Deep in the Louisiana wetlands, amidst the willow-lined banks, the heat rose up from sand and silt, polluting the air with the acrid stench of hydrogen sulfide.
The bayou was still, the silence punctuated only by the distant calls of a blue heron as it skimmed the waters surface, or the lingering hiss of a hungry cottonmouth.
Moonlight crept in through the tall pillar of trees, casting shadows in nightmarish shapes across the vast body of water.
The cypress trees swayed gently in the Southern breeze, dripping with snake-like tendrils of Spanish moss and despite the oppressive heat, a dense fog seemed to settle atop the water, hiding whatever creatures lurked below the murky surface.
A splash to his left, possibly a 'gator, or possibly something else and Thomas Devereux gripped the pole in his hands more tightly, steering his pirogue through the dense and unforgiving brush.
"I hate nights like this." He murmured, much more to himself than the over-grown mangroves. "Mama Beuadoin's doin', no doubt."
Sweat trickled down his forehead and pooled in the deep groove of his clavicle.
He raised a large, mosquito-bitten paw to his face and swatted away the flies, his dark skin glistening beneath the dim light cast by the sallow moon.
"Just a little further now." He breathed, urging the small boat forward, through the thickening vegetation.
It wasn't unusual for him to be out paddling at this hour, collecting rare herbs and roots for his employer, Mrs Kinsella, but something seemed different about the swamp tonight. It was quiet. Too quiet. Eerie, even.
Thomas dipped the paddle into the water and heaved. He felt the oar snag, weighed down by something submerged beneath the waters tarry surface, something that he could not see.
Thomas swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.
Just the reeds, Thomas, he told himself.
He then steadied his quivering hands and heaved again.
The pirogue lurched forward as the pole burst from the brackish water and something fat and mottled landed on the bottom of his boat with a sickening thud. Thomas stumbled backwards suddenly, his mouth contorted into a silent scream.
A rotten hand, it's flesh marbling where it had been savagely severed at the wrist and it's fingernails chipped and caked in mud, lay flaccid at his feet.
Thomas sucked in a deep, jagged breath, tasting death on his tongue and it was at that moment that the swamp chose to come alive as the sounds of his horrified screams were swallowed by the wild chirping of cicadas and the hum of fireflies as they danced merrily overhead.
In Thibodaux, Louisiana, the air was rich with the scent of decay and the beer tasted like piss.
Tandy Kinsella smirked, twisted the cap off of a bottle of cider and slid it across the counter.
Her co-worker, Cadence LeFleur, caught the bottle in her manicured fingers and brought it to her full, red lips.
"I love nights like this." She breathed, closing her eyes, soaking in the comfortable silence that settled in around them.
"You would." Tandy uttered, glancing around the bar.
"The only problem with nights like this -", Cadence continued, peering at Tandy beneath her thick, black lashes "- is that there ain't even a single man in here worth hittin' on for a tip."
"Girl, is that all you think about?" Tandy laughed. "Tips and di-"
"Ahem, sorry to interrupt you, ladies." Henry interjected, his tanned face flashing before them. "But shouldn't you be, I dunno, doin' your jobs?"
"Oh, eat a dick, Henry, I'm on break." Cadence snapped.
"And I'm finished for the night." Tandy responded, turning to collect her bag from beneath the back bar.
"Jesus, it's nine o'clock already?" Cadence asked, her almond-shaped eyes skimming over the clock propped on the far wall, above the blemished pool tables.
She watched the Cajun chef saunter back through the kitchen doors and flipped him a swift, one-fingered salute when they closed behind him.
"Please, don't leave me stuck here with that dick bag and this sorry bunch for the next three hours." She begged, gripping Tandy's forearm.
Tandy smirked and uncoiled her friends vice-like grip.
"Sorry, Cay. Normally I'd stick around but mama needs me home tonight. She's in a bad way and m'brothers are out of town."
"They always are." Cadence mumbled despondently. "Especially the cute one." She hesitated, her lips puckered in consideration before adding, "Actually, they're both pretty cute."
Tandy rolled her eyes. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."
Cadence's eyes grew brighter then. "Drinks. Tomorrow night. No excuses." She commanded.
Tandy pouted, tapped her fingers against her chin and hummed.
"Okay. Done." She agreed, smirking.
Cadence beamed. "And wear something cute." She said. "None of this plaid crap. You're a hotty, flaunt it."
Tandy smirked, swept her long, blonde hair into a loose knot and glanced down at her offending blouse.
Plaid.
The unspoken attire of a hunter.
And coming from Cadence's lips, it sounded almost mundane.
She wasn't certain that she would be able to find anything in her drawers that wasn't blood-stained or ragged, or plaid, but she'd try to dredge something up nevertheless.
Hell, she deserved a night off, and for once, the supernatural realm was silent.
Tandy exhaled. She'd better make the most of her time while she could.
The creatures that plagued the bayou wouldn't keep quiet for long.
They never did.
Walking through the front doors of Bonne Huere, her family's home, was like walking through a portal to another time.
The lavish, antebellum home sat regal amidst the marshy plains, almost as though it were the centrepoint of gravity in this region.
The French doors creaked open, giving way to an opulent foyer, and Tandy trudged forward, dropping her bag onto the floor at the base of a grand, imperial staircase.
She heard voices, hushed and hurried, to her right and followed them.
Strange. She didn't think her mama was keeping company tonight.
Then again, unannounced house calls weren't entirely uncommon, at least, not when her mama was the local voodooiene in Isadora Beaudoin's absence.
In the kitchen, Maggie Kinsella, an attractive woman with tousled, blonde hair and a kind smile, was busy fixing tea, her hands fluttering back and forth as she dropped a combination of spices into the steaming pot.
Thomas Devereux, her apprentice, sat motionless in the ingress beneath the large, bay windows; his maple-coloured eyes fixed, unseeing, on a patterned pillow opposite him.
"Mama, is everything okay?" Tandy breathed, lingering in the doorway.
Tommy snapped his head up to look at her then, as though suddenly drawn from a deep trance, his eyes wet and fearful.
"Jesus, Tommy, what happened?" Tandy asked, racing forward and taking a seat beside the young man. She placed a soft, consoling palm over his and could feel the warmth radiating from his glistening skin.
She had known Thomas for years. They had grown up together. They would swing, for hours, on the old tyre and rope her father had hung for them in the back yard and hunt for crawfish in the bayou on days when their skin was sticky with sweat and her mama would make them ice, cold lemonade.
"Some'in bad, some'in real, real bad. There's some'in evil in the Atchafalaya basin." He stuttered.
"What was it, Tommy?" Tandy asked in a hurry. "Did you see somethin' out there? Did somethin' hurt you?"
"No, not me, Miss Tandy. Why it left me, I-I don't know."
"Here, Thomas, have some tea, sugar." Her mama said, placing a hot mug before him. "It'll help."
"Th-thanks, Mrs Kinsella." Tommy choked, raising the mug to his lips with shaky hands.
Tandy stood up and pulled her mama aside.
"What the heck happened?" She asked, her voice low, a frantic whisper.
Her mama sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.
"Thomas was out in the basin collectin' me some herbs when he came across a severed hand." She exhaled.
"Oh god." Tandy breathed.
"He said that - after he finished screamin', o'course - that he saw somethin' "evil" in the waters. Somethin' inhuman." Her mama explained.
"What? Like a rougarou?"
"No. No. Not a rougarou. They're land dwellers."
"So, what are you thinking then? Letiche?" Tandy probed.
Her mama shook her head. "Wrong time of year."
"What then?"
"Honestly, cher, I'm not so sure." Her mama admitted, casting Tommy a fretful glance. "I called an old friend'a mine, Bobby Singer, for some advice. He said a couple'a hunters he knows are passin' through N'Awlins and that he'd send them out this way to check it out."
"No need, mama." Tandy assured her. "I'll look into it myself."
"No." Her mama said firmly, pressing her palm flat against her daughter's shoulder. "If I … look," She dropped her hand and reached for Tandy's instead. "I don't want you on this case at all, cher, but, and as much as I hate to admit it, it's probably best if you go with them. They're goin' to need a guide. Someone who knows the waters. And I know I can't stop you from goin' out there, but I'd rest easier knowin' you had the back up. Promise me you won't go out there alone."
Tandy nodded, solemn. Her mama's eyes were clear and blue, imploring, pleading. She'd never seen her so frazzled.
"Okay, mama." She swore. "I promise."
Her mama smiled tightly, squeezed her hand once more and then released it.
"So, what are you goin' to do with Tommy?" Tandy asked her, quieter.
"He knows the dangers of workin' with us. I'll give him some time off. Make sure he doesn't go back into the basin until this thing is dealt with." Her mama replied.
"He could take a few of my shifts at the bar while we work this case." Tandy suggested. "I'm pretty sure Cadence wouldn't have a bad thing to say about it. She can never seem to take her eyes off'a Tommy when he enters the room."
Her mama smirked then, her cheeky demeanour clawing it's way back to the surface. "Can you blame her?"
Tandy turned, taking in Tommy's appearance.
Despite being obviously shaken up, smooth, black skin, like ebony and muscles that seemed to bulge beneath the hem of his thin, cotton shirt peered back at her. There was no denying it, Thomas Devereux was the embodiment of a God.
"Heck no." She gasped, her bottom lip pulling between her teeth.
Her mama chuckled. "That's damn good of you, though, girl. I'll let him know."
Tandy reached for her mama's arm, her brows knitting together.
"Wait, hold up, so who's the back-up?" She asked, half-hoping that it would be her father but already knowing that it wasn't.
Her mama grinned, amusement dancing in her cerulean gaze and there was a hint of humour in her voice, intermingled with something else, when she said, almost wistfully, "Dean and Sam Winchester."