A.N. Welcome back. Here we go again...

CHAPTER 21

The lion, the witch and the wardrobe.

Jeeze...I feel like freakin' Bambi on freakin' ice. What the Hell kinda spell was that? Come on legs, do your thing, dammit! Holding onto the stair rail to steady himself until the strength fully returned to his legs, Dean dutifully followed Hecate upward as she led him right back to the attic level. On this occasion, however, she headed for the opposite door to that leading into the room which Dean had been in. Having blinked out of existence on the ground floor, Becky's shade now reappeared in the corridor. Hecate snapped her fingers, producing a large, old fashioned, ornate looking key from out of mid-air. Stooping, she unlocked the door. Keeping her hand on the handle and the door closed still, she turned to Dean.

"Insside thisss placsse is sssacred to me. You will resspect thiss boy child, if you wisssh to ssee Rebecca take on her living form oncsse again. Do I make mysssself clear?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Yeah. Got it...Respect the room."

Hecate's eyes narrowed.

"What? I hope you're not waitin' for me to call you friggin' mistress? 'Cos if you are, then we'll both be standing in this hallway till the day Hell freezes over!"

Hecate's glare intensified, but she said nothing. Pushing open the door, she indicated that Dean should enter first. Dean hesitated, not trusting that the witch wouldn't simply close the door after him and lock him inside. One over-riding thought finally encouraged him to walk past Hecate and step in to the dark of the room, Sammy might be in here.

Dean crossed the threshold into the room, and froze, stupefied, too many thoughts to make sense, too rapid to be caught and kept hold of, began tumbling through his mind, including one stream of thought which he could swear just kept repeating bunnies, bunnies, bunnies nonsensically. He was still gawping around, his mouth ajar, when Hecate and the shade appeared at either side of him. A part of him was vaguely aware of the sound of a door closing, seemingly somewhere off in the distance. Dean remained motionless, no spell needed now to render him speechless, he was completely dumbfounded. Internally, he was a tornado of emotions, and amongst the chaos in his mind, one small thought kept persistently bouncing up and down inside his head, waving, attempting to attract his attention, trying to be heard above the clammer. Dean latched onto it. Sweet Black Sabbath. How do you fight a witch with powers on this scale? Sonovabitch Sammy...This' witchcraft like we've never seen. We could be screwed baby brother, wherever you are.

The threesome were standing at the edge of a vast, cathedral like, cavern. Fine silver sand covered the floor, pristine and undisturbed by any footprints. The cavern walls stretched upward, so high that they eventually simply disappeared into dark shadow. The area was bathed in a soft, moon glow light which, Dean noted, appeared to radiate from some kind of phosphorescent coating which clung on to the walls. Rising up from the floor, central to the cavern, was a flat topped boulder, a monolith. Dean saw that there appeared to be carved decoration around the rock. Around the walls at various points, Dean could see the black entrances to half a dozen different tunnels, leading to who knew where. Suddenly, Dean jumped, startled by an unexpected whisper breathed softly into his ear. Just one word...and yet the impact was chilling.

"Welcome."

...

Hecate's whisper finally broke Dean's trance like state, and he quickly moved away before turning to face her, hoping his fear didn't show in his eyes.

"What the fuck is this? Where's the freakin' wardrobe? And the lion? Where the Hell are we?"

Hecate gave him a puzzled frown.

"Your words make no sssense to me boy. Why do you assk about lions? Has your mind become addled? I warn you, I have no patiencsse for idiotsss and fools! I have told you that we were entering a place sssacred to me, you need know nothing more, child. Now, go. Ssstand yourself by my altar. Rebecca...you too."

Whilst Dean made his way across the soft floor toward the altar, he idly glanced in the direction of one of the tunnels. Wonder where I'd end up if I made a run for it down there? Huh...probably falling head first down some stray rabbit hole, then having to get friendly with a giant caterpillar ... Ugh! Sooo not what I meant! Ok, not the tunnels then. Arriving at the altar, he was surprised to see that it was three sided, the monolith having been shaped so that, if looking down onto it from above, the flat surface formed an equilateral triangle. Dean's attention moved on to the pictorial carvings. All three sides of the altar depicted the same wild haired woman, In one of the panels she was shown as a young woman dressed in the fashion of ancient Greece. The carver had managed to create the illusion that the full length dress the woman wore was virtually see through, and Dean could clearly make out the toned, muscular body of the figure. As in the other two carvings, stood at the side of the woman was a tall, slim hound, clearly designed for hunting. Coiled at her feet, it's long body partially draped over the female's sandaled feet, was a snake. On one shoulder sat a toad. In the first panel, the woman appeared to be holding the branch of a tree. Whilst clearly the same female, on the second panel Dean looked at, she seemed to be more mature. She was wearing a skirt which ended just above her knees, she also appeared to have on a breast plate and vanbraces on both her forearms. In her hand she was holding a curved short bow, an arrow knocked and ready. The snake was again at her feet, but this time looking poised to strike at something. The hunting dog was in front of the woman, head up, ears pricked, alert and ready to run when commanded. In this picture, the toad was sitting on the hound's back, as though riding a horse. On the third side of the altar, the carver had illustrated the woman as much older, though it was still obviously the same woman as on the other sides. Here she had a whip in hand, and was driving a chariot across the sky, a crescent moon behind her. Pulling the chariot were five dragons, each of them breathing fire. The snake was ever present, draped across her neck and shoulders, The hound was running through the air, at the side of the chariot, and the toad was once again sat on the woman' shoulder. The quality of the carving was beautiful, clearly the artist had been a master. Dean didn't need Hecate to tell him that the woman in the carvings was herself and he found himself wondering which one represented her most closely? A cloud of dust bloomed off the altar, as Hecate dropped a small, black leather backed book on to the smooth top surface. Dean's eyes were immediately drawn to the book, instinctively knowing that, here, lying on front of him, was the book that Bobby wanted. Hecate's own spell book, value...priceless.

...

Hecate passed a hand over the top of the altar, and a high gloss, true black, circular bowl shimmered into being. It was impossible to tell by just looking whether the thing was made of glass, metal or something else entirely. Unlike the ornate silver coloured bowls commonly used by Demons, this bowl had no decoration what-so-ever on it's perfectly smooth exterior. In the bottom of the bowl, Dean caught sight of an inlaid triangle, a crescent moon in it's centre. The design appeared to have been made from mother of pearl. Her hand hovering over the bowl, Hecate made a fist. When she spread her hand wide again, a sprinkling of grey coloured powder fell from it into the bowl. Next, Hecate took a long, deep breath. She held it for a few seconds before, head held back, she gently blew the air out again. As she did, Dean became aware of a heady, warm scent which grew stronger, and began to fill the air immediately around the altar. It was a scent Dean recognised but, frustratingly, couldn't name. However, as the delightful aroma continued to waft around the area in which he stood, he found himself beginning to feel drowsy.

...

Dean panicked as tiredness descended on him and he roughly shook his head, trying to clear the grogginess away.

"What's happenin'? What're you doin'?"

Hecate's sharp eyes searched his.

"Don't worry, boy. It is only the ssscent of the Evening Primrose. It will do you no harm. Rebecca...I require you to ressst your current form within the bowl, and to sstay as ssstill as you are able. Come."

Through eyes heavy with sleep, Dean saw the shade hesitate, then slowly drift toward the bowl and, after drawing itself into a cloudy sphere, begin to curl it's smoke like form down into the bowl as requested. As the shade filled the bowl, Dean couldn't help but think of a bowl of hot, steaming soup and his stomach growled, earning him a heated glare from Hecate. Dean glared back defiantly, and shrugged his shoulders as if to say I can't help it! Hecate reached forward and picked up the small, black handled dagger which lay on the altar, and which Dean absolutely knew hadn't been there a few seconds before.

"Boy...Pick up the bowl, classsp it with your palms around it, give it the warmth of your body."

Dean moved to do as he was asked, trying to push aside the image in his head of dropping the bowl, complete with Becky inside it. He glanced at the witch.

"What now?"

"Patiencsse child."

The witch and the hunter stood opposite one another in silence. It wasn't long before Dean felt himself shiver. He looked around, wondering whether the cavern was turning cooler, or had The Others come to gatecrash the party? He continued to feel colder but, bizarrely, he felt his hands around the bowl becoming warmer. He realised that nothing external to him had, in fact, changed. His increasing chill was the result of the warmth somehow being drawn out of him, and flowing into the bowl. His teeth began to chatter, he started to shiver uncontrollably. Suddenly, his mental image of himself dropping the bowl didn't seem so unlikely. He tried to speak.

"H..h..how m..m..m..much l.l..longer?"

In answer, Hecate reached out and briefly held the back of her hand against his cheek.

"Not yet."

Very quickly Dean lost the feeling in his toes and his lips became numb. He was sure that his nose had begun to drip, but could do nothing about it, his teeth could clearly be heard clacking together. He tried to concentrate on his hands, the only part of him remaining warm, Argh, no, they're startin' to get' kinda hot now, or the damn bowl is. Can't tell which. Freakin' lips too numb to blow on 'em. Hurts! Dean's hands began to tremble as he maintained a desperate grip on the bowl, whilst the heat of it climbed to decidedly beyond comfortable. Finally, as Dean was seriously having to consider letting the bowl go, Hecate pointed to the altar.

"Enough. Put it down."

Dean didn't wait to be told again. However, as soon as he no longer had the heat of the bowl to think about, he once more became aware of just how cold the rest of him had become. He wrapped both arms around himself and stamped his feet into the soft sand in an attempt to get some feeling back into his toes, as he watched Hecate slice into the palm of her own hand with the dagger. Holding her open palm over the bowl, she began a whispered chant as her blood dripped from the wound and into the bowl.

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A.N. Hope that was ok for y'all :D

Chick xxx