Better Be Home Soon
Chapter 2
Juliet followed Papa's trail to the edge of hell and faltered, her phantasmal tail tucked low in distress.
Without the keys of Hell and Death, or the crown of Hell, the bridging tunnel between Earth and Hell remained inaccessible. Only the most powerful of demons were capable of braving the swirling maelstrom of infernal stygian flux which lay beyond Hell's edge. Juliet wasn't a powerful demon, but she had been built by the Creator to endure far worse.
The danger of egress wasn't the true problem. The problem was that Papa had bid her stay in Hell.
To go in search of him required disobedience; being a Bad Girl, and the mere thought of doing so, made her want to cower and turn tail. But she also reasoned that failing her duty of protection towards her master, if he was indeed imperilled; was a far greater Bad yet.
Course decided, the hellhound bounded forward and leaped into the maelstrom. Began doggy paddling mightily through the swirling antimatter which separated Hell from Earth; and her, from Papa.
Finally, after a battle with the gravitational currents which would have shredded most demons and had taxed even Juliet's stamina; she hauled herself out onto terra firma.
Wearily, she shook coalesced sulphur from her incorporeal pelt and licked her claws clean of clinging plasma; then lifted her head to snuff at the moisture laden spring air.
Her sensitive nose filled up with the smells of Earth: growing things, damp soil and the rich fungal scent of rot and leaf litter.
The planet revolved heedlessly, as Juliet circled her landing point. Great head of blasted bone, and purple-blue flame, cocked. Ears pricked, metronoming back and forth in search of that one voice which gave her heart rest. Glowing eyes, like bloody banked embers, parsing every spectrum; searching for the smallest hint of Papa's footsteps and passage. But he had always walked lightly through both dimensions, a legacy of being less powerful than some, but far more cunning than any.
Snout raised to the wind, Juliet stilled herself, and breathed deep, letting her nose do its work.
Finally, she caught Papa's scent. It was faint, but it led her down a road and past a sign identifying the place as Lost Creek, Colorado.
His scent continued on down that road and off into the woods via a dirt trail. Juliet followed the scent's call in a ground eating lope.
Finally, she sighted a secluded cabin.
Scents became confused now. Many people and vehicles had been in the rutted dirt clearing outside the cabin; but those vehicles and their owners were long gone.
Yellow and black police tape fluttered in a light breeze, crisscrossing the cabin's doorway.
Such things were no hindrance to one such as Juliet. The wooden door splintered on its hinges after one shove, and the police tape spiralled to the ground in tatters.
Juliet paced the cabin's floor and snuffled, her sensitive nose telling her a tale.
Under the newer scents of the police and medical personnel were other scents; older, stronger, smells. Two human's, one male and one female, their scents mellow with anticipated rut, then sharp and astringent with terror. The woman still lived and had left the cabin with one of the later groups of people.
But the male's scent was more interesting. A gas torch, like something used for welding lay on the floor, sharp and pungent with the man's dread and pain. Blood from the same male human splattered the wall and floor, savoury with a rich tang of terror and death… and hints of magic; magic which sung Papa's specific melody.
Licking her chops Juliet turned away from the tantalising aromas of blood, death and terror, and followed the thrum of Papa's magic.
A small bundle of fabric filled with witch ingredients lay under the sofa, singing with both Papa's magical signature and his comforting Whiskey-Cologne-Sulphur scent.
Papa was not in the cabin, but his trail led onwards, led Juliet next to a pretty suburban dwelling.
A building redolent with scents of sugar and vanilla, under a strong covering of overcooked flesh and charred fabric.
When Juliet forced her way into the dwelling, she found the source of both smells. Freshly baked and beautifully iced cupcakes sat on the counter in neat rows, and a woman's charcoaled corpse lay face down in the oven.
Again the scent of Papa and magic led Juliet to a hex-bag; this one shoved deep into a crevice beside the oven.
Papa's route led onwards.
Juliet paused only to snap up one of the sugar laden treats whose smell so tantalised her nose and wet her jowls with a longing slather of drool. Papa would never have allowed her such a treat, but, she justified, Papa was not here to forbid it. So, she seized the opportunity, before following his scent onwards.
This time the trail led to York County, Pennsylvania. Papa had one of his bases of operations there, situated in an abandoned insane asylum. The tug from that direction gave her hope her next destination might be her last. But when her chase delivered her into Papa's office, Juliet found the place once more devoid of her cherished master.
Papa had been there in the last two days, but now his leather chair was cold, and his preferred lead crystal tumbler contained only the evaporated dregs of his favoured Scotch whiskey.
Juliet took to her paws again, following Papa's fading Sulphur-Cologne-Scotch whiskey scent to Prosperity, Indianapolis. This time it was the Ivy motel, room 116.
Outside she stopped and cocked her head, recognising other familiar scents: Metal-Gasoline, Gunoil-Leather-Cheap-Denim-and-Flannel. The Moose and the Squirrel had been there. Their scent was newer and far stronger than Papa's, overlaying his as if they too were following her master.
The Ivy motel room was decked out in tasteful blue and white.
Juliet's claws left gouges in the motel's wooden siding as she peered through the windows with glowing red eyes.
The Hunters were gone and had left the room trashed. Its windows, doors and polished wooden floor were defaced with hurried sigils sprayed in chemical reeking cherry-red spray paint. The stink of holy water and salt made her eyes and nose sting, even from outside.
In the centre of the room lay the corpse of a brown-haired woman, her face purple-blue with strangulation and splattered red with gore. Someone the Hunters had failed to save, despite their obvious attempts. Juliet surmised that the woman had been one of people the Winchesters had once saved from monsters. Across the room from the body lay the broken debris of what had obviously been a telephone handset along with another hex-bag; more of Papa's handy work no doubt. But Papa was nowhere to be seen, yet again.
Juliet circled the motel twice before finding a scent trail that crossed the original one, leading back to York County, Pennsylvania once more.
Despondent and back in Papa's office again, Juliet laid her head on his chair forlornly, breathing in his weakening scent.
Her stomach churned and ached from the foreign sugar filled human food, which she knew she should not have eaten and now regretted.
She was footsore and worn down by all the running, as well as the endless disappointments.
Papa had gone somewhere from the asylum, but in her exhaustion, she couldn't seem to find a new trail to follow. Perhaps the stink of salt, holy water and wardings from the motel were to blame for her failure. Perhaps it was simple exhaustion.
Either way, the King of Hell's faithful hound could find naught to do but curl around her roiling innards and rest.
She fell asleep hoping a refreshed mind and body would provide her the lead she so desperately sought.