Chapter 11
She strode through the streets of the city, a human cluster called Las Vegas, Her steps measured and determined. Every so often a laughing human would nearly collide with Her person. Mysteriously they were shunted aside into other people, light poles, trash cans, even into the street. Screams, yelps, screeching tires and exclamations of surprise and pain followed in Her wake.
Four very tall men outfitted all in black boxed Her in on four sides, keeping a two-foot distance at all times, never breaking stride. Some people walking on the sidewalk started to follow. They were kicked aside by Her guard. Some attempted to throw themselves upon Her, yelling of their love to the laughter of others. They were stopped.
The sites and decadence of this city appealed to Her, like the hedonism of the Greeks and Romans, India. She found it more stimulating than the hustle and bustle of the working world. The pursuit of pleasure was an art and lost on these plebeians. Yet She needed to keep an eye on Asuka, and this was a pleasurable place to do so.
When She reached the Bellagio, She stepped inside and motioned one of Her guards forward. He walked to the counter, spoke for a minute, then returned. "One moment."
She nodded and they waited. Very soon a tall man with dark skin and black hair hurried across the entrance. When he was fifteen feet away, his eyes widened.
"My services are yours," he said as he approached, bowing from the waist, to the consternation and gawking of other employees and patrons.
"You may rise," inclining Her head, dark hair the color of cooled lava swayed enticingly. "We have need of your best suite. Now."
"You will have it," he said, hurrying away.
There was a commotion at the front desk as the clerk argued with the manager for a moment, then she shrugged and picked up the phone. Two baggage attendants were called, and they raced for the elevator. Another call was made before the manager returned.
"Madam, we need to clear and clean the top suite. May I offer you some refreshment in our finest restaurant, free of charge, of course?"
"You may." Following the man, She thought he would be a very nice addition to Her guard.
JT looked down at his notes, frowning slightly. Talking with Doctor Issa hadn't been as profitable as he'd hoped. While very knowledgeable in ancient lore, as was evidenced from the first moment they'd spoken, the Doctor hadn't heard of any creature from the oral traditions of the people in the Middle East that could change from incorporeal to corporeal and back again. There were rumors of a darkness that came and took away children, but JT thought that was likely a story told by parents to make their kids behave, much like the boogeyman in modern culture. However, rather than dismiss the story outright, he had asked for details on the creature of myth, how it was described, how it appeared and why. Doctor Issa tried valiantly to give everything he could, but even he had to admit the information was sketchy. Otherwise, there was very little he had to offer, though he promised he would go through his files of oral histories.
Sighing, JT felt his hopes fade somewhat. He hadn't realized how eager he'd been for what he thought Doctor Issa had to offer. That he'd received little to nothing from the conversation had been a blow. So, where did he go from here? More research, he supposed. He'd only made use of the books in the Tomb. There were more books in the world, much more research he could do online. And he could tap into the Brotherhood researchers as well.
Closing his computer, he tucked it and his notes into his computer case. He had a six o'clock flight booked back to Louisiana so he could pick up his SUV. He wished his father were here so he could talk over what he'd see again. Sound advice and encouragement were always forthcoming, and he could use a shot in the arm. Then again, he would be Guardian one day, and he should damn well be able to find out about some corporeal, non-corporeal creature on his own. He gone to one specialist in Ancient Studies and Oral Lore. Doctor Issa wasn't the only specialist in oral traditions and ancient lore; he needed more help. And he needed to rely on his own instincts. And his instincts were telling him he needed to check in with more Ancient cultures. The Aboriginals on Australia, the Çatalhöyük of Turkey, ancient cultures in China and further into Afghanistan and over into South America.
"JT!"
"Tomb!" JT gathered his belongings as Ryker stepped into the Tomb.
"How did it go with Doctor Issa?" Ryker asked. Ryker was taking JT to the airport to catch his flight.
"No good." JT shouldered his duffel. Following Ryker from the Tomb, he secured the door and the pair walked through the house.
"What's next?" Ryker asked as they climbed into his Jeep. "South America?"
JT grinned. "Exactly. Then China."
"If China doesn't have anything, no one does. I'll start research on South American, and you can do China."
"Thanks," JT said sincerely.
"Not a problem," Ryker said, backing up his vehicle, then turning to head for the road and Louisville. "There's a mysterious shadow out there that can carry away people. I, for one, am curious as to what the heck it is."
"Yeah," JT murmured, his eyes on the passing scenery. "Me too."
Dean sat at the dining room table watching Sam pry the small bit of paper away from the edges of the box with a pair of Doctor Anderson's tweezers. "We should be waiting for Caleb."
Sam shrugged. "He's interrogating Olivier again." Looking up, he asked, "Have you figured out what to do with him so he doesn't contact Asuka?"
"I called Morgan Fox," Dean said.
Sam looked up, frowning. "Not Max?"
"Max and James just got back from a hunt, and he's in New York prepping for some huge gig this weekend," Dean said. "I thought I'd give him a couple days." Plus, his intuition was telling him he would need to call in the future Triad sooner than later. Balance was important, and Max hadn't been in his restaurant for over a week. And James needed to make an appearance at Ames Enterprises after being gone a week.
"Isn't Morgan working a hunt in Oklahoma?"
"He and Lane finished yesterday and he's headed this way now."
Like his father Silas, Morgan hunted full time, so didn't have the commitments to a regular job like many other hunters. He did own a dojo in Texas, and taught lessons when he could. Since he was a fifth level Dan in Jiu Kitsu and an eight level in Krav Magra, a black belt in Karate and an expert in Glima, a form of wrestling dating back to the Vikings, his classes were in high demand. While his brother may have mastered the sword, he was a master in the hand-to-hand arts.
"Are Candice and Kent staying too?"
"Possibly. Joel and Daniel should get here sometime today. They can help keep Olivier contained. Once we get whatever information he knows, I hope it will lead to where the succubus is hiding now. Even if he doesn't know, we need people to start tracking her and her boss." Dean smiled. "One thing hunters know, is how to track people."
"So we have Matt and LaKeesha, Joel and Daniel, Candice and Kent, along with Morgan." Sam eyed Dean. "Aren't we going overboard on this hunt? In addition to you, me and Caleb, we've got seven other hunters coming in."
Dean shrugged. "Let's just say I've got a feeling."
"Because of JT's encounter with the lamia?"
"That," Dean agreed, "and something about this just seems hinky."
Sam smiled. "Hinky?"
"Yeah. The deal she offered, about letting her do her business unmolested, then she'll leave the country. She's had encounters with Guardian's before; she knows the Brotherhood would never agree. So why make the offer? I know I've…" his fair skin flushed slightly, "done deals before. Maybe she considers me damaged goods for a Guardian."
"Dean…" Sam began, only to have his brother cut him off.
"I'm not implying anything, just that she tried to wrangle when she didn't have to. She wanted a look at us, that's all. And creatures that want a look have an agenda in mind."
Eyeing his brother, Sam decided not to make a case out of Dean's damaged goods comment. Instead, he looked back down at the small box in his hands. Carefully he lifted out the piece of dislodged paper. "The bit of metal we saw under the paper is a key," he said as he set the paper carefully on the table.
Pulling the box toward him, Dean looked down inside. "It's small, too small for a door or safe." Reaching inside, he lifted the key and examined it. "It a shank barreled key."
Sam looked up. "A what?"
"Barrel key," Dean murmured, studying the small piece of metal. "Most keys are solid, but a barrel key has a small hole at the tip. It slides over a post inside the lock." When Sam didn't say anything, he looked up. "It's a more complicated lock, and usually found in vintage homes."
"You know the weirdest stuff."
Dean grinned and went back to studying the key. "There are no markings on the key at all; it's old. I'd say this was an 18th century skeleton key with a barrel shank, probably used for a lock box of some kind."
Sam just shook his head. Dean was a fount of the most interesting and odd information. Focusing on the paper, he gently touched one of the edges. Fine dust came off on his fingers. "I'm going to see if there's a water bottle here," he said. "I want to mist the paper, see if I can unfold it without anything crumbling."
"Won't the water smear the ink?"
"Not if I don't use too much." Rising, Sam left the room.
Shrugging, Dean went back to studying the key. The shaft was short, so the lock wasn't deep. That had led to his conclusion that it fit of a box of some kind. Since the key was double protected with the barrel shank, that meant double protection. Only something like a small safe or a lockbox would have that kind of protection. Other small items would be a diary… His eyes widened: or a journal; a very important journal.
Sam walked back in carrying a small squeeze bottle and, seeing Dean's face, asked, "What? Think of something else?"
"I'm leaning toward lockbox, but it may also be for a journal."
Sam's hands hesitated over the paper as he frowned at his brother. "Did they lock journals then? Wouldn't that have been expensive?"
"Maybe. But not everyone in the Brotherhood was as poor us growing up," Dean remarked. "Some people could afford good leather journals. Historically, writing in diaries or journals was something guys did. Recording daily life, historical stuff, crap like that. When women started writing, they wrote more personal stuff, so diaries were locked. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, diaries were more of a female thing."
Smiling, Sam just shook his head. How did Dean remember all this stuff?
Oblivious, his eyes on the key, Dean continued, "Journals were locked too, for bookkeeping, record keeping, business receipts." Turning the key over, he murmured, "It would be something to find an old locked journal."
Turning his attention back to the paper, Sam thought about how great his life had been the last thirty years. He was a lawyer, something he'd always wanted, had a great job teaching and writing, a beautiful daughter, and he was finally able to see and work with his amazing, brawny and geeky brother. Lifting the squeeze bottle, he gave the page a light spritz with water and slowly began laying the paper flat. When a side started to crackle, he spritzed it lightly again.
Dean leaned forward, eager to see what was written on the page.
Carefully Sam laid back the sides of the folded page until all were open, though he didn't lay the paper completely flat in fear of it falling apart.
Caleb walked into the dining room where Sam and Dean were sitting and halted abruptly. "You were supposed to wait for me," he declared.
"Couldn't," Dean shrugged. "You were taking too long."
"I should be given props for doing such a good job," Caleb muttered, snagging the key from Dean's hand and giving it a close look. "It's got a barrel shank."
Dean rolled his eyes as Sam laughed.
Figuring that topic had already been covered, Caleb handed the key back to Dean. "What's up?"
"We're trying to see what's on the paper from the box I found in the dynamite shack," Dean answered. Glancing up, he asked, "Where is everyone?"
"Keesh and Robert are taking a rest; Matt, Kent and Candice are keeping an eye on the captives."
"Where are you with the interrogations?"
"Finished with everyone." Caleb ran fingers through his short, gray hair. "Went another round with Olivier, but didn't push too hard on the collaborative front. That would be showing our hand. I want to make sure we're ready to do that, since he's already suspicious. I also thought getting the others out of the line of fire would make for less collateral damage if Olivier decided to fight."
Dean glanced at his watch. "It's after three. When are we taking them home?"
"Robert is leaving in the next hour or two," Caleb said. "He'll take Martin with him."
"Is the kid stable enough for the trip?" Sam asked. "Gunshot wounds aren't easy."
"Enough for a short ride," Caleb said. "Once they get settled at Robert's place, Robert will call his sister, have her come to his clinic. Having her there will go a long way to helping him recover. They'll go from there."
Sam nodded. "And the others?"
"Two are from Colorado, one from Utah. Robert has already been in contact with Ben, and they're arranging Brotherhood doctors in those locations for wound care and counseling."
"When are they going home?" Dean asked.
"Tomorrow morning. The Brotherhood cleaners will meet us here. They're used to dealing with families and the victims of hunts."
"So are we," Dean remarked.
"But this saves us from flying all over the country. I put in a call to Alison, and she's got a team flying this way. They'll escort the kids home, introduce them to Ben's counselors and doctors, and drive them home."
"That will leave us to interrogate Olivier, gloves off," Dean remarked.
"Exactly," Caleb agreed.
Sam refocused his attention on the paper. "Okay, there are some letters here. Looks like maybe coordinates."
Dean looked around, then grabbed Sam's notepad and pushed it toward his brother. "Write them here."
"If I can make out all the letters," Sam murmured, taking the pad. He squinted and wrote down 42.7730222 N. Flipping it around, he said, "Definitely coordinates. Only partial though, and a small arc at the top of the page."
Caleb leaned forward as Dean stared at the page. Suddenly Dean rose and walked quickly from the dining room.
After eyeing the door for a moment, Caleb took the opportunity Dean's absence afforded them and asked Sam, "How did your talk with Madeline go?"
"Tough," Sam admitted. "She feels like she let everyone down, including herself." Lowering his voice slightly, he confided, "I didn't tell her Dean didn't want her in the field any longer. That would have been a major blow, she was so tickled he'd asked this time."
"No need," Caleb agreed. "She wasn't called out into the field in all the time she was in the network before. She just won't be called again."
"Exactly. She said she's staying in Waverly for a few days to work with the family and talk to the teachers and registrar at Luther. When Ben gets someone else in place, she'll stay another day or so to ease the transition. After that she'll head back to Yakima Washington. She said she's missing the children."
"It's a good place for her," Caleb observed. "She can engage without a timeframe. She…"
Dean burst back into the dining room carrying a large map, which he spread across the table.
"Dean," Sam admonished, rescuing the fragile piece of paper he'd taken from the box. Caleb was quick to save the box from a tumbled off the table.
"Sorry," Dean remarked absently. "See, here's the 42.7730222 N line through Wyoming."
"We only have a partial coordinate," Sam said. "How's that going to help?"
Dean looked up, grinning. "We know where the Wilmington Ranch is. If the longitude goes straight through the land, we can look for the most likely spot where Daniel Wilmington would have hidden something."
"That could give us a lot of places to look," Sam said.
"Why don't we just look for another Triad symbol?" Caleb asked.
"Longitude and latitude can change as the earth spins on its axis," Sam added.
Dean glared at the other two men. "Not if the coordinates are earth fixed. Even if something has changed minutely, this," he stabbed a finger at the map on the table, "is a grid map from the late nineteenth century, so it should do. And the barn isn't going to get up and move. This," he smacked it again, "might at least narrow down the places to search along a straight line rather than the entire yard."
"All right," Caleb held up his hands in surrender. "Did you get enough sleep last night?"
Dean's glare deepened.
"Show us," Sam said, leaning over the map.
Feeling distinctly out of sorts, Dean eyed the map, trying to see the small print and numbers.
Caleb rolled his eyes and pulled his own readers from his pocket and wacked Dean lightly on the shoulder with them.
Grunting, Dean took the glasses and put them on, then reexamined the map. Finally he said, "Here, this line." He ran a finger down a long line. "This is where it intersects with the ranch."
Sam squinted at the map. "The ranch is a small dot. How are we going to translate that to everything on ranch?"
"GPS," Caleb said.
"Or a compass app," Dean added.
Nodding, Sam pulled out his phone to download a compass app. "You want to go now?"
Caleb looked over at Dean, who shook his head. "I want lunch."
Sam looked up. "You already had lunch."
"I had a snack," Dean clarified, climbing to his feet. "Now I want lunch." Turning, he walked out the other side of the dining room into the adjoining kitchen.
Sam and Caleb heard the refrigerator opening.
"Guess he's hungry," Sam stated.
"I am too," Caleb said, and he followed his friend into the kitchen.
"I'll see if anyone else is hungry," Sam muttered, walking through the dining room and up the stairs.
A short time later there were numerous sandwiches piled on the table accompanied by a bowl of chips, a plate of fruit, and some store-bought cookies. Surrounding the table were Matt and LaKeesha, Robert Anderson, Dean, Sam, Caleb, and Joel and Daniel, who had arrived at the ranch after driving in from Nevada.
"How are the interrogations going?" Joel asked
"I thought Doc Vasquez was going to be here," Daniel added. "Where'd she go?"
Avoiding looking at Dean, Sam said, "Something else came up. Caleb and LaKeesha have been doing the interviews with Doctor Anderson's input and guidance."
"So, you've been having all the fun," Joel remarked with a glance at LaKeesha.
"Hasn't been very exciting," LaKeesha said. "Those poor guys."
"Yeah, we figured," Daniel said. "It can't be easy to have your will taken away by anyone."
"They'll get better," Robert Anderson said. "It'll just take time."
"Ben's on it?" Joel asked, snagging a handful of chips and dropping them on his plate.
"He is. We've already got people on the ground in Colorado. We just need to get hold of our contact in Utah, and we'll be set."
"Has each one contacted their families yet?" Matt asked.
"Not yet," Robert said. "After interviewing them, we wanted to give those who were wounded time to adjust to the information, and some rest. Martin, the young man I'm taking to my clinic, spoke with his sister." Shaking his head, he said, "It was very emotional. She's coming in tomorrow and will stay with us for awhile."
"Did Martin call his girlfriend?" LaKeesha asked.
Robert shook his head. "He wasn't ready. They'd just started dating, so are in the early stages of their relationship. He wasn't ready to tackle talking with her yet."
"Didn't she report him missing to the police?"
"Yes. But it must be his call. I told him we had a couple days to decide how to proceed."
Dean set down his sandwich and leaned back in his chair. Usually they had only a few isolated victims during a hunt. This one promised to be chalk full of wounded and traumatized people. He wondered if Ben could get away from the hospital to coordinate.
"Dean," Sam said, leaning over. When his brother looked up, he said, "Finish that and let's get outside and look for this clue."
Eyes wandering to his sandwich, Dean nodded. Picking it up, he stuffed it all into his mouth – an action that had his brother wincing and those who saw grinning – and rose from the table. "Lephsgo," he muttered and walked out.
Matt, Joel and Daniel each looked at one another and burst into laughter while Robert merely shook his head and continued to eat.
"What did he say?" LaKeesha asked, snickering into her hands.
Sam rolled his eyes when Caleb responded, "That was a Deanism for let's go."
"Come on," Sam grumbled, heading for the door.
.
Sam, Caleb and Dean stood around Sam's cell, checking out the longitude line in the note they'd found.
"It looks like it's going right through the house," Sam mused, his eyes on his cell.
"The journals?" Caleb asked, his eyes on Dean, thinking of the two Colt journals they'd found years ago.
"Yeah," Dean agreed, disappointed. His gaze traveled beyond Sam's cell, extending the invisible line through the house. "Seems like it, if we elevate the line to the second floor."
"Damn," Caleb muttered.
"You think that may be it?" Sam asked. "That we already found what the paper was hiding?"
Dean thought furiously. What would he do as Guardian if he needed to safeguard a secret? They'd found Colt's journals years ago, they found a key hidden in a box today. Three … Triad. There had to be something else here. "There's one more thing hidden," he said.
Sam frowned, then his face cleared. "Three."
"A Triad," Caleb said.
Dean nodded. "We've checked this side. Let's follow the longitude line around the house to the other side; see where it leads."
The front door opened and Robert Anderson stepped out with Martin at his side. They were followed by Joel Neubridge and Daniel Rios.
Caleb jogged toward the house and climbed the front steps. "You're leaving now?"
Robert Anderson nodded. "We want to get to my place before dark. And Martin wants to call his sister before it gets too late."
Dean walked over and shook Robert's hand. "Thanks for stepping in, Doc."
"No problem," Anderson said. "I want to hear how all this turns out, and if you need me, you know my number."
Caleb looked at Daniel and Joel. "You two going on the road again?"
Daniel stepped forward. "We're going to escort them home."
Joel nodded. "If there's even a chance this succubus might come for the kid, someone needs to be with them until their safely behind the protections of the clinic."
"I guess it doesn't hurt to be safe," Caleb said, "though I doubt there'll be an incident. Succubi dispose of suitors like tissue. But are you sure you two want to go? You just got here. Kent and Candace can escort."
"They offered, but we'll go," Daniel said firmly. "It's only a couple hours."
"We'll be back tonight," Joel said, following Robert Anderson and Martin as they climbed down the steps into the front yard.
"What about the three wounded we've got upstairs?" Caleb asked Doctor Anderson. "Are they stable enough for you to head home?"
"I've checked their wounds again, and they're all healing nicely," Robert said. "LaKeesha and Dean can check them in the morning before their flight. And Ben's doctors will meet them on the ground in Utah and Colorado."
"Are their families going to be a problem? I mean, they were reported missing, and they're coming home with gunshot wounds."
"Two of the men are over forty and have their own families, so parents are not in the equation. Their wives have been briefed on what happened, and since one of the wives was with her husband when the succubus took him, she welcomed the explanation."
Caleb's eyes had widened. "That was pretty bold, to ensnare someone right under the nose of his wife."
Doctor Anderson shrugged. "It's possible the succubus didn't realize the wife was nearby. We'll know more in a few days after they've talked to a therapist and more details are revealed."
"And the third?"
"He's thirty-four and single. He hasn't called his parents yet. Isn't sure what to say, he's too confused right now. I know the therapist in Colorado. Good man: Doctor Paul Samuels. He'll get him sorted out soon enough. Don't worry," Robert said. "We're well on our way to finding out what happened and how it happened. We'll have answers to at least some of your questions soon."
During Caleb and Doctor Anderson's conversation, Sam had walked over and offered his hand to Martin. After a moment's hesitation, the young man reached out and took it. "You're going to be fine," Sam said. "I know it doesn't seem like it now, but you will. Having family around helps. My brother has always been there when I needed him, so lean on your sister. Be there for each other."
"You're brother, he knows about this stuff?" Martin asked.
"He's in charge of stopping this stuff, and we're going to stop her from doing this to anyone else."
Nodding slowly, Martin asked, "Will she come after me again?"
"It isn't likely," Sam said. "She won't hunt out people; she'll take what's convenient. But we'll have people watching over you until she's taken care of, just to be safe."
Sighing, Martin nodded. Offering Sam a small smile, he said, "Then I feel safer." Moving around the taller man, he walked gingerly over to Robert Anderson's car and climbed in the passenger seat.
Robert nodded to Sam and Caleb, got behind the wheel and started the engine. Soon his car and Joel's truck were heading down the road.
Smiling, Sam turned around to find Caleb standing beside him, watching the vehicles disappear, but no Dean. "Where's Dean?"
"He's…" Caleb turned and looked around. "…around the back of the house, probably."
"Let's go," Sam grumbled, walking in that direction. "He's got my phone."
When they rounded the house, they didn't see Dean anywhere.
"Where'd he go?" Sam asked, frustration lacing his voice.
Standing in the vast acreage behind the ranch house, Caleb filtered everything else out like he'd learned years ago one snowy night at Rockefeller Center and focused on Dean. After a second the bright light that was his friend shown through. "He's behind the barn." Together, he and Sam started in the direction.
"Think he's found something?" Sam asked.
"Guess we'll find out."
After a few minutes of walking, they rounded the barn to nothing. Caleb sighed. Dean?
Inside, second to the last stall on the right.
"He's inside."
Sam reversed direction and they went in.
"Over there," Caleb said, pointing to the back of the barn.
Sam and Caleb walked down the large barn, following the sounds of digging. When they reached the second to the last stall, they looked inside and saw Dean kneeling in the straw, using a broken shovel to dig in the dirt and decades old manure.
"Dean, that's gross!" Sam stated, wrinkling his nose against the smells of old animal feces. "Why are you on the ground?"
"Shovel broke," Dean panted, jamming the rounded shovel into the ground again, and dumping dirt and hay off to the side.
"I hope you brought more than one pair of jeans," Caleb observed. "Otherwise you're sitting in the back of the plane on the way home."
Sitting back on his haunches, Dean sniped, "You two could see about helping."
"Why are you digging here?" Sam asked.
Turning, his face incredulous, Dean said, "Because, X marks the spot, Sammy."
Sam followed Dean's finger to the Triad symbol just above the spot where he was digging. "I'm getting another shovel."
"Isn't one."
"Then a very strong board or branch."
"Got those."
Caleb snorted out a laugh and leaned back against the stall wall.
"You're not going to help?" Dean asked, tossing another heap of dirt off to the side.
"Cause three grown men are going to fit in that tight space," Caleb scoffed.
"Got a point," Dean huffed, as he dumped another load of dirt.
Sam returned with a long piece of wood and said to Dean, "Rest for a minute. I'll get better leverage from above."
Dean scrambled back as Sam used the piece of wood to shove earth aside. As the hole deepened, Dean joined back in, widening it at the sides and moving more dirt. Finally he heard the sound of metal on metal. Looking up, eyes gleaming, Dean said, "That's more than a jar of dirt."
"Stop with the Pirates references and get it out," Sam ordered.
Grinning, Dean gripped his shovel on the metal edges and used it to shove more dirt aside. When he saw the box, he tossed the shovel away. He and Sam started clearing the dirt until Dean could lift it from the ground.
"This box is much bigger than the other one," Caleb said, eyeing the lockbox. "Want to bet it needs a barrel shank key to open?"
"I'd say that's a good guess," Dean said, climbing awkwardly to his feet, one hand gripping the box. "Let's go see."
Wrinkling his nose, Sam stated, "Not until you have a shower."
Raylan stood beneath the canopy of trees, reading the newspaper and drinking an iced mocha latte. On his second sip, he frowned and stared down into the cup. It wasn't so much coffee as a sugared, creamed dessert. What did expect from buying coffee in California?
"From the look on your face, I'm thinking a stop at Denny's is on the agenda?"
Raylan looked up to see Kace Brandt striding in his direction. "You look like a Hollywood Cowboy," he remarked, noting the other man's casual jeans, black tee, scuffed boots and sun-bleached hair. Pitch black sunglasses shielded his green eyes. "Did I just step onto a movie set?"
Kace snorted in derision. "And you look like a transplant from South Dakota."
"Ain't nothin' wrong with that," Raylan replied. He supposed his typical flannel shirt was out of place in the California sun, but his dark brunette hair, worn long and tied back with a leather thong and black shades fit right in.
"No, there ain't." Kace held out his hand and gave Raylan's a firm grip. After a glance around to make sure no one was too close, he said, "Want to tell me what's so important it pulled me off a very interesting poltergeist haunting the vineyards of Napa? I love hunting things in a vineyard."
Raylan grinned. Leave it to Kace to find supernatural creatures in wine country. "Let's move over here," he pointed to an umbrella'd table at the furthest end of the coffeehouse terrace. Since it was nine in the morning, most customers were already at work, and coffee breaks wouldn't be for another hour. "You want coffee?"
After Kace had gotten himself a cup, Raylan told him about his vampire hunt.
"You went to hunt vampires – two vampires – on your own?" Kace demanded. "Unbelievable!"
"I wasn't planning on taking them out," Raylan defended. "I wanted to find their lair."
"Bullshit," Kace hissed, barely refraining from shouting. "Vampires are solitary hunters. They don't like to share their territory. If there were two, they were probably mates. We haven't seen a vampire uprising for over twenty-five years."
"Then we're due, aren't we?" Raylan said, attempting to defuse the tension.
Kace sat back in his chair watching the other man, his anger simmering.
Ever since he'd worked with Raylan hunting the magic boxes a year ago, he'd thought he might have found a partner with whom he'd enjoyed working. Hunting was a dangerous gig, and as happened often, he'd lost his partner Nathan Williams to a hunt a couple years ago. It had been difficult returning to the job without him. But hunting was what he knew; he believed in the Brotherhood ideals. He knew Raylan had a similar past; that he'd hunted with his mentor for several years and lost him during a hunt. Yet everyone needed to move on at some point. He thought he could offer Raylan a partnership rather than the mentor, mentee relationship he'd had with Zachary Johnson. Like in father/son bonds, the father was always the father like mentors were always mentors. He figured he could be a true partner for Raylan, a partnership in which both of them could flourish. But for some, moving on might never come.
Kace finally said, "I've waited to partner up with someone because I thought we would do well together; we get along, our styles mesh. But instead of calling on me to back you up in a dangerous…" when Raylan began to interrupt, Kace held up a hand and insisted, "dangerous situation, you chose to go in alone. All I can say is that if you don't want to partner with me, at least partner with someone before you get killed."
"I don't want a new partner," Raylan said slowly.
"All right," Kace nodded. "Doesn't change the fact that you can't go into dangerous situations without backup."
Raylan rolled his eyes. Setting down is creamy coffee dessert, he said, "I want you as my partner." He hadn't meant to say it, hadn't meant to go there now, today. But when he looked back on the last year, how many times he'd called on Kace for help, or Kace had called him, it would have been obvious to a blind man. They were already partners.
"Oh," Kace said, surprised. "Does that mean I get to come to your sister's for Thanksgiving?"
Raylan burst into laughter. The response was so Kace. "Yes, you can come to Thanksgiving dinner, if we're not hunting a Wendigo, or something."
Kace smiled. Somehow having a partner had made the world a little safer and more secure again. "So, now that that's settled, what's up with tailing vampires?"
Starting at the beginning, Raylan told of how he'd followed the vampires and why he thought they were uniting. "Three met together, and then the next day the two met with a different vamp. I thought something was going on, so I followed them." He took another sip of his coffee before he remembered how sweet it was. Setting it quickly back down, he continued, "They met in Big Basin Redwood State Park."
"That's near the Santa Cruz Mountains," Kace interjected.
"There's a vortex of power near there. I wondered if they planned on tapping into the vortex somehow. But instead of meeting other vampires, they met up with two women."
"How did you know they weren't vampires? You were staying well back, weren't you?"
Frowning, Raylan confessed, "I don't know how I was sure, because when I look back I couldn't see anything clearly. But somehow, then, I was. Maybe it was body language or something. Anyway," he finished telling about the meeting between the two women and the vampires, the box one of the women had pulled out and what had happened following.
Kace frowned. "What was in this box?"
Raylan's shoulders lifted in a shrug of frustration. "I don't know. The light coming from it was so bright I had to cover my eyes." Thinking back to that night, he continued, "I think there were tentacles coming from the box, or waving beams of light. It was like the world was lit by the sun, then suddenly it was gone." Shaking his head, he said softly, "I couldn't see for awhile, the darkness was so complete. When I could again, I looked back into the clearing and the ground was scorched like by fire. The two vamps were gone."
"They ran away?"
"I think they were burned to death."
Surprised at the revelation, Kace asked, "How do you know that?"
"I don't, not for certain, not yet. But even though vampires move fast, nothing could have outrun the destruction."
"So, you think one of these women said a spell of some kind?"
"Vamp senses are off the charts, so I was too far away to hear. But you get a sense of those things. I stayed exactly where I was for maybe half an hour." Giving a self-deprecating laugh, he confessed, "I don't know that I could have moved earlier. They were long gone when I finally got to my truck and left. I went back the next day and checked the area."
"Alone?" Kace exclaimed.
Raylan grimaced. "Yeah. They weren't there. I tracked their footsteps back to where a vehicle was parked. I took pictures of the tire tread and followed the tracks until they reached the rural road. The muddy tire tracks turned south. I hiked back to the epicenter of the burning, took some soil samples."
"Soil samples?"
"Where the women were standing, and the spot where the vampires disappeared. Maybe they can at least confirm that the vampires were incinerated. I've contacted Ben and he's looking at the medical network for someone who does research. Maybe they'll have the equipment to analyze the sample and give us more information."
Kace shook his head. Raylan was creative and methodical … with an unhealthy dose of reckless that he hoped their partnership would cure. "Other than the tire tracks moving south, have you tracked these two women further?"
Raylan shook his head. "Not yet."
"I have a few contacts on the police force in California, one near there in Livingston. He can run the tire tread, determine the make. If he can access the interstate cameras near where you saw them, we might be able to see one of the vehicle makes on the digital copy and track them down.
Raylan smiled. Somehow sharing all this with Kace had made the situation less worrisome. "Then let's get to Livingston … partner."
"We're leaving your truck here," Kace stated.
"How about we follow one another, then we can stop by my sisters, leave my truck there … this time."
"I can work with that," Kace said, walking off with a smile on his face. It felt good to have a partner again.
Dean sat impatiently at the dinner table, watching everyone eat spaghetti, garlic bread and salad. As they'd eaten a late lunch, it was close to eight-thirty when they sat down to dinner. Not at all hungry, he was impatient for everyone to get out so he could open the locked box they'd found earlier.
"Eat," Sam whispered, leaning over. "No one is getting up until everyone has finished.
Sighing, Dean grabbed his fork and started on his plate of spaghetti.
When he'd finished his shower, he hadn't realized it was so late and that Candace and Kent had taken it upon themselves to make dinner for all. But his throat was still sore and the spices in the spaghetti irritated it somewhat. With Sam watching, however, he thought he'd better eat or he'd be sitting there all night.
"When are the last three victims going home?" Kent asked, taking a bite of garlic bread.
"Tomorrow," Sam said. Looking to Caleb, he asked, "Have you heard from Alison?"
Caleb shook his head as he chewed the mouthful of spaghetti he'd just taken. Swallowing, he said, "But I haven't checked my email yet. If all goes well, two planes will have landed in Jackson Hole already. Alison took care of the sleeping arrangements for tonight. I'll take everyone to the airport in the morning, and the cleaners will take the victims home."
"Any plans on what to do with Olivier?" Kent asked
"After the three leave, we'll question him again," Caleb stated. "Confront him with the fact we know he's a willing conspirator of the succubus. He already suspects we know anyway."
"How so?" Sam asked, frowning.
"It's the way he's answering the questions, like it's all an inside joke."
"He's being more sincere than he needs to be," LaKeesha added. "He's adding more emotion, more hesitations," Caleb said. "It's like he's on stage. And he's stopped asking about the others."
"How's that important?" Kent asked.
"He was always trying to scope out where the others were, why Gabriel didn't come back, how were the wounded, all that," Caleb said. "Now he doesn't ask."
Dean frowned. "Does he think the succubus is coming for him?"
"Why would she?" Sam asked. "Succubi don't get attached to people."
"That doesn't mean he doesn't think she will," Dean countered.
"Maybe he does, maybe not." Caleb shook his head. "I just know something is up with him."
Kent rose, his plate empty. "Then we should double the guard. After Matt and LaKeesha have dinner, I think two of us should patrol outside beneath the window, while the other two take the door."
"Agreed," Caleb nodded. "We'll shift the guard every two hours. It's going to be cold outside."
Candace rose. "I'll get more plates for them, then we'll take the guard upstairs while they eat."
Dean started to rise until Sam stopped him.
"Finish your dinner," Sam hissed. "We can't clear the table until Matt and LaKeesha finish anyway."
"What are you, my mother?" Dean demanded.
"Don't know what that would be like," Sam countered.
Sighing, Dean sank back down. "Sorry."
Sam smiled. "No problem."
Glaring at his brother for manipulating him, Dean forked another mouthful of spaghetti into his mouth.
Caleb merely rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the problem of Olivier. He wondered how long it would take him and LaKeesha to get some answers. He wasn't shabby at interrogation, but he knew it would be faster if Dean did the asking. His eyes slid over to his friend, who was shoving food around his plate while pretending to eat. Dean had learned some interesting techniques to get people to talk, but he'd learned them in hell, and those were memories that scarred and tormented him. Asking him to make Olivier talk would be a last resort, but he needed the captive to talk … soon. He needed to go home.
Last night when he'd called Onida, Tristan and Kaven, his conversation with his oldest child had been concerning. Tristan had barely spoken at all, and he knew that the child had thought he wasn't coming back. Too used to disappointment, too used to being shunted from home to home, the child was already preparing himself for the loss.
Dean was watching Caleb under his lashes. He didn't need to be psychic to read his friend. Reaching for another piece of garlic bread, he asked," Is Michael in Jackson Hole?"
Caleb shrugged slightly. "I haven't heard anything yet, but if he isn't, he should be back soon."
"If he is, I want you to head back to Kentucky."
Caleb's head came up sharply. "What?"
"Samuel Colt's journals. If those are the second of three buried clues, we'll need them here."
"Isn't fetching Sam's job?" Caleb grumbled.
"Excuse me," Sam demanded. "Why am I the fetcher?"
"You're the Scholar. Getting paper is your job."
"I just thought," Dean interrupted before a full-blown argument erupted, "that Caleb might want to check in with Onida and the boys before coming back. The children haven't been there long, and probably don't understand Caleb's absence."
"What about Clarissa?" Sam asked, frowning.
"JT's been at the house, and she's doing fine. If all goes well, we should be back home day after tomorrow."
"Bull," Caleb said. "JT isn't you, no matter how much he looks like you. If I'm going back, we're all going back. We've got relationships we need to tend too, even Sam."
Sam rolled his eyes, but before they could agree or argue, the doors opened and Matt and LaKeesha walked for dinner.
.
Forty-five minutes later, Caleb walked back into the dining room and dropped into his chair. "Kent and Candace are patrolling outside. Matt and LaKeesha are back upstairs. I'll relieve them in an hour so they can get some rest. They've been on guard duty nearly the entire day."
"I'll take watch with you," Sam stated.
Caleb nodded.
"Joel and Daniel should be back in a couple of hours. After they get some rest, we can work them into the rotation," Dean said.
"But now," Dean said. Eyes sparkling, he lifted the dirty, muddy box he'd unearthed earlier and moved to set it on the table.
"Stop!" Sam cried.
Dean froze. "What?"
"What would Juliet say about your putting that filthy, manure polluted box on her kitchen table?" Sam strode from the room into the kitchen.
Turning to Caleb, Dean complained, "This isn't our table."
"Not your table at the farm," Caleb countered, "but it is your table."
Sam returned carrying a new, large plastic tablecloth. Ripping open the package, he straightened a few of the folds and laid it on the table. "There."
Dean set the box down and picked up the barrel shank key they'd found in the first box earlier that day. Glancing up at the other two, he said, "Ready?"
"Just do it," Caleb sniped irritably.
"Maybe you should take a nap," Dean muttered. Putting the key into the lock, he fitted the barrel shank over the peg and turned, grunting as the key resisted the movement. "Should have used some WD-40."
"Is there any in the house?" Sam asked, his eyes glued to the key and lock.
"How would we know?" Caleb quipped. "We don't live here."
Sam merely rolled his eyes.
Dean growled as he pulled the key out and reinserted it again. He attempted to turn it both ways, but nothing happened. Finally, he sat back.
"Maybe the key doesn't go to this lock," Caleb suggested. "We're only assuming here."
"It looks like it should fit," Sam said,
"It could be that the key is for another box like this one," Dean said. Frowning at the lock, he murmured, "Looks like we're going to have to do this the old fashioned way." Rising, he walked out of the room.
Caleb and Sam eyed one another and said at the same time, "Picking."
Dean returned a few minutes later with his lock pick set. Going to work on the box, he soon had the lock freed. Looking up, he smiled, excitement running through his veins. "Ready?"
Sam leaned forward as Caleb took a seat closer to the box.
Carefully Dean lifted the lid … only to find another box on the inside.
"What is this, Russian nesting dolls?" Caleb remarked.
Frowning, Dean pulled the second box from inside the first and examined the lock. Abruptly he reached over and took the key, slid it into the lock on the second box, and turned. The locked clicked. "Looks like we found the right lock for the key," he said.
"Open it," Sam cried, with barely contained enthusiasm.
Dean smiled. He sounded like the Sammy of old, who could never wait for Dean to open a box or a bag or a backpack. Slowly he pushed open the lid, going slow as the hinges creaked and snapped.
Inside the box sat a journal, a letter, a medallion and a slender sheath of silver, ornately decorated.
Caleb reached over and lifted the silver sheath. Examining it, he said, "I wonder what this holds?"
"Is it a sheath for the Dragon's Talon?" Sam asked.
"Too narrow," Caleb mused. "This is for something with a short, slender blade."
"Like?"
Caleb shrugged. "Don't know, could be anything; a dagger, push knife, toothpick knife, even a compact rapier or a boot knife."
Dean picked up the letter. After giving it a cursory look, he handed it to Sam. "Want to check that out, Sammy?"
Sam took the envelope, opened it and slid out a narrow sheet of paper. "It's the same size as the folded sheet in the first box," he said. "It says .329 N variable, 108.8132 W, and there's another arc on the page."
"Anything else?" Dean asked.
"There's something here in Latin," Sam said, squinting at the page. Finally he pulled out his readers and stuck them on his nose. "I can't make it out in this light; it's really faded." Sighing, he set the page down. "If there's a magnifying glass in the library, I'll use that."
"What about the journal?" Caleb asked.
Dean pulled it out and opened it. On the inside flap it said, Daniel Wilmington, 1840. "It's another Wilmington Journal," he said, wonderingly. Carefully he thumbed through the pages. "This will take awhile; the pages are full."
"Let us know when you're finished," Caleb said. Journals written by Guardians were usually read first by other Guardians. They were shared only if secrets privy solely to Guardians were not revealed. Such was the course with Advisor journals as well, which were passed down from Advisor to Advisor.
"Why did he hide it?" Sam asked.
Shrugging, Dean set it aside and picked up the medallion. "This is thing is heavy," he said, balancing it in his hand. "Got to be gold, or a gold and iron mix." He handed it over to Caleb.
"Feels like gold," Caleb mused. "We could have it tested..."
A sudden crashing from the second floor sounded followed by a loud thump. All three men leapt to their feet and headed for the dining room door when Caleb's wrist unit crackled.
All clear above. Olivier tried to go out the window. He is currently uncomfortably secured to a chair.
Caleb pulled his wrist to his face and said, "Well done; we're coming up."
Dean walked past him and took the stairs two at a time. Kent stood outside Olivier's room. To his left Candace stepped out of another room and closed the door.
Looking up, she said, "I just spoke with the others, let them know there was nothing to be concerned about."
"The other three are all in one room now?" Dean asked.
Candace nodded. "We thought it would be cathartic for them to talk to one another about what happened. Hearing one another's stories, how they ended up with the succubus will help them realize they didn't do anything to make this happen, that they did nothing wrong. It will help with the healing."
"They've already eaten?"
Candace nodded. "I brought their meals up before we sat down."
Nodding, Dean walked to the room holding Olivier. Kent moved aside so Dean could enter.
Olivier was bound hand and foot to a heavy, sturdy desk chair, his mouth gagged, eyes narrowed.
Walking slowly forward, Dean's gaze holding Olivier's; the man was angry. None too gently he pulled the gag from Olivier's mouth.
"Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" (What is happening?) Olivier demanded. "Am I captive? M'as-tu libéré uniquement pour me lier à ta volonté?" (Did you set me free only to bind me to your will?)
Dean didn't bother to attempt the French, or bring in anyone to translate. He knew without a doubt that Olivier understood English very well. "Why did you run?"
Widening his eyes, Olivier murmured, "I was afraid. You keep captive. Les autres sont là, alors non. (The others are here, then they are not.) I fear what you do to me."
"How about we cut the crap, huh?" Dean suggested, his voice as cold as ice. "Where did you meet Asuka?"
"Je vous raconte mon histoire." (I tell told you my story), Olivier insisted. "We meet in…"
"You've been with Asuka a lot longer than you let on. Where did you meet her? In China?"
"Avant cette nuit (before that night)… I never meet…" began Olivier.
Dean held up a hand. "I don't have time for tall tales. Tomorrow, you will be interrogated and you will answer truthfully." Leaning forward, he touched a finger along a tendon near the back of Olivier's neck and pressed slightly as he whispered, "Be glad I won't be asking the questions."
Olivier's face went deathly pale as Dean straightened and walked from the room.
Kent followed Dean out and locked the door again. Remembering Olivier's white face, he asked, "What did you say to him? He looked scared to death."
Dean shrugged. "Nothing much, just that he should be glad I'm not interrogating him." Turning, he walked down the hall, Kent staring after him.
.
Dean stepped back into the dining room. It was empty. He knew Sam was upstairs talking to the wounded, and Caleb was probably outside with Matt and LaKeesha. Sitting down, he pulled the journal close. Opening it, he flipped past the front page to the journal writing.
May 10, 1838
Rumors are hard things. The stuff of substance and fog. I have heard the whispers of a light taking people, yet have found little enough to confirm such is the case. But myths be founded upon truths, therefore might these rumors be of similar origin. Attempting to confirm.
"Ain't that the truth," Dean muttered. A moment later Sam walked in and he looked up, closing the journal. "How are they?"
"Startled," Sam said, dropping into a chair. "They were afraid she was coming back for them." He shook his head. "It's going to take a good, long time before they recover."
Just then Dean's phone rang. Seeing the name on the faceplate, he answered quickly, saying, "Juliet? Is everything all right?"
"You need to come home," Juliet said, unease and urgency in her tone. "There's someone here who needs to speak with you. She said it's been a long time, and to tell you Gluttony is still the deadliest of sins."
Dean froze in his chair.
"Dean…?" Juliet said at the same time as Sam.
It was like hearing a double echo. Holding up a hand to Sam, Dean said, "Sorry, Julz. When did she get there?"
"About two minutes ago."
"Send her to the Inn; I'll call in for a room."
"There's two of them."
"Okay, I'll reserve two rooms. Tell her I'll be there tomorrow."
"Is everything all right?" Juliet asked, her tone conveying wariness and worry.
"Everything's fine. Remember when I told you about the Apocalypse that happened years ago? Her husband died during it."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Juliet murmured.
"I'll be home tomorrow."
"Can't wait," Juliet said, and hung up.
"What?" Sam asked impatiently.
"Hang on," Dean said, and he dialed the Inn in New Haven. After arranging for two rooms, he sat back and said, "Tamara is at the farm."
Sam frowned. "Who?"
"Oak Park, Nebraska. Remember the fight in the bar during the Apocalypse when the Seven Deadly Sins escaped? Two hunters went inside before we could stop them."
"Isaac and Tamara," Sam murmured.
Dean nodded. "Gluttony forced Isaac to drink drain cleaner and he died. Tamara was his hunting partner and wife."
"They blamed us for opening the Devil's Gate."
Dean nodded. "Whatever's happened, it must be serious for Tamara to come to me."
"Dean, she didn't blame you."
"Of course she did, and Isaac too. A lot of hunters blamed us." Dean didn't go on to say with good reason. His tone said it all. "We were the outcasts of the Brotherhood, not from a hunting lineage. And dad had us living off the grid, hustling for money." He snorted softly. "Face it; growing up, we were considered the dregs of hunter society. Of course she views us as being responsible for Isaac's death."
"You mean she blames me for his death, that it was my fault," Sam said. "A lot of hunters thought I was responsible."
Instantly, and predictably, Dean leaped to Sam's defense. "It wasn't your fault! Jake Talley broke the trap so the gate could be opened, not you. You were…." Dean broke off.
"Dead," Sam said softly.
Pushing away from that awful time and what had happened as a result, Dean said, "It wasn't our fault just because we were there."
"Exactly," Sam agreed, eyeing his brother. "How long have I been trying to convince you of that piece of logic?"
Dean stared at Sam a moment, then rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."
Caleb walked in a couple minutes later and stopped, eyeing the two brothers sitting in silence. "Okay, who died?"
"No one!" Sam exclaimed.
"How early can we fly out in the morning?" Dean asked.
"We, as in all of us?" Caleb asked. "I thought we were staying to interrogate Olivier, then I was on fetch and carry duty?"
"Morgan can take care of the interrogation for now," Dean said. "We're all going home."
Roger Howell and Jack Toussaint stopped for supper in a small saloon in Old Colorado City, Arizona. They had been on the trail of two jakkals for seven days now; the first three had been spent tracking them through news sources and police reports, the last four actively on the ground. Jakkals were intelligent and skilled in magic, so they'd needed to be very careful in trailing the pair.
Roger was a fairly recent addition to the hunting world, having had an encounter with a ghoul that had shaken him to his core. After learning about the supernatural, he felt he had no true choice in life but to help those who, like himself, were caught unawares by the things that went bump in the night. After working with Caleb and Max for two years, he had been introduced to Jack, and they had partnered up for the last five.
Of French heritage, Jack had grown up hunting in France before immigrating to the United States, where he hooked up with the Brotherhood. Adept at magic, he had been taught the art of spells and conjuring by his maternal grandmother beginning at the age of seven when he had shown an aptitude for the subject. Jack had been able to track the jakkel's spell trail, in addition to the escalating body count left in their wake. That had brought them to Arizona, and the small town of Old Colorado City, population four thousand, nine hundred and eighty-two.
Taking a small table toward the back edge of the saloon, they kept their expressions pleasant and open. Small towns could either be welcoming of strangers, or suspicious. From the looks they were getting, on this occasion suspicious seemed the preference. An older woman with iron gray hair approached their table, plopped down glasses of water and slapped down two menus that looked dirtier than the ground outside. Roger supposed most residents knew the meal selection by heart and the menus were never used.
"Hi!" said Roger brightly. They had decided maybe he should do the talking, as some places were even more suspicious if people were foreign, and Jack's accent might pose a problem. "Nice place. What would you recommend?" In new places, it was always better to pander to the expertise of the establishment than try to order something on your own.
The woman blinked, and some of her wariness subsided. "Just passin' through?"
"Yeah. We were coming from California and got a little turned around when my cell battery ran out, so the GPS didn't work. The plan was to avoid the major arteries and go the back roads, but…" he shrugged good-naturedly. "Best laid places and all that. We're trying to get to Flagstaff." Leaning forward and letting enthusiasm trickle through his voice, he murmured excitedly, "My sister-in-law is having a baby!"
Eyes widening, a smile spread across the woman's face. "How wonderful. My daughter had a baby a couple years ago, and now the little scamp goes running off everywhere."
"I can't wait for that," Roger agreed.
The woman turned her eyes curiously on Jack, who had yet to speak.
Deciding to embrace his French heritage rather than try to hide his accent, Jack smiled charmingly and said, "Bon jour. My name is Jacque, and the woman of whom we speak is my sister. May I have the name of the lovely woman in front of me this day?"
Blinking, her face going slightly red, the woman said, "Marjorie, Marg for short."
"Marg," Jack murmured, lifting her hand and placing a small kiss on the back. "Again, bon jour." Leaning back, he continued, "My sister came to America as a foreign exchange student. When she decide to stay and marry, I came and met this scélérat," he jerked a head in Roger's direction.
"He means scoundrel," Roger translated, rolling his eyes. Leaning forward, he mock whispered, "But I think he's joking. His sister married my younger brother."
"Marg!" came a voice from near the front of the saloon. "You gonna take all day over there?"
"Keep your pants on!" Marjorie called over her shoulder. Looking back at Roger and Jack, she said, "I'll order you both the daily special. It's delicious."
"Merci," Jack said.
"Just stop with the French," Roger chided. To Marjorie, he said, "I can't wait to try it."
Smiling and shaking her head, Marjorie walked off.
"I think we can relax some now," Roger murmured. "No one in here is looking at us with suspicion anymore."
Jack gazed around the small establishment and suddenly shivered.
"What is it?" Roger surveying the room again.
"Magic," Jack said softly. "It's been used in here recently, though I can't tell how long ago, not without doing a spell myself."
In a soft whisper, Roger asked, "You don't think they're here, do you?"
"Not sure," Jack murmured. "Jakkals aren't known for subtly. Their ancient connection to Anubis tends to make them brash and arrogant. They're clever too, and if they sensed us following them, they would have laid a trap."
"Maybe they did," Roger said, feeling the relaxation of the pending meal slide away.
Lifting his glass of water, Jack gazed over the rim as he pretended to drink, eyes alighting on every person. "What do your instincts say?"
Roger focused on the saloon, the feel of the people, the sense of the place. "This doesn't feel like a trap. I'd say they're not in here."
"Then maybe I'm sensing something else," Jack concluded.
Roger felt the stirrings of unease. Leaning back in his chair, forcing a carefree expression onto his face, he looked around with the curiousness of someone new in town. There were four men sitting at the long, battered bar, hunched over like they were born to ride a stool. Scattered across the floor were nine small, round tables, five of which were occupied. Three with couples, two in their mid-fifties and one in their seventies having an early dinner; one with three young men that looked to be in their twenties, one with a solitary man in his thirties eating through his dinner with single-minded focus. "Solo man at the table, and the guy second from the right at the bar," he murmured.
Jack chuckled as though at something Roger said and threw his head back. "Agreed." Shaking his head, he reached for his glass. "Ideas?"
"Not sure, but don't trust the food or drink."
"Other than jakkals, creatures that use magic are usually witches or fae," Jack murmured.
"I don't get the witch vibe," Roger murmured. "They're usually not as good at hiding themselves."
Nodding, Jack said, "Let's keep witches on the table, but err on the side of fae."
Marg wound her way through the tables toward them, carrying two large plates with warming cloths. Dropping them onto the table, she stepped back with a smile. "Two helpings of fresh baked chicken rolled in my special seasoned breading, a side of fresh greens and lentils, mashed potatoes, and homemade biscuits." Hands on her hips, she looked at each man expectantly.
Jack and Roger froze. They hadn't planned on actually eating anything, but now it seemed Marg wouldn't be leaving their table until they tried some of her food. Shoving a hand into the small backpack beside his chair, Jack pulled out a small tube. Flipping it open, he dumped two pills into his hand. Handing one to Roger, he said to Marg, "Vitamins. Better start with the boring and get to the great."
Marg smiled as each man took the pill and swallowed it dry. "Wow, I've only ever seen my father do that."
Roger grinned. "Guaranteed to impress the ladies."
Jack cut into the chicken and took a bite. After chewing for a second or two, he rolled his eyes. "Très bon! It is delightful!"
Marg twittered in glee. "Let me know if you want seconds; on the house." Smiling broadly, she walked away.
"Okay," Roger said, eyeing his food. "What was that you had me swallow?"
Jack grinned, gratified his partner had taken the pill without a clue as to what it was. It showed the trust that had developed between them over the last five years. "An herbal potion designed to counter poisons and spells, though we shouldn't eat too much. A couple bites; we should be fine."
"I don't think that will be an issue," Roger murmured, watching the solo occupant at the table out of the corner of his eye. The man had risen and was moving to the register, while simultaneously the man at the counter had swiveled on his stool to face them. "Get ready…"
But Jack hadn't needed the warning. The moment the man on the stool threw a spell in their direction, he had countered with a warding spell that dissipated the first. There was a chorus of yelps and startled cries from the other tables as energy crackled in the air. Scrambling across the floor, Roger got to the nearest table, grabbed the older couple by the arms and pulled them from their seats onto the ground. "Out the back," he ordered, pointing to the back door.
"What's … happening," the woman stammered.
"Looks like an electrical surge," Roger explained. "Can sometimes cause showers of sparks. Hopefully the owners will get it contained before the place catches fire."
The couples' eyes widened before they scurried to the door and out into the early evening.
Looking over the table, Roger saw that Jack was continuing to cast spells at the two men, who were now standing and throwing spells at Jack. A quick look showed that two of the younger men must have run for the exit, but the third was helping the elderly couple toward the front door. Apparently they were of little concern to the two antagonists, as the men ignored their progress. Satisfied, he motioned for the second couple in their fifties and pointed to the back door. Since the bar was now empty, the additional three men there were either behind the bar, in the kitchen or bathrooms, Roger reach into his backpack. Carefully he pulled out a PP-90 folding gun from inside. Grinning, he unfolded the weapon and snapped it into place. Then he took aim, and fired.
The man near the bar collapsed as the iron round hit him in the chest. The second man's skin went blue and scaly, matching his blue eyes, and his hair lengthened into reed-like tendrils. Webbing appeared between his fingers, and fins flashed on his forearms.
"Definitely fae," Roger called.
"Absolument," Jack agreed, tossing another spell at the fae till standing.
"What are you doing?" Roger yelled. "We're not here for you."
"You're a naiad," Jack called out. "Why aren't you near water? Do you need help?"
The naiad's face twisted in anger and he lashed out with another spell.
"This isn't right," Jack murmured to Roger. "I'm going to try something…"
Nodding, Roger shot off another round at the conscious naiad. The one on the ground was stirring, and he knew they only had a minute before the second recovered from the gunshot wound.
"Okay, stay down," Jack said. Murmuring softly under his breath, he suddenly rose and with both hands hurled a spell across the room.
The spell smacked into both the men, causing the now conscious man on the floor to shift into his true naiad appearance. Now both men's skin held the silvery blue scales of the naiad, their fine, reedy hair appeared to float gently around their heads. Blinking around in confusion, they seemed surprised at their surroundings.
After checking his friend's wound, the naiad from the table stood and stared at Jack and Roger. "Ummm, where are we?"
Jack's eyes widened in surprise as Roger said, "A small town in Arizona."
Eyes shifting around the small saloon, a small tear ran down his cheek. "Can you … help me get home?"
Jack heard the shifting in the kitchens and from the general area of the bathroom. "Look, let's get out of here. Can you stand the sunlight enough to get into our SUV?" When the naiad nodded, he said, "Then let's get somewhere else, talk, and we'll get you home. All right?"
As the naiad reached down for his friend, Roger whispered to Jack, "Are we really doing this? They're fae; they like relationships. We're a couple of damn attractive men."
Jack swallowed a laugh. "It seems they were under a spell of some kind. Naiad's are gentle, kind, and yes, very romantic. But it looks like these two might be mates. So I think you're virtue is safe."
Roger rolled his eyes. He tossed Jack his pack and broke down his gun as he watched his partner hurry over and help lift the wounded naiad from the ground. Together, they and the remaining naiad hurried from the saloon. Unfortunately, he wasn't quick enough. Footsteps sounded from the bathrooms and movement came from behind the kitchen door. He was just able to shove his weapon into his backpack and drop to the floor when the door to the kitchen opened cautiously. Pretending to climb out from behind the table, he held a hand to his head and murmured, "Oooh…"
Four people emerged from the kitchen, while another two came down the short hallway from the bathroom. When a large, built man saw Roger on the ground, he rushed over.
"Are you all right?"
"I …" Roger cleared his throat slightly, "think so." Groaning, he got to his feet. "I was helping people from the building when… What happened?"
"I got no idea, pal," the man said.
"Where's Jack?" Roger asked, looking around.
"You're French friend?" Marg asked, walking over.
Roger nodded.
"Looks as though most everyone got out. Maybe you're friend did too…"
The front door slammed open and Jack rushed in, looking concerned. "Rog?"
"Here," Roger waved, playing along.
Jack looked relieved and hurried over. "I was helping some of the customers out when I realized you weren't behind me. That was sure some electrical flash. Are you okay?"
"I'm good," Roger said.
"Electrical flash?" said the large man with beefy arms.
"This is the owner, King," Marg said by way of introduction.
Roger shook the man's hand as Jack said, "Sometimes when the weather gets especially hot, there's a momentary short in the electrical system, causing sparks to fly." He shrugged. "Don't know if that happened here, though."
"Maybe we should have that checked out, King," said a shorter man with wide hands and wiry black hair.
If the large man was the owner, the short man might be the cook.
"I think we're going to hit the road," Jack said, making a show of looking around the place.
"Just head west on State Highway 88, take 89 south and it'll take you right into Flagstaff," Marg said. "Kiss that baby for me."
"Will do," Roger said, and he followed Jack from the building. Once they were outside, he said, "Thanks for the quick work back there. I haven't the vaguest idea what is going on, but that could have gotten bad in there."
"Thank my blessed Grand-mère," Jack said. "She taught me all she knew, and hog-tied me to my chair when I didn't want to learn it."
Roger snorted out a laugh. Peering into the rear seat of their SUV, he saw the two naiad's huddled together, drinking from bottles of water. "How about we drive to the next town, get a room and find out what the hell happened to these two. Maybe let them have some time in the shower to rehydrate."
"And the jakkals?"
Roger sighed. "Well, we've got a good lead on where they are and where they're going. Let me call Caleb, see if anyone else in the area can pick up the hunt." Walking with Jack toward their SUV, his eyes on the two blueish-skinned fae, he said softly, "I want to talk to these guys before we take them home. I get the feeling something really wrong just happened."
.
TBC
The story about Caleb finding Dean at Rockefeller Center can be found in "Light" by Ridley C James.
Raylan and Kace hunting the magic boxes is from "The Chaos Tree" by Swordstress.