Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

Calling on Friends from the Other Side

Baby glanced around as she cruised down Lily Dale's main street. Her vague recollection of the psychic town's roads had her meandering her way up towards the museum. And why was she driving through the psychic community, pray tell?

Easy. She needed a psychic.

The Men of Letters had a genealogy section tracing the bloodlines of individuals with strong psychic powers. Some light skimming had unearthed a particularly powerful medium that had relocated to Lily Dale some years prior to the MoL's end. Baby hoped that her descendants had stayed in town or inherited the gift, or both. She was heading for the museum with a plan already half-formed in her mind. Locate the missing records and track the psychic's bloodline further.

A house caught her eye. It was nondescript as most houses went - front porch, front door, windows, a roof. Baby had been parked in front of hundreds of thousands of such plain, unremarkable houses. But this particular house caught her attention because she saw the name painted on the mailbox out front.

St. Joan.

Just to be sure, Baby checked her notes. St. Joan had been the surname of the psychic, and it was unique enough to make the chance of it being unrelated almost slim to none.

She parked in front of the house and straightened her leather jacket, unable to stop her hands from shaking. The last time the Winchesters had been in Lily Dale, they'd all left feeling ever-so-creeped out by the place. Baby had felt the tension going in and the absence of it when they left, but between those times, Dean had been badly shaken by something and Sam was still nursing a bad grudge. Not to mention the fact that psychics in general made her boys nervous, and therefore psychics made her nervous.

Ringing the doorbell was somewhat difficult. Standing there waiting for an answer took every bit of her courage. Baby rocked up on the balls of her feet, then back on her heels, hearing the soft approach of footprints across thick carpeting. The door opened to reveal a pretty twenty-something girl with eyes as green as summer grass. "Welcome. Please come in, I've been expecting you."

"Of course you were," Baby muttered as she walked inside.

A smile tugged at the corner of the psychic's mouth. "Tea? I have some fresh in the pot. Mustn't let that needle hit E."

"No tha - " She paused mid-refusal when the full sentence hit her. "What did you say?"

The psychic's smile widened. "You heard what I said, Impala."

Baby froze. "How could you possibly know what I am?"

"Psychic. Comes with the territory. I'm Miranda, by the way." Miranda turned around and headed farther into the house. Baby frowned as she watched Miranda's hand reach out and slide along the wall. "You coming along? I'm sure you're not here to clutter up my doorway."

She really didn't want to, but Baby hadn't driven halfway across the country to balk now. A hand rested on the butt of the pistol stuck in her belt as she followed Miranda through beaded curtains and into a small room. Three squashy armchairs sat around a round table, which was covered in a green tablecloth patterned with silver and pearl designs. Miranda moved around and sat in the middle chair, facing the door.

"So...you're a psychic. Can you read my mind?"

"Don't be silly. I'm a medium." Miranda's hands ghosted over the tabletop, flattening nonexistent wrinkles. "I hear the words of those who have departed this world. I can also help the stronger ones physically manifest into the physical plane."

"So...you hear dead people," Baby said, unable to keep the wisecrack in check.

Miranda smirked. "Well, I'm certainly no Haley Joel Osment." One hand lifted to wave in front of her face. "Blind as a stone. That's why it's easier to hear." Her head tilted slightly as a thoughtful smile softened her face. "You've come quite a long way, haven't you? Taking off in the middle of the night, not telling a soul of your trip. Someone's keeping secrets."

The Impala swallowed nervously. And this is why psychics freak me out. "I need to talk to some people."

"Who would you like to communicate with?" she asked, folding her hands in front of herself.

Taking the chair on Miranda's left, Baby reached into her jacket pocket with her free hand. "I have a list - "

"It can't be too many, I've got a time limit per session. Plus, the more people you attempt to contact, the less time you get to speak with each one."

Well, that narrowed her choices instantly. "Ellen and Jo Harvelle, Bobby Singer, and John and Mary Winchester."

"Five people means two minutes for each one." Miranda pulled out a set of tarot cards and spread them out in a line. "May as well let go of that peashooter. The negative energies are disturbing the spirits." She waited until Baby released her grip on the gun, then smiled. "Relax. Let's see who's feeling chatty." Drawing five cards at random, she flipped the first one over in front of Baby. "Temperance," she read. "Ellen Harvelle is willing to speak first."

Baby blew out a nervous breath. "Then let's get to it."

Miranda's sightless eyes fluttered shut and her chin dropped to her chest. Baby felt the temperature in the room drop to wintry levels, and her breath fogged in front of her lips. The lights dimmed just as the feeling of intense power grew stronger, raising the hairs on the back of Baby's neck.

It happened in an eye-blink. One second it was just her and Miranda's slumped form. Then the spirit of a dark-haired woman with fiery eyes and a hard face stood blinking in surprise. Baby released the breath she'd been holding.

Ellen Harvelle took the empty chair across from Baby and wasted no time. "Who the hell are you?"

As I am wont to do, Miranda is a guest OC from another of my SPN fics. Anybody know which one? (Note the shameless ploy to get you to read some of my other works)

Review please!