"That girl was hiding something," Sam said.
"Noticed that too, did you?" Dean's unbuttoned jacket flapped as he strode across the street. He consented to dress the part of a Fed, but he would shuck the suit in favor of his jeans and a long-sleeved shirt as soon as possible.
Sam followed him to the Impala. He propped his arms on the car's roof, his fingers playing with his pen. He squinted at Kaladi Coffee Roaster's wood-sided storefront; short iron fences blocked off its two-table patio section from the narrow sidewalk. Though the lanky guyfriend exited the shop into the bright mile-high sunshine, fitting white earbuds into his ears, the skittish girl in the ripped skinny jeans did not.
"I don't know what it was," he said, "but she seemed really nervous about something."
"Maybe she thought you were a giant," Dean said.
"Dude. To her, you were a giant."
"I know." Dean smirked in satisfaction.
Sam repressed the urge to roll his eyes. This was still about Christine, a woman neither one of them was ever going to see again. "I'm serious," he said. "We've talked to everyone close to the missing people here in town. We spent yesterday searching the nightclub, their dorms, and their apartments for traces of hex bags, sulfur, or ectoplasm. Nothing."
"This place is entirely too clean," Dean agreed, checking the gutter as though for litter, and seeming put out when he didn't find any. "What about demon signs? Cattle deaths, freak electrical storms, temperature fluctuations, the usual."
Sam shook his head. "Not in the area. Apparently, spring weather in the Rocky Mountains is temperamental as a rule."
"Doesn't sound like we have much of a case, then."
"There's something here," Sam disagreed. He tapped the pen on the car roof. "Something that I can't put my finger on. Did you see the lamp?"
Dean lifted his shoulders in a yeah, so what? kind of way. "I couldn't smell any ozone. It was coffee heaven in there."
Sam chuckled. "Yeah, it was." He refrained from mentioning either the guyfriend's interest in Dean or Dean's interest in the girl, knowing perfectly well that one would start a fight and the other would be compared to a coffee-scented scratch-n-sniff out of Busty Asian Beauties. Even though she had noticed the lamp, too.
"I dunno, Sammy." Dean unlocked his door and opened it with the familiar loud creak. The one that always made people's heads turn. Sometimes twice, if they liked what they saw. "Maybe there's something here, and maybe there's not. Whaddaya wanna do?"
"Get some coffee," Sam said, and was rewarded with Dean's approving grin, "then head back to the motel. There's something I want to check out."
As Sam started back across the street, Dean yelled, "Don't forget the pie!"
Sam gained the curb and threw out his hands in a universal WTF gesture. If people hadn't been looking before, they sure were now. "I never forget the pie."
"You and I have different definitions of 'never.' "
"You and I have different definitions of 'food,' too."
Dean levered himself into the Impala. Then he rolled the window down and stuck an admonishing finger out of it. "Pie."
"All right, you big jerk." Defeated, Sam offered a strained smile to a pair of attractive college girls, giggling at him, before he pushed his way into the coffee shop.
..::~*~::..
Being dead, it wasn't anything like what she'd imagined.
It also wasn't very different.
For one thing, she was still here. Still on Earth. No golden gates, no heavenly host, no soft clouds or harp music, no Nanny or Grampy to meet her. Julia walked along the red cobblestone path just as she'd always done. She didn't sink into it, but she didn't float away from it, either. The breeze did not ruffle her hair, but she could pick up scents just fine, like the coffee wafting out of Aya's unraveling braid. She could feel the hardness of the cobbles through her shoes, but the wedges didn't bother her feet. Nor did her bra pinch, or her skirt ride up. Which was nice, considering she may end up wearing the same outfit for the rest of eternity.
What a depressing thought.
College students swarmed the green. Some were enjoying the fresh grass and sunshine unhindered by still-bare trees, tossing frisbees or kicking hacky sacks back and forth. Others rushed between the buildings, arms full of books and folders, their expressions harried. Aya threaded her way through clumps of people, her destination clearly the historic red brick building with the white columns. She passed between two guys in bulky crimson sweatshirts who paid her as much attention as they would a Labrador, for they were comparing something on their phones, their backpacks slung over their shoulders.
They didn't move aside for Julia as she assumed they would. They passed right through her.
She stumbled to a stop, thunderstruck.
She felt the intrusion, but not as pain. More like running her fingers through water. Except her body was the water. It broke apart and then settled back into shape like waves gentling on the shore.
Why did that make sense? It shouldn't make sense!
The frat boys didn't even slow. They went right on arguing over their phones and laughing behind her. Julia pressed her fingers into her forehead, willing the memory of a drug-induced headache to go away. By the time she'd collected herself, Aya had moved far ahead. She thought to herself, hurry.
She expected to break into a jog to catch up. Instead, she blinked – with her whole body – and then she was walking side by side with Aya. Natural as breathing.
Which she tried to steady before it could ramp up into full-blown hyperventilation. Especially since she was acutely aware of the fact that no air was entering or exiting her mouth or nose.
Aya didn't seem to notice her perplexity. "I need to pick up my cap and gown for Friday, and then we can go," she said into her powered-off cellphone, so that no one would notice her talking to nothing. She jumped up the steps to the front doors.
Julia followed her down a modern hallway toward the offices. "Where do you want to go?" she asked. She touched her throat, where the knife had slit her open. Smooth skin met her fingers, and her voice came out normally, instead of that tortured whisper it had been at first. Aya had explained that as Julia became more accustomed to being dead, essentially her finding peace with the fact that her life was over, her soul would heal itself. Seemed like she was right. It helped that Aya was giving her something else to focus on, something to do rather than haunt strangers' bedrooms in the wee hours of the morning. "I don't know where Kittney took everyone. I don't even know what she did with my body, or Luka's."
Both of them winced. Aya, tucking her phone into her bag, ducked into a smaller hallway and headed for the restrooms. Julia, thinking of the site of her abduction, blinked herself into the ladies' before Aya. A little flustered, she waited by the mirror. Then she stood there staring at it, appalled.
Wasn't she invisible? How could she possibly have a reflection?
Aya appeared. She checked the stalls for occupants and then joined Julia at the sinks. Her dark brown eyes flicked from Julia's gray face to the reflection's equally gray face. She licked her lips nervously. "Mirrors have always had the ability to capture a soul's reflection. That's why people used to cover them with cloths at a wake, so the souls of their dearly departed wouldn't stick around to haunt them. Nobody else can see it. It's okay, Julia."
"How is this okay?" Julia demanded in a voice thick with tears. The mirror, frost encroaching from the edges, framed her in a clear but diminishing oval. Next to Aya, vibrantly alive, she seemed washed-out, her hair tangled and her face dirty, her front soaked with brownish blood. It was as though she stood in a separate room, which the bright lights did not reach.
Her eyes that freaked her out the most: they glared from ominous shadows, the whites almost glowing, the original blue of the irises overtaken by gray. She backed away with a cry, throwing out her hand. The retort of cracking glass made Aya suck in a breath.
"Julia," she said again, louder than before. "You're right. It's not okay. Souls who suffer a violent death, they're angry, confused, scared, in grief. Sometimes they lash out."
Julia gulped down her tears. The mirror was entirely frosted over. "Lash out? You mean – I'm doing that?"
Aya nodded, her small mouth sad. When she spoke, her breath came out on a wisp of white. "What happened to you, it shouldn't have. It isn't fair. But there's something better for you. I'm sure of it."
"And . . . Luka?" The timidness of her voice surprised her. It was easy to feel like a child in Aya's comforting, knowledgeable presence.
"I haven't seen him," Aya answered, "so I'm assuming he moved on already. His death was quicker. He may not have had time to question it." As the frost began to recede off the mirror behind her, she moved closer, her gaze steady. "He's probably waiting for you in the light. Can you see it?"
Julia cast a guilty glance at the crack that ran across the reflection of her eyes, and then she turned resolutely from it. "I don't see a light," she said. "I don't want to see a light. I want to stop them first. That girl, and whoever she's working for."
"So do I," Aya said, both pleased and relieved. "Come on."
Julia went with her, but this time, she drifted without realizing it, lost in a fog of her memories. She thought about her life, her parents, her Luka. She thought about that night in the club, about Marr, about Kittney. About Kittney's date, Vahe. About the smoke that had billowed out of Luka's body and had gone into Vahe's. How had she not noticed that Luka hadn't been her Luka? How long had he been . . . someone else?
Her thoughts darkened like storm clouds, veiling the sunshine and the green of the grass, the neon frisbees and ubiquitous multi-colored backpacks. What had happened to Vahe? Where had he gone? What had that black smoke been?
Julia blinked. When had they come back outside? She made to run after Aya, who was now carrying a plastic garment bag, and came face-to-face with Vahe himself.
Julia goggled at him. He looked as though nothing had happened, his hair combed, his clothes clean, his cuts and bruises miraculously absent. But why – how – what was he doing here?
Then Julia remembered.
"Two more before Friday. Do not fail."
Dear God. He was here to kidnap two more people.
Vahe grinned, and Julia stumbled back, frightened. He could see her! His black, black eyes shone as he lifted a hand, palm toward her.
"Aya!" she cried.
A force – there was no other word for it – struck her squarely in the chest. Julia's awareness blew apart with a sigh.
..::~*~::..
Aya thought she heard someone call her name.
She looked behind her, puzzled. Campus life seemed to be moving along as usual. Julia, however, was no longer there.
She scanned the people flocking outside to enjoy the nice weather. Students, some faculty, and a few parents had arrived to prepare for graduation. As she stood on the path, searching for a glimpse of her friend, no one paid her the slightest bit of attention.
Except for one guy, wearing slacks and a loose button-up, his hair as black as hers but whose skin was whiter. He approached her, calling her name. He stepped quickly, excitedly. "Aya, yes? That is you?"
Aya paused, politely, trying to remember if she had ever met this guy before, trying to figure out how else he could know her name. She squinted. His face – not only was it not familiar, but – his face –
What was wrong with his face?
Too white. The skin, it looked like a Crayola crayon, waxy and shiny. The eyes, all black, lashes and lids too, blended into the thick black eyebrows like pits in which two minuscule, cold lights shone dully, as though penlights had sunken in tar. The moist lips, spreading over brassy, elongated teeth, were as black as the eyes. Patterns of black, like smoke curling beneath the too-white skin, rose from the corners of the mouth to the corners of the eyes, drifting across the slope of the large nose.
Aya couldn't speak. She stared at the gruesome face, throat working, her vision blurring at the edges. Monstrous. A monster beyond any she had encountered. The antipathy rolled off it in waves of sulfuric stink that made her head spin. What are you? What do you want?
To hurt you. The thing wearing a person like a sock puppet realized at the same time as she that she was not fooled by it. The smile vanished, the smoke curled thicker and faster, and it lunged at her.
With a breathless squeak, Aya twisted away. She banged into others on the walk who responded in words of anger, but she couldn't hear them properly. She tripped on her old-gold graduation gown, draped in slippery plastic, and it spilled onto the cobbles. Flip-flops, crocs, and sneakers ground it into the dirt. The thing was laughing, explaining itself and excusing her while it moved closer, and the other people were agreeing with it. Were put at ease by it. No one could see its true face. No one seemed to notice her terror. The thing reached for her.
That time, it got a fistful of her messenger bag strap, hard fingertips digging into her breast. Aya immediately ducked out from under the strap, abandoning the bag and everything in it. She pushed people out of her way as she fled across the lawn, ignoring how the black-eyed thing raised a chorus of concerned shouts. It held up her bag, feigning bewilderment, really daring her to claim it. It wasn't going to chase her. Not here, not where it was so public, not in broad daylight.
Black smoke. The nose-scrunching reek of sulfur. Was this what had killed Julia? If so, what did it want with her, with Aya? Looking at it was like looking into the face of horror itself. And she was just leaving it there, with all those people. It could hurt any one of them. It could hurt all of them. There was nothing she could do about it.
Nothing she could do. Aya burst into sobs. She tore across the green and onto the street, nearly colliding with a pair of cyclists. She recovered and sprinted for the corner, focused on putting as much distance between herself and that monster as she could. She leaped across Evans, heedless of the light and blaring horns, and gained the opposite walk.
She might have run all the way to the police station but, instead, she ran smack into a man who appeared in front of her between one tear-soaked blink and the next.
Pain exploded through her face, and then her backside and right elbow as she flew backward and landed hard on the sidewalk.
Another one!
Not a man. Something wearing a man. Something that burned like a candleflame around a wick, a candleflame the size of a skyscraper; the man was a silhouette, an anchor, small and black and featureless. The thing had spread what her brain tried to classify as feathered wings when she blundered into it, but there were too many, and they were huge. They broke the sunlight into prisms and black holes as they furled and unfurled. The thing stared down at her with several sets of blazing blue eyes.
As before, no one else could see it. Oblivious shoppers crowded into restaurants and stores. Self-absorbed cyclists arrowed between parked vehicles and the traffic on the street.
She thought he – the man – spoke, but thunder boomed so closely, stereo speakers squealed in so high a pitch, and the wind shrieked so deafeningly that she thought for sure a plane had crashed right into the original Chipotle Mexican Grill.
Aya clapped her hands to her ears and screamed, a throat-tearing wail of confusion and terror. The scary things of the world liked the night, liked their secrets, liked to hunt and feed and nest in the shadows. Never had they shown themselves like this.
As though drawn by her fear, the black-smoke thing rounded the corner, her bag dangling from his fist. He saw the skyscraper-flaming thing and stopped dead. Loathing turned his face nearly obsidian with seething patterns that warped and twisted his features into alligator scales – into lionfish spines – into melting flesh.
Aya tried to get up, but a zing of pain made her gasp and clutch her elbow. Blood came away on her fingers. The sleeve of her lavender sweatshirt had torn wide.
The first thing's black gaze darted from her to the winged thing of golden fire and back again in growing desperation. He shifted his feet, preparing to dash for her.
The winged thing swooped down upon her. One arm – the human's arm – went around her waist. Two fingers touched her forehead, shockingly gentle. Then the sound of monstrous pigeons engulfed her.
She screamed again as she was whisked into the nothing.
A/N: One of the things I loved about SPN was their version of angels. It's much closer to the Jewish version (so I've been told, thanks Rach!) than perhaps is usual. So this was me, taking some inspiration from the Bible . . . and inventing a demon's "true" face. We never did get to see what one looks like, did we? Was it creepy enough?
Reviewer Thanks! I have a new reader! This is so EXCITING! Topkicker26, Darwin, and happyperson42. Thank you so, so much!
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Hoping you're all having the best of days,
~ Anne