie didn't pick up any signs he was lying. She told herself to relax—not an easy task in these circumstances. "What did she do?" Ruthie asked quietly.
Now his chin quivered. He lowered one hand to point at the blackened bodies on the floor. A tight ache squeezed Ruthie's throat.
"I'm sorry," Sam said. He holstered his gun.
Enrique watched him cautiously for a another few seconds, then lowered both hands. "But who are you?" he asked. "You are not with the police? And you do not think I am crazy?"
"We believe you," Sam said.
The short man stared at Sam and Ruthie in wonder. "You have seen these things before?"
Ruthie didn't answer his question. "Enrique, if the monster was her servant, why did he kill her? Did you see something happen to her before that?"
He nodded silently, eyes wide. Ruthie stayed quiet, waiting.
The old man swallowed, darting a glance at Rachel's body. "She opened her mouth, and smoke came out. A lot of it. Red smoke."
"Where did it go?" Sam asked, his voice tense.
Enrique looked at him. Slowly, the nervousness fell away from his lined face. A skin-crawling smile stretched his lips wide. "Into me."
Ruthie froze, a cold wave crashing over her as if she'd been doused with ice water. Then her heart started pumping again, hard and fast. The muggy heat closed around her; her whole body started sweating. Demons could access the memories and feelings of the people they possessed. He'd tricked her. She looked at Sam. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes fixed on Enrique—on Azar. His right hand reached behind his back. She didn't know whether he was going for the demon knife or his radio.
Ruthie jolted as a second figure appeared in the doorway. A stocky man with a beard and a hateful, yellow-toothed grin.
It was him. The werewolf who'd burst into her cabin. Dean had shot him with her dad's twelve gauge; she'd watched him crash to the floor. But he had come back, just like Dean said he would. Teamed up with a witch and a dozen other monsters to kill Sam and Dean. Used Ruthie to ambush them. It was because of him that Dean had nearly killed her.
And now he was about to get his long-sought revenge on the Winchesters. Half of it, at least.
"Hiya, Sammy," the werewolf said. "Don't think we've ever actually met."
"I know who you are," Sam snapped, his face tight with anger despite their peril.
Azar strolled forward, running his eyes over Sam as though he were a prize thoroughbred. "Lucifer's vessel," he said in an admiring tone, his Spanish accent gone.
Sam winced. Ruthie knew he hadn't been called that for a long time.
Realization slammed into her like a punch to the gut. Azar was burning through vessels. Crowley had said so. And now, here was an upgrade. A vessel that might hold him longer than a day or two—maybe a lot longer. A solution to his problem.
A crackle echoed in the barn. "Luke, you got anything else? Over."
Azar tilted his head to one side, looking curious. "What's this?"
"That was the brother," the werewolf said.
After a pause, Sam answered. "It's a radio." He held his left hand up in surrender pose, and slowly pulled the radio out with his right. He held it up for Azar to see.
"Don't let him answer," the werewolf warned.
Azar didn't move, just kept his eyes on Sam, a little half smile on his face. Sam looked back, holding the radio. Ruthie watched them both, hardly daring to breathe.
Sam squeezed the talk button; his mouth formed the sound "D." Instantly, Azar made a single waving motion with his hand, and Sam flew through the air, slamming into the wall. He stuck there, arms splayed, held in place by an invisible force. The impact knocked the radio out of his hand; it fell to the floor.
"Luke, come in, over," it said.
Ruthie snatched her radio and pressed the button. Something hard and fast crashed into her, knocking the breath out of her lungs and the radio out of her hand. She would have fallen, but vice-like arms caught her, then clamped around her from behind. Wet, hot breath polluted the air to the right of her face, and sent chills of revulsion scuttling over her skin.
"Daisy, come in; this isn't funny." Dean sounded anxious. And he'd forgotten to say "Over."
She longed to answer him, to tell him to stay away. To say "I love you" one more time. Had she really only said it once?
The werewolf kicked her radio across the floor to Azar. The old man stooped and picked it up. "Demanding, isn't he, your brother?" he asked Sam. Then he switched it off. He picked up Sam's radio and did the same. "Now we can continue, undisturbed." He stepped around to face Sam, who glared at him through narrowed eyes.
Sam hung there on the age-worn wall, pinned like an insect on display. His right arm stretched straight out; his left angled down toward his side. His hands clenched, straining against the power holding him there.
"I've been looking forward to meeting you, Sam Winchester," Azar said.
"How do you know who I am?" Sam asked through clenched teeth.
"My associate," he said simply, gesturing to the werewolf holding Ruthie in an unshakeable grip. "He has been a valuable source of information." He inclined his head toward the werewolf. "You were right. My performance as Enrique put them off their guard."
Ruthie was close enough to actually hear the wolf smile: the wet slither of lips across teeth, the rustle of whiskers bunching up against one another. She shuddered.
"We don't need this one," the werewolf said to Azar. "I can take care of her right now if you want."
Sam jerked against the wall, chest heaving, eyes desperate and blazing.
Azar watched him for a moment. Keeping his eyes on Sam, he asked, "What are the chances the brother is on his way?"
The werewolf shrugged. "Depends. If he knows where they are, pretty good. Eighty plus. Doesn't matter, though. I'll be done long before he gets here."
Azar still gazed at Sam. "Is she important to them?"
"Yeah. She goes everywhere with them. Their groupie."
"Well, then. Let's keep her for now."
The werewolf grumbled under its breath, heating her neck even more, sending sweat trickling down her back.
Azar spun toward the wolf. "What was that?" he asked sharply.
"Nothing, boss," the monster muttered.
Another voice spoke in low, harsh tones. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…" Sam glared at Azar, enunciating each word. "Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii…"
Azar's face contorted; his chest jerked outward. He let out a pained grunt, as though he'd been punched in the stomach.
Sam raised his voice. "Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, ergo draco maledicte—"
Azar flung his arm toward Sam and made a fist. Sam broke off with a choking sound, his mouth working, face turning red.
Ruthie jumped in, speaking the Latin as quickly as she could. "Ut ecclesiam tuam secura, tibi facias libertate servire—"
A hairy hand clamped over her mouth, pointed claws jabbing into her cheek. "Nice try, sweetheart," the werewolf growled low in her ear.
Azar stared at Sam, looking stern. "I respect your attempt at heroism," he said. "I expected nothing less. But if you ever try to exorcise me again, I will burn her to death before your eyes. Do you understand?"
Sam was turning blue. Ruthie twisted in the werewolf's grip, but it was useless. Sam gave a tiny nod, and Azar opened his fist. Sam sucked in a strangled gasp, then coughed and gasped again.
Azar strolled over to Sam, studying him again like a masterpiece hanging in a museum. "If souls determined their vehicle's strength, I might not need you." He gestured down at Enrique's body. "This one, he is strong. Honorable, noble. I wanted his soul badly. The banquet it would have been…" He gazed wistfully at nothing for a moment. "But do you know what he said to me? 'For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his soul?'" Azar chuckled. "Wise man. He knows the Scriptures. My loss. But now, look at what I have." He held out both hands, indicating Sam, as though the demon were a spokesmodel displaying a new sports car. "Lucifer's true vessel. Channeling my power through you, I will have full control. I will have all the time I need. I will take all the souls I require." He let out a contented sigh and admired Sam a little longer.
"Now then," he said, and threw back his head. A thick column of brick red smoke poured out of his mouth and flew at Sam. Without thinking, Ruthie tried to rush forward to him, but the hairy arm clinched tighter around her arms and ribcage, crushing the breath out of her.
Sam turned his head to one side, trying to avoid the smoke. It surged into his mouth—no. Against his mouth. It couldn't seem to get in. It piled back onto itself, repelled by an unseen force.
Of course. His tattoo. Ruthie sagged with relief. Sam couldn't be possessed.
The smoke retreated, back into Enrique. His mouth snapped shut; he whirled around, advancing on Ruthie and the werewolf. His eyes glowed entirely red, with vertical black slits for pupils. Ruthie cringed back against the werewolf, far less frightened of the monster than its master.
"You said there would be no obstacle," Azar hissed. "You told me I would not have to receive his permission."
"You don't!" The werewolf's voice was tight with confusion and fear. "He must be warded somehow, or maybe he did some spell. I'm sure you can break it."
"Warded how?" Azar demanded.
"I don't know," the wolf said. "I've been trying to kill them, not possess them. You're a demon. Don't you know any ways hunters might try to keep from getting possessed?"
Azar's red eyes narrowed dangerously. "I have been on Earth for all of ten days. You were supposed to be my world-wise assistant, my expert on all things Winchester."
"And I got you this far," the werewolf growled. "He's right there, isn't he?"
Azar kept glaring at the werewolf, who seemed to shrink under his gaze. His grip tightened around Ruthie, then he grabbed her upper arms and thrust her forward, inches from Azar. "Use her," the werewolf barked. "Use her to get him to tell you what's wrong."
In Ruthie's peripheral vision, Sam grappled against his invisible restraints, his whole body straining with effort.
After another taut moment of silence, Azar turned to Sam. "Well then, Sam. Will you tell me what I want to know and save us all some time, and your friend much pain? Or must we go through the motions?"
Ruthie caught Sam's eye, and gave her head the slightest shake. Don't tell him.
A tendon stood out from Sam's neck. His lips compressed and his nostrils flared; his eyes shone in the dim barn. He said nothing.
"Very well," Azar said. He extended a leathery hand toward Ruthie's face.
At six inches away, she could already feel the heat pouring off his fingers. She recoiled, but couldn't go far, immobile in the werewolf's iron grasp. The fiery hand kept coming, its radiant heat already searing her cheek. She stretched her neck back as far as she could, gritting her teeth, bracing for the moment of contact—
"Stop!" Sam shouted. "Stop. I have an anti-possession symbol. It's permanent; you can't possess me. Hurting her won't help you." He breathed hard, looking frightened and furious at once.
Azar blinked, and his eyes were dark brown again. "A symbol, you say?" he asked. "And it's permanent…" He lowered his hand, removing the scorching heat from her cheek. Ruthie sagged in relief for the second time in as many minutes. But only for a moment, because now Azar was walking back across the floor toward Sam, stepping right up in front of him. Sam stared down at him, jaw clenched. Azar lifted both hands, palms toward Sam, and held them out wide, each one hovering about an inch from Sam's wrists. Slowly, he moved his hands along Sam's arms, traveling over his forearms, past his biceps, pausing at his shoulders. Then he continued inward, along his collarbone, halting just before his hands met in the center. He stood very still for one second, then two. "Here," he said with triumph in his voice. "I can feel it." He tucked the fingers of both hands into Sam's shirt, into the space between the top two buttons, and ripped it open. Several white buttons went flying across the room, landing silently in the thick dust.
Sam's tattoo was laid bare. His breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling. He glared at Azar, his chin jutting out in defiance.
"Brilliant!" Azar sounded delighted. "Of course, only a temporary barrier for me, but I imagine most effective against lesser demons." He gave Sam one more admiring grin. "Oh, I am going to enjoy you." He raised his right hand toward the tattoo. A red glow emanated from his palm, illuminating the pentagram and sunburst waves on Sam's skin. Sam gritted his teeth so hard they made a grinding noise. He closed his eyes.
"No!" Ruthie screamed. "Take me instead. I don't have a tattoo, just a pendant. You can take it off." She scrambled to think of more reasons, some way to persuade the demon she was a better choice. "If you burn him, he'll be damaged; he'll get infected. You don't want a damaged, infected vessel, do you? He'll be weak. Take me."
To her surprise, Azar paused. He peered at her, something like amusement flickering over his weather-beaten face. He lowered his hand. Sam exhaled. Azar turned slowly, with purpose, and walked toward Ruthie.
She hadn't really expected to change his mind. Now her thoughts raced: what would it feel like to be possessed? Would she be aware of everything he did while he was controlling her body? How long before she couldn't contain him and she burned up, like the others? Would it hurt?
Or maybe she hadn't changed his mind at all. Maybe she had only bought Sam a few more minutes, and the demon just wanted to toy with her. A cat, playing with a hogtied mouse.
Azar stepped up close, studying her face. "What is your name?"
She glanced at Sam, but he didn't give her a sign one way or the other, only a desperate look. She figured she had nothing to lose. "Ruthie."
"Ruthie," the demon said, rolling her name across his tongue as though it were a fine wine. "You wish to sacrifice your body for your friend. Or perhaps he is more than a friend?"
He's my brother. She didn't say it out loud. Azar already had all the leverage he needed.
"You know, I believe, what has happened to my other vessels?"
She swallowed. "Yes."
"And yet you volunteer." His eyes flashed with something like greed. "What do you want most in the world, Ruthie?"
Was he trying to open negotiations for her soul? She'd never do that, never sell her soul.
Or would she? Did she have some leverage after all? What if she could save Sam?
At the very least, she could try to buy more time.
"I want you to let Sam go."
"Ah," Azar breathed a sad sigh. "That, I cannot do. Anything else. Ask me for anything else, Ruthie, and it can be yours."
She held his gaze, drew herself up as tall as she could with the werewolf holding her down. "I want you to go to Hell."
He threw his head back and let out a hearty, authentic laugh. "Ruthie, Ruthie." He came a step closer and reached out to touch her face. She cringed away, but his fingers weren't hot this time. He caressed her chin, like an affectionate grandfather, and spoke in a low, soft voice. "How I wish you would sell me your soul. I confess, I desire it more than any I have yet found. Perhaps, sooner or later, you will change your mind. Perhaps I will find a way to persuade you."
He let his hand drop from her face. "You are worthless to me as a vessel. Your soul may be worth a thousand others, but your body is as frail as the rest." He reached out, took hold of the chain hanging around her neck, and pulled her anti-possession pendant out from beneath her shirt. "Silver," he observed, turning the pendant various angles. "A pretty thing. But so easily removed." He glanced back at Sam. "Why do you not wear a permanent one, like him?"
She didn't answer. She tried to think, tried to come up with some plan, some way out, but there was nothing. She couldn't distract them so Sam could run, because Sam couldn't move. She couldn't reach her gun, which would be useless anyway, because she couldn't move. Neither she nor Sam could get to the demon knife in his waistband, because they couldn't move.
Azar's face lit up. "I know. I shall give you a permanent one. As a sign of goodwill. To prove I never intend to possess you. To prove all I desire is your soul." He focused on the pendant between his thumb and forefinger.
As Ruthie watched, the edges of the silver symbol turned orange. The color spread inward until the whole pendant was yellow-orange, and heat distortions shimmered off of it in waves.
Her heart began to pound in earnest, thudding painfully against her ribs. She couldn't take her eyes off the glowing pentagram. She tried to push herself backward, but the clawed hands clenched tighter, biting into her arms. The wolf pressed his chest into her back, immovable as a brick wall.
With his free hand, Azar pulled her shirt aside, baring her skin in the same spot Sam's tattoo lay. He moved the pendant closer, adjusting its position like an artist determined to paint the perfect brushstroke. Left of center. Below the collarbone.
"Don't!" Sam yelled. "Azar, I swear—"
The incandescent silver burned into Ruthie's skin with a sickening sizzle. She screamed without hearing herself, without hearing anything. All her other senses failed; there was only the pain, the brand burning its way down through her skin. She screamed again; he was still burning her. She'd never felt physical pain this intense, this immediate, not even when she'd drawn blood directly from her heart.
Almost as suddenly as it had begun, the pain faded. Third degree burn, her nurse brain narrated. Pain receptors destroyed.
The pressure lifted. The red hot metal was gone, leaving a sunburn ache smoldering in its wake. Her senses came back, muted by shock. Sam's voice, shouting curses, calling her name. The acrid smell of burnt flesh stinging her nose and churning her stomach.
Then, the familiar click of a hammer being cocked, and another voice, one she knew as well as her own.
"Get away from her, you son of a bitch."
So, I have to ask: Did I screw up by getting Dean and Ruthie together? Did I kill the romantic tension and now nobody cares how the story ends? Or is this installment just subpar? Reader interaction has nosedived since the last book. I really want to finish strong for these characters and for you, my readers, but I'm steadily losing my mojo and starting to wonder what's the point. Anyway, sorry to be a buzzkill. If updates stop coming on Saturdays, it means I've decided to focus on my next novel for a bit instead. I hope you're all well, my dears!