Seven Devils

Chapter 28 / All the King's Horses

"If we walk far enough," says Dorothy, "we shall sometime come to someplace. "

— L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

Marlene had been an exemplary teenager. Which, in retrospect, wasn't the best compliment. She had successfully skipped over the rebellious phase, had been too studious not to give a damn about her education and too introverted to actually want to sneak out and socialise, except for those very rare and vert close-knit get-togethers with a handful of the people she could call friends. She hadn't really kept in touch with any of them. God, they must be so shocked seeing her face plastered all over the news. "Hey, that's the girl we went to Hot Topic with!" Now Marlene sincerely regretted all the pseudo-goth junk she used to get — they'd definitely say it'd been a red flag in her Lifetime documentary.

That is to say, everything Marley had missed out on in her not-so-wild youth she was set on making up for in the present. And if sneaking out of Arthur's house would've been a piece of cake, escaping Bobby Singer's constant vigilance presented no such chance. Also, Marlene was pretty sure Dean had instructed him to be on high alert before skedaddling away with his rake of a brother. Like she was some flight risk — had they no faith in her? And it didn't matter if she was, in fact, a flight risk. And that she was, currently, sitting on the top of the stairs, bag backed and car keys on the ready, waiting for Bobby to doze off at the table.

No, her decision to pack up and leave to explore the wilderness of the south-west of the great US of A had absolutely nothing to do with Sam Winchester — one of the other residents in the charming boarding house in South Dakota she was staying at. It had even less to do with the fact that said man had proceeded to all but ignore her presence after making it clear he had no fancy to pursue any romantic relationship with her. No, Marlene's decision to leave was simply a result of very unfortunate circumstances, some of which could be correlated, sure. But there was still the matter of the elusive witch coven which Marley'd sort of managed to track down. And a teensy problem: the coven would caravan into the unknown in a very short while, and she had to find them before the biannual solstice departure.

When Bobby's snores became loud enough to insure a safe passage — Marley imagined bypassing the troll under the bridge quite the same — she picked up her things and slowly made her way down the stairs, deftly avoiding the annoyingly squeaky ones. When she finally made it to the hall, Marlene spared a quick glance in Bobby's direction — he was deep in the dreamland, hunched over the desk. She felt a slight pang of guilt at living him alone, but forced herself to push it back and walk forth.

Out in the cold that came with late autumn, she looked to the dark, starless sky and took a long, deep breath. The air smelled of wet grass and petrichor, tainted by the ever-present whiff of gasoline. There goes nothing.

Marley walked to her car, threw the bag into the backseat and hopped in.

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

Bobby was used to the morning headache. Or the mid-afternoon headache, depending on how high your horse was.

Headache was the first thing he felt when he blinked his bleary eyes open, to find his face resting against the hard wood of the desk. Good thing he couldn't feel anything past his waist or his ass would've been real sore.

Bobby straightened up in the wheelchair, groaning as every bone in his back cracked in protest. Goddamit, he really should stop doing that. If he kept going like this, he'd kick the bucket way before the Apocalypse and miss all the fun.

He took off the baseball cap and scratch his head, giving the living room a reluctant sweep with his hooded eyes. The desk in the corner was noticeably empty: no stacks of books or piles of unintelligible scribbles, or a neurotic dark-haired midget hunched in front of the laptop, murmuring something under her breath. Bobby found it strange — the girl was usually up and chipper (too chipper for his liking) at such hour, pestering him with food and tea and trying to strike up conversation. It irritated him how perceptible her absence was.

Dean had told him about Lucifer's insane plan to create a new, superior kind of vermin — as though they didn't have their hands full already — and how Marlene fit into it. Judging by Sam's face during his brother's little campfire story, he was having a hard time digesting the idea. Bobby imagined Marlene hadn't been having it easy either. He hadn't seen the two of them talk in days.

"Damn morons," Bobby muttered and wheeled himself over to the kitchen to have some breakfast. It mostly consisted of instant oats and a glass of whiskey, but today he felt like making a half-assed coffee instead. With a splash of the good stuff.

"Bobby Singer," he answered one of the phones. The voice on the other end drew an exhausted sigh out of him, "No, Garth, you don't need a virgin for that ritual. No — Just get an olive tree stake, pig's blood will be fine. What? No — Fine, I'll look into it," Bobby grumbled and rolled back into the living room to get the book on Greek mythology, "And kid? Don't get killed."

Dammit, he could've sworn he left the damned thing on the couch. That girl just had to come in and organise everything in the most nonsensical way.

"Marlene!" he yelled out. No reply, "Marlene, get your ass down here!"

When she still didn't come running down the stairs, Bobby decided to check the yard. She might've gone shooting again, to blow off some steam — God knows the girl needed that. He returned to the kitchen and drew the curtains away to check. The yard was empty, too.

It was then that the suspicion started to creep in. With narrowed eyes, Bobby inspected the kitchen: no dirty dishes, no candy wrappers in the trash, no doodles in the notepad from taking the calls while he'd been dead asleep.

"Marlene?" he called again, knowing deep down there'd be no answer. That's when he noticed a piece of paper on the cabinet in the hall. Bobby picked it up, instantly recognising the ridiculous, curly handwriting.

Bobby,

By the time you find this, I'll probably be halfway to Kansas. I'm really sorry for lying, but I had to do it. Please, try to understand.

I'll send a postcard from Albuquerque.

Marlene

P.S Made some pasta, it's in the fridge.

"You stupid girl," Bobby muttered. He couldn't say he was surprised, though. Mad, sure — it was just the matter of time before demons caught up and jumped on her tail. But if anything, he'd expected her to leave sooner.

"Hey, Dean?" Bobby said, phone pressed against his ear. He was looking down at the crumpled note in his hand, "You were right."

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

Being back on the road was freaking amazing. Kind of daunting at first — Marlene'd developed a mild case of agoraphobia in all the weeks cooped up in the house, and seeing so many cars and people, and hearing such a cacophony of sounds had triggered her anxiety. But once she had soldiered through it and embraced the chaos, she'd begun to revel in it.

It turned out gallivanting was fun when you weren't pursued by deadly celestial beings. Sure, they were probably still sniffing around for her, but the bastards wouldn't have much luck with tracing her down — the thought brought a smug smile to Marley's face. Ruby might've been a first-class psycho bitch, but the hex bags were sure incredibly helpful.

She was driving down the half-empty highway, Billy Joel's Uptown Girl playing on the radio and green fields flashing past the window. Marley'd rolled it up after a couple of minutes, realising it was November and she just couldn't deal with pneumonia with everything else going on.

When the ringer on her phone went off, disrupting the perfection of Joel's piano solo, Marlene was finally reminded of the "everything else going on". Just seeing Dean's name flash on the small screen felt like a real-life Howler. Face suitably grim, she turned down the radio, blew out a bracing sigh, and pressed the button. "He-ey, there, buckaroo," Marley chirped, the forced smile cutting through her face, "How's Boston? Tried any of that properly taxed tea?"

"You'd better click those heels and be on your merry way to Sioux Falls, Dorothy."

"Yeah...no," she told him, both contrite and unapologetic, "Gotta see the wicked witches of the south-west first."

Dean sucked in an annoyed breath, jaw clenched. He gave Sam a pointed look. He was desperately trying to follow the conversation, "Marlene — "

"I'm doing this, Dean. I've already spent a shitload of money on gas — there's no turning back."

"Christ — we talked about this. You can't just go off on a freaking road trip. Alone. Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

"I know, okay? I'm sorry. But there was no time for stalling," Marlene said, "Look, they might actually be able to help us, Dean. Help me."

"You don't even know where to find them."

"I have the location narrowed down to two states.

"Oh, well, good for you, then," Dean drawled sarcastically.

"Out of fifty!" Marlene bristled, "And I'm almost in New Mexico. I have a pretty good feeling about Albuquerque."

Sam sent Dean a questioning look and mouthed, "What is she saying?" Dean rolled his eyes and turned away from his guilt-ridden brother. He sighed. To hell with it. "You have your gun?"

"I've got two, actually," Marlene glanced at her bag in the rear-view mirror, "Grabbed a shotgun from the shed. Plus some holy water and a silver knife."

"Bullets?"

"Salt and silver."

"Great. Then the only thing missing's common sense."

"Ha-ha," Marley mocked dryly, "You've been doing pretty well without it, though, haven't you?"

"Yeah, very funny."

"I do try."

"You remember you're still a wanted criminal, right?"

"I listen to the radio," she replied obliquely, "I've also got a baseball cap." Really, Marlene was flattered to still be the talk of the town along with a bunch of pre-apocalyptic cataclysms, "And you're one to talk, FBI's dead or alive."

Sam noticed that Dean relaxed a little, though the telling frown was still nestled between his brows, "Call us when you hit the first stop, got it?"

"Sir, yessir."

Smartass. "And no tequila. Especially in Las Cruces. Especially in El Novillo."

Marlene quirked a fascinated brow, "I feel like there's a story there — "

"No story," Dean said too quickly. Then added a moment later, "Don't get lost, kid, alright?"

"I won't. Bye, Dean."

"Yeah. Bye," Dean ended the call and shifted in his seat, full attention back on the road. He hadn't noticed Sam staring at him until there was a hole burned in the side of his face, "What?"

"What did she say?"

"What do you think she said? She's going with it."

"Going with it — " Sam broke off in disbelief, "Dean, she can't just go out there all by herself."

"Apparently, she can."

Sam opened his mouth to argue but let out a helpless sigh instead. He knew it was his fault. Had he not told her...

"Hey," Dean said, sensing the direction of his brother's thoughts, "You did the right thing, Sammy. If it never begins, it will never have happened. That's one thing that bastard doesn't get his way."

"I know, but —"

"But what?"

"I keep thinking..." Sam said, a shadow of regret in his voice, "The boy; Robbie."

Dean glanced over at him, then back at the road, "He's not real, Sam."

"Isn't he? You saw him, Dean. You talked to him. Back in that...that reality, he existed."

"Yeah. He existed in that reality. You know what else happened in that reality? You said yes to Lucifer and the world went to crap. So I don't know about you, Sammy, but I'd say that reality sucks."

Sam knew Dean was right — everything he was saying made perfect sense and yet...and yet he couldn't stop thinking about a little kid with brown hair and hazel eyes — Marlene's eyes. He couldn't imagine that boy being anything less than pure goodness and light, like his mother. But where Marlene was light, Sam was darkness, and if the child would have inherited even a sliver of that...

Yes, Dean was right. He'd done the right thing.

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

A few days later

Boulder, Colorado

Albuquerque had been a fluke. Well, Marlene's estimates had been a fluke — the city'd been pretty awesome, actually. She, however, was crap at sun-path diagrams, now who would've thought that? It had only taken some careful reevaluation and a talk with a nice witch in one of the marked shops in Encino for Marley to realise her mistake — she'd gone way too south. This close to the solstice, the woman had explained, the highest sun point moved slightly norther.

Marlene had realised her second mistake the moment the witch'd started probing her for information — apparently, you didn't go around asking about sun movements without raising suspicion. So Marley had told her in a very confident, witchy and extremely ambiguous fashion that it was "for a ritual". What kind of ritual, she hadn't specified, but she hoped the ominous look that accompanied the mysterious respond had done the trick.

And thus, Marlene had found herself in Colorado.

"California has experienced the strongest earthquake in the last two decades. Authorities are expected to announce the number of casualties in the coming weeks, but preliminary reports are suggesting dozens of lives lost in Los Angeles alone. This is the second disaster to hit this region in weeks, Andrew," the anchor said from the small TV, her face blurred by the overlapping static.

"A devastating blow, indeed. Especially amidst Governor Bell's election campaign," her colleague agreed, "If I didn't know better, Susan, I'd say we're witnessing disasters of apocalyptic proportions — "

"Here you go," a waitress placed the plate on the table.

Marlene glanced away from the TV and gave her a smile, "Thank you."

"My God, that's just horrible. All those people dead," the woman shook her head, "You know, my niece lives over there. Gave her a call this morning, she said her dog died."

"Oh," Marley said dumbly, stumped by the unexpected piece of information, "I, um, I'm sorry —"

"Yeah. Was caught under a tree. Split in two. Couldn't find the other part." Marlene stared at her in horror. Then the waitress sighed, "Well, enjoy your meal, honey."

"Thanks," Marley mumbled and looked at the chicken salad in front of her, significantly less ravenous than she'd been a minute before. Impaling a flaccid — for the lack of a better word — piece of lettuce on the fork, she turned her attention back to the TV. The report on the fires had been over, though, and now the weather lady was explaining that folks in Colorado were in for a week of wild storms. Seeing as sunlight was essential to finding the sun-worshipping coven of paranoid witches, Marlene figured she'd better hurry before it was snuffed out by rain.

Done with the food, which had been more fuelling than enjoyable, she set the plate aside and took a sip of the coffee — oh, much better.

Marley opened the journal. Once again, she forced herself to study the pages that'd been filling her with numbing dread for weeks. They were riddled with diagrams and scribbles of a madman which made strange sense to her. It spoke volumes, she supposed — there was method to Ter-Gabrielyan madness, after all. But there was one word, one damned word that screamed at her from the faded paper; taunting her, daring her:

INCANTATION

A mere string of words in the forgotten language of her ancestors that together fell into a powerful locating spell — the spell a witch by the name of Xiomara had shared with Arthur. Was she still alive, Marlene wondered? Did she remember her, the girl whose life she'd saved all those years ago?

The girl with the angel blood.

Marley'd been practicing it at night when the sleep evaded her, eyes burning into the ink, committing the writing to memory. The words had been seared into her brain after a couple of days, fell from her lips in a whisper when she was feeling drowsy on a highway. They served as a reminder, as a beacon of her final destination. Now that she was so close to it, though, they felt awfully like a premonition.

"More coffee, sweetie?" the waitress asked, passing by with a deliciously steamy pot of the good stuff.

Marlene startled a little, too caught up in her own musings. She'd been particularly jumpy these past few days, "Yes, please." There was eagerness in her weary voice and the way she nearly pushed the cup forward.

"That handsome fella over there keeps staring you," the woman said with a secretive smile, tipping the pot over the mug.

Marlene's face fell, heart thumping violently against fear's tight grip. Slowly, she slid her eyes to the counter, angling her head so that her face was somewhat hidden under the baseball cap. But the trepidation was quite short-lived.

Gabriel caught her eyes with a gleeful smile and waved a hand. Marley went rigid. The archangel, though, had somehow seen it as an invitation and headed towards her table with a cocksureness only a millennia-old being and a middle-aged straight white man could possess.

The waitress shot Marlene an encouraging look and strolled away. Marley felt a desperate urge to beg her to stay and share more riveting stories about her newly dogless niece in LA, but Gabriel waisted no time in sliding into the booth, blocking Marlene's view with his smug face. It was temptingly close to punch.

Marley didn't speak a word. She was stubbornly silent, hoping her glower would communicate all that needed to be said.

Gabriel sighed a despondent sigh. Her eyes turned to slits, "Oh, Gabriel, thank you so much for saving my life! Whatever would I do without you? You're a Godsend!," he dramatised sarcastically.

Marlene gaped, incredulous. The nerve, "You want a thanks?"

"I mean..." he shrugged nonchalantly, "You are still alive and kicking because of me."

"I almost died because of you"

Gabriel considered it. Briefly, "But I fixed it," he pointed out.

She stared at him in disbelief, "You lied to me, Gabriel. Again. About the grace, the mark — " the archangel's eyes darkened a fraction at the mention of the sigil, "— all of it! You...you keep saying you're on my side, right? But you haven't told me the truth once — "

"Uh, sure I have," Gabriel interrupted her matter-of-factly, "Your birthday? May remind you, I laid my soul bare and you didn't believe me," he sounded woefully upset.

And paid for it, the bitter thought flashed through Marley's brain, image of Tessa's lifeless eyes forcing her to blink the memories away. She fell quiet again, a little bit of the righteous fierceness leaving her. She could certainly keep the argument going — there was still a couple of good comebacks left in there — but it was, essentially, a losing game, "What do you want, Gabriel?"

"Where are the twin sitters?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"Why, you wanna stick them into Dark Angel and see how it goes?"

"I'm just surprised they let you fly solo."

"Well, some people have faith in me," Marley told him, her calmness laced with passive-aggression. She'd decided to omit the fact that she'd had to sneak out of the house like a grounded teenager.

Marlene wondered if Gabriel knew anything about Lucifer's plan. He probably did, which meant he was lying straight to her face again. The thought that he possibly didn't, though, pleased her immensely. Huh, Marley supposed she could see the allure of keeping secrets. They made you feel one step ahead of everyone else.

The archangel rested his elbows on the table and leaned slightly forward, "And why are you flying solo, again?" he asked, eyes narrowed in careful suspicion, "To find your inner huntress and conk out as a big "screw you" to your dad?"

Marlene took a sip of the coffee, "Quite the opposite, actually. Not that I owe you any explanation."

"I think it's already past noon," Gabriel announced suddenly and looked up at the clock above the counter, "Ye-up, sure is. My, does the time fly. I'd say the sun is pretty high in the sky, wouldn't you? Certainly not the ideal position for a ritual, but still." Her face slacked in shock. "I don't think you're gonna make it to the forest in time, Marls. Better try your luck tomorrow," there was a gleeful challenge in the archangel's eyes. But also an unusual sternness, "Or, say...never."

Marley breathed a long, annoyed sigh, "So you know about them?"

"Oh, we're acquainted," something in Gabriel's voice told her that they weren't particularly chummy, "I've even had the pleasure of meeting the lady sunshine herself."

"Wh — You...you met a — the goddess?" For some reason she didn't seriously think that Astłik was real — but should she really be that surprised at this point?

"Our paths have...crossed, once or twice. And don't sound so surprised, I'm an A-list celestial," Gabriel said self-importantly, "But she knows me by my witness protection persona."

"As is?..."

"Why, the Trickster, of course," the archangel spread his arms theatrically as if bowing in front of the audience on Broadway.

Marley'd almost forgotten about Gabriel's Norse alter ego. It did bring up a lot of questions, though. "What about the real Loki?"

"We have an understanding." He did not elaborate further.

"Alright," Marlene said slowly, giving him a suspicious look. She was intrigued, but that wasn't the time or the place to tittle-tattle, "So — you know about the coven, and the locating ritual, and...why I came here." Gabriel nodded along, confirming all her deductions, perfectly guileless, "Why the hell are you here?"

"Well, that's quite easy, pipsqueak," the archangel said patronisingly, "I'm here to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

Marley quirked a brow, "Is that so?"

"You don't want to deal with these witches, Marls," there was no playfulness in the warning. It stumped her a little, the sudden change in Gabriel's tone.

"Why not?" she asked, doubt slowly creeping in. Marlene'd been wary of the entire endeavour from the get-go, but so far hadn't heard a valid reason to abandon it. She stood to gain more if it went well than to lose if things turned awry.

"Why do you think they've managed to stay in business for almost as long as I've walked this earth?"

Marlene shrugged, "They're...really good at being witches?"

"They're really good at getting what they want. Plus they have both patience and time to cash on their long-term investments."

"Long-term...investments," she repeated dumbly, "You make them sound like the Sopranos."

"Oh, these hags are much worse. They play the long game and they play to win," Gabriel said emphatically, "They brainwashed Artaxias into giving up his immortality for a boring human life because they knew his grace would lead you to them today."

Marlene's eyes widened a fraction at the name. Artaxias. Gabriel's son. She was surprised he'd mentioned him — he'd never done that before. She couldn't really imagine Gabriel as a father, doubted he'd had a relationship with the poor child, or if he'd even been allowed to. But the bitterness in the archangel's voice spoke of something he would never dare say out loud: had Artaxias not given away his grace, he'd still be alive. And Gabriel would have someone he could call family.

"Well, Sandersons or not, they did save my life," Marlene had to admit.

Gabriel snorted, "I saved your life. They gave you a loan with interest."

"Can you cut out the Wall Street talk already?" she huffed.

And he obliged her, "That little tramp stamp they gave you didn't break because your magic was too strong. It broke because it expired."

"Wait — you mean they did it on purpose?" Marlene asked in disbelief. Gabriel nodded with an exaggerated 'that's what I've been trying to tell you this whole time' grin, "But...why?"

"To lure you back in," he said like it was a painfully obvious conclusion to make, "They need something from you, you dumbo."

Marlene's brows drew into a deeply confused frown. What a world they lived in, where even magical sigils had a trial period. "If you enjoyed not dying, reach out to the witches to get the licensed version."

"Well..." Marley drawled thoughtfully before her face brightened up with a cheery smile, "...then I use it for my advantage."

"Nope. There is no advantage for you to be had. None at all."

"It's barter deal 101: I give them whatever they want and they work their magic or...whatever," she made a vague gesture with her hands, "It means I have leverage."

"Clearly, you don't know what a barter deal is."

"Since when are you so reasonable?"

Gabriel did look offended at that, "I'm not reasonable. I'm just not an idiot."

"I'm still doing it," Marlene declared stubbornly and reached in her pocket for the money. She threw a ten-dollar bill on the table and stood up, storming out of the diner like a woman on a mission. She didn't even flinch when Gabriel materialised by the car while she was fumbling for the keys.

"Do your boy toys even know what you're up to?" he asked, casually leaning against the hood, arms crossed. Marlene ignored the question, rummaging through her bag with newfound aggression, "Bet they wouldn't like any of it. Oooh, I wonder what Sammy would say — "

"I don't care! I — Look," Marlene sighed, winded from the fruitless search, "I don't have many options here, Gabriel. And with the way my powers have been acting lately, even your grace won't last me long enough to find a better solution," she told him and was pleasantly surprised to see that he was actually listening, "You gotta let me do it."

The archangel regarded her with a strange expression: eyes slightly narrowed, lips pursed thoughtfully. It was absurdly calculative, "I know," he finally said, "I wasn't even going to stop you. You're way too stubborn and I've got no time for babysitting."

Marlene frowned quizzically, "So what, you just popped up to warn me?"

"Uh, yeah," Gabriel snapped his fingers, "Clearly, you need all the help you can get."

Marley looked at the car keys in her hand, shocked. She'd never get used to it, "Thanks?" She wasn't sure if it was sweet or mildly offensive.

"Alright-io," the archangel sighed, "So, don't do anything crazy, got it? You don't want to make Sam angry. I think he gets taller when he's mad. Unless you're into that sort thing..." Marlene shot him a glare, "What? Don't tell me I misread that crazy sexual energy."

Cheeks burning red, she opened the door, "Shut up."

Apparently, it was too much to ask from a silver-tongued Trickster, "You just can't fake that chemistry. The way he carried you in his arms? What a man," Gabriel shook his head in amazement, "You gotta put a ring on that finger, Marls, or someone else's gonna get a leg over."

Marley hopped into the driver's seat, "Screw you, Gabriel."

"I'm pretty sure Sam's the one — "

"Goodbye, Gabriel!"