Seven Devils

Chapter 3 / Red Right Hand

Marlene had always heard stories about the supernatural.

It came with the territory — her father's moderate obsession (as he liked to put it) with folklore couldn't but rub off on her. Marley's bedtime stories weren't those of knights in shining armour and damsels in destress. She didn't care if the evil Queen wanted to poison Snow White or that Aurora would never wake up. No, her father'd told Marlene tales of real kings and queens, told her of fairies and the malevolent queen Maude; stories from the Bible when she was too young to read it, and spoke of Gods and creatures as old as time itself.

But those were just stories.

Until a little more than a week ago.

Marlene's reality had twisted and turned in ways she couldn't have even imagined, and she had spent every waking hour of her impromptu house arrest trying to come to grips with it. Trying to process the existence of everything she used to believe to be nothing but lore.

She had gone through every book on angels in Arthur's library (which there was a lot), but most of them depicted the winged menaces as benevolent celestial intermediaries between God and humanity. Sure, Marlene hadn't met many of them, but from the few she had and those who had cursed her entire bloodline, they didn't appear quite so benevolent.

The lives of thousands for the lives of millions — don't you think it's a fair price to pay for Heaven on Earth?

She almost asked her father about the man, the angel, who had visited him all those days ago. Almost. But every time Marley was close to breaching the subject, an invisible force seemed to stop her from doing it. Perhaps, she was simply afraid of hearing the truth. Marlene was never one for confrontation, anyway, and always sought to avoid it at all cost.

But the tension in the house was becoming palpable. And every time she managed to get a glimpse of her father (when he wasn't doing his best to avoid her), she saw shadows on his face that hadn't been there before. He looked wary, weathered, wrong. Like something was eating him from the inside. A parasite. A secret.

Arthur was restless. He would leave the house in the early morning to give a lecture, which was strange in itself since he had always insisted his subject be taught strictly after 11 a.m — Arthur liked his students awake, he argued. He would work in his office for hours and come home late in the evening. "This semester is pretty rough," he'd say and do it all over again.

Marlene didn't push, though. When she wasn't sleeping, she had her head stuck in a book, a journal by her side to write down any information that seemed valuable. She also read up about the sigils on their house — apparently, Arthur had put them there quite a long time ago to ward it from angels. He had told Marlene that the runes rendered them almost powerless and didn't allow entrance without permission. Clearly, Archangels were a fat, royal exception.

It was what Marley did best — read, learned and made thorough notes. She had her highlighter pens, and her stickers, and her notes, and those were her armour and her arms.

The noise in her head was driving Marlene crazy. There were days when she didn't hear it at all — the bliss — but it could return at any moment and strike her with a force that brought Marley close to tears. They spoke of things she couldn't understand. Loud and yet too quiet to make out. Gentle and yet piercing through her brain with torturous pain. Sometimes Marlene thought she heard a very distinct voice, that of a man. But just when it seemed she was close to finding the right frequency — it was gone. She had been trying again and again, day after day, with little to no success. To a perfectionist with a 4.0 GPA and a teacher's pet complex, it was becoming increasingly frustrating.

The fact that Maddock had been texting Marley every day didn't make her turmoil any easier. She knew she should've told him about her decision to take an "academic leave". But she hadn't. How would Marlene even explain it? "Hey, sorry, gotta bail on grad school and every aspiration I've ever had because demons and angels are after me?"

Beyond all that, though, any contact with Marley could put Maddock in danger. After what had happened with Tessa, it wasn't a risk she was willing to take.

But the rumours had found their way to him eventually. Maddock had called and texted Marlene every day, asking why she'd up and left school and why she hadn't told him about it. The only reply she'd given was a curt "I'm okay. Family emergency." It had only made him more worried.

The messages grew more anxious and angry. Maddock had called her names, then apologised and threatened to call the police. He asked about Tessa, if she was with her since the blonde had disappeared without even notifying the university. But Marlene stayed silent. Demons were everywhere, could be anyone, her father'd said. And as much as it pained her, she couldn't even trust Maddock.

Thursday, 3:54

Just tell me you're ok

Marley

For fuck's sake

Friday 10:47

Tessa's parents r here

The police v opened an investigation

5:23

Still nothing?

22:55

Fuck you, Marlene

Marlene couldn't stop rereading the messages. She read them before bed, only to spend an entire night tossing and turning, Tessa's white, glassy eyes staring back at her from the darkness; when she woke up in the morning, to remind herself of what was happening. It was easy to lose your grip on reality when stuck in a house all day. Marley hadn't talked to anyone but her father in over two weeks. And those conversations were nothing but a game of lies and hypocrisy.

She was eating cereals in the living room, still wearing pyjamas even though it was 2 pm. Her entire belief system had been shaken to its agnostic core, and Marlene saw no point in following the societal norms anymore. Her phone vibrated with a new notification. It was Maddock.

Marley's heart was thumping in her chest as she read the message:

Today, 14:15

They think it's a homicide

Figured you'd care that your best friend might be dead

She'd been staring at the screen so long, the words started to blur together. Homicide. Best friend. Dead. Marlene could understand the words perfectly. But together...they made no sense. They should've, though. Her father had told her that very day that a demon rarely ever left their vessel alive, out of spite, if anything else. And if that demon was Lilith...

A familiar din filler her ears. Marlene dropped the spoonful of cereal into the bowl, wincing, the pain too acute to simply ignore. Her hands shot up to her head, fingers deftly massaging the temples in a futile attempt to ease the pressure, yet it only grew. And the whispers were becoming louder.

"Stop..." Marley gritted out, jaw clenched, "stop — No!" Someone was screaming. Calling out for help? Assistance?

And then the whispers stopped. So did the pain. As a deafening silence settled, Marlene opened her eyes and felt a trickle of something warm run down her upper lip — her nose was bleeding. She wiped the blood away with a sleeve of her pyjamas and stared at the crimson stain on the white cotton.

After all the time trying to find a single voice among the racket, Marley finally had.

It was a name.

Castiel.

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

"Dad."

He was in his study again, busy working on his speech for an upcoming symposium in Princeton. Marlene hadn't seen him all day, scourging any book she could find and wandering the recesses of google with little success — there was no angel known to lore by the name Castiel. But Marley had heard the name before. From the angel in her father's study. It was a long shot, sure, but it's not like she had a whole lot of leads.

"Yes, Marlene?" Arthur asked, typing away on his laptop.

Marley leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, "Is...Gabriel the, uh, only angel you know?" she watched her father's face closely to gauge his reaction.

Arthur stopped typing. He looked up, "Why do you ask?"

"Why wouldn't I? It's not like you've been awfully upfront with me, dad," she told him, failing to hide the boiling, pant up anger she'd been nursing ever since that day, "I figured there's more where that came from."

"I understand it must be very confusing for you — "

"Trigonometry is confusing, dad. This?" Marley made an obscure gesture, throwing her hands in the air, "This is mind-boggling, a freaking...a freaking freak fest. I feel like I've been in a supernatural witness protection — which is, like, what? — and no one tells me anything, and you're gone all the time..." And Tessa could be dead because of me. And you are fraternising with a strange creature that is willing to let thousands of people die in God's name. What are you hiding, dad?

Arthur closed his laptop, sensing that he wouldn't get any job done. "You're right. And I'm sorry for that. I suppose...I suppose I have been trying to shield you from this for so long, Marlene, it's hard for me to accept that...all of it, essentially, was in vain," he said, face grim and contemplative, "I know it doesn't excuse my behaviour. I've been a...shitty father these past few weeks."

Marley couldn't help a snort at the crass word. Arthur hardly ever swore.

"Well," she drawled with a tiny smirk that promised reconciliation, "You've been an okay dad for 22 years, so I guess you don't entirely suck."

He gave her a wane smile. "You do your part, we do ours. It is all God's plan, Arthur". Marlene blinked away the echo and wondered inside the study. Her eyes instantly fell on the bookshelf that soared up to the very ceiling, a ladder placed in the corner of the room to reach the upper shelves. All the weird tomes made sense to her now. How gullible had Marley been to believe that any of them had anything to do with Harvard's curriculum.

"Is everything okay, dad?" she asked, noticing the wistful look in his eyes.

"Nothing is okay, Marlene. We're alive at the mercy of forces we don't understand, on the brink of a war that could bring an end to all of humanity," he sighed, elbows on the table, face in his hands. He looked so exhausted, "It pains me to see everyone being so blissfully blind to it. Not burdened by this knowledge. I wish I could give you this much, Marlene. I'm sorry you had to be in the middle of it."

What are you in the middle of?

"I don't think any of us had a say in this," Marley said, plumping down into the armchair of dark green velvet, "Our promiscuous ancestors pretty much sealed our fate. All we can do is navigate this mess now, dad. But you've got to work with me here," she told him, praying that he'd tell the truth.

"Of course," Arthur gave a dutiful, tired nod.

"Is Gabriel the only angel you know?" Marlene asked again, calmer this time.

She didn't miss the slight furrow of his brows as he gave a curt, measured reply, "He is." Marley wanted to ask Arthur about Castiel and about the strange man she'd seen him talk to. Wanted to ask him if he truly thought that the death of thousands was a fair price to pay for the promise of peace. She wanted to talk about Tessa, and Lilith, and the curse and — she wanted to talk to him.

But something — and try as she might, Marley couldn't put a finger on it — something told her that whatever Arthur's answer would be, it wouldn't hold one ounce of truth. It took quite a skill to lie to someone for an entirety of their existence, which Arthur, as it turned out, possessed in great measure. Could Marley even trust him? Of course, her reason spoke, he's you father. But should she? "The lives of thousands for the lives of millions — don't you think it's a fair price to pay for Heaven on Earth?" Arthur'd said anything. And silence always meant agreement — he'd taught her that.

Marlene was desperate to cross the bridge of mistrust she had built over the weeks and reach out to him. She really was. But the sinking feeling in her chest was pulling on all the wrong strings that played a melody Marley couldn't get out of her head.

And so she didn't.

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

Marlene woke up beaten and shattered after yet another sleepless night. A nagging pounding in her head, she rolled onto her back and stared blankly at the ceiling, mentally preparing herself for the day to come.

It was only when Marley heard unfamiliar noises coming from downstairs that she finally showed some signs of life. She sat up on the bed and listened closely — was that...music? Sure, stranger things had happened in the passed couple of weeks, but morning music would definitely make a beautiful cherry on top.

Marlene got out of bed grunting and muttering curses in the process, and trudged down the creaky stairs, following the catchy melody of some 50s sweet single that made her crave a vanilla milkshake. And if that wasn't strange enough then the distinct and mouth-watering smell of bacon should've done the trick. Her father barely managed to eat breakfast let alone make it. Now what the hell was going on?

There he was, swanning around the kitchen like a regular Donna Stone. Arthur flipped some pancakes, then took the bacon off the stove and checked if the coffee was ready. Marlene was gawking at him in shellshocked silence.

"Dad..."

Arthur's head snapped up from the over where he was checking on the scones. He smiled, "Good morning, sweetheart. Want some coffee?" he went to pour her a cup while she just stared dumbly.

"Are you...alright?"

"Of course I am," Arthur handed the cup to Marley and took a sip from his own, "The scones are almost ready, why don't you keep our guest some company? I'll be there is a jiffy."

Marlene frowned, looking at him in absolute confusion. "A guest? Dad, we shouldn't be inviting anyone to the house, you said so yourself — "

"Even me?"

She froze, eyes going wide. Slowly, Marley turned around and saw the familiar halo of golden hair and the cocky grin that drove half the boys on campus mad. Tessa was standing right there in a blue summer dress, brown eyes full of life and vigor. Was it truly her? Marlene remembered how cunning Lilith had been, how deceitful. Was that another trick?

"No nothin'? Some friend you are," Tessa drawled sarcastically. She sighed, "Okay, what's up with you? Have you been watching Dateline again? This shit's not good for anyone."

"Theresa," Arthur intoned reproachfully.

"Sorry, ."

"Why are you here?" Marlene asked a little too harshly.

Tessa gave her a confused look, "Because you invited me?"

"I...I didn't — I didn't invite you." Was she losing her mind? Was that it?

"Aw-kaaay, weirdo," Tessa grabbed a piece of bacon from the plate and leaning against the small kitchen island.

"Sweetheart, I'm going to go check if we have some ice left in the garage," Arthur said, "Keep an eye on those scones, alright?"

"Yeah," Marley droned distractedly, watching Tessa nibble on a pancake.

"So I was thinking, we could ride down to NW together tomorrow. Maddock is still stuck in Buffalo with his family, poor soul. His father's at it again with the whole WASP Mayflower legacy crap, and he's..."

Marlene wasn't listening, too busy studying her friend's face. Could it be her? Maybe Lilith had simply left Tessa's body to find a new one, and that, right there, was truly her friend? Tessa was telling something with extremely passionate animation, making weird gestures and ridiculous faces like she always did, only pausing to sip on her tea or take a bite of bacon.

Next thing Marley knew, she was enveloping her best friend in a suffocating hug.

"Wow, okay," Tessa laughed, barely managing to stay up from the force of the "collision". "So naive. So gullible. So much power in such a frail little meat suit. Such a shame."

Marlene jerked away, her entire body going numb, "What did you just say?"

"I said I didn't know you had the guns," Tessa said, wincing. She looked entirely normal. Like her usual self. "You almost squeezed me to death. Have you been working out without me, you traitorous hussy?"

"What..." Marley shook her head, "You're l-lying, you —"

Tessa looked worried, a frown cast upon her tanned, freckled face. It was so warm and open, so...human. Which was exactly what made the transition all the more striking. When the light was gone, replaced by malice and poisonous sinfulness. "Am I? Lying?" Tessa blinked and her eyes turned white. Glazed over.

Marlene stumbled back and grabbed a knife from the kitchen island, "Get away from me," she pointed it at the demon, hand shaking.

"Oh, but don't you wanna hug me?" Tess sent her a winsome smile that came it terrifying contrast with her soulless eyes.

"What did you do to her?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Tessa winked.

"You demonic bitch..."

"Hey, are you okay?" Tess suddenly asked, her round brown eyes troubled. Then she noticed the knife pointed at her, "Marley?..."

"Get. Away!" Marlene screamed when Tess took a hesitant step forward.

"Jesus, what's are you doing?"

Marley scowled, "Don't even try. It's not going to work. Not this time."

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"Stop it!"

Tessa's lips stretched into a feline smile, "But it's so fun!" She giggled.

"Get out of this body," Marley greeted out, tightening her grip on the knife.

"How about..." the demon trailed off, feigning serious consideration, "...not."

"What do you want, then? I'll do anything if you let my friend go."

Tessa quirked an intrigued brow, "Anything?" Marley gave a hesitant nod. She could see the gears turning in the demon's wicked mind, a smile playing on her lips. It only widened when she came up with something, "Kill your daddy."

Marley's brows twitched together into a staggered frown, "What?"

"Kill him and I'll set her free."

"You go to Hell."

"Just came back, actually," Tessa said casually, "So what's it gonna be?"

Marlene snarled, "I think I'll just kill you."

"Oh, my," Tessa laughed, "Sure you wanna do that, honey?"

"Pretty damn sure."

Tessa considered this, looking mildly bored, "Well then..."

It all happened so fast, Marley hadn't even noticed that the knife was gone. With a single flick of a hand, it appeared in Tessa's hand, the steal of the blade flashing in the sunlight. And before Marlene knew it — slicing through her friend's throat.

"No!" she cried out, darting forward to catch Tessa's body before it slumped to the floor, "No, no, no...Tessa, come on, please..."

But her friend was choking, blood gurgling in her mouth. Tessa opened it as if to say something, but only a croak came out, her eyes wide and filled with anguish. Her body was shaking in spasms, and Marlene held on to it even tighter, tears streaming down her cheeks, "Tess, come on!"

And then she went still.

"No, no, no...Dad! Dad!" Marlene yelled, cradling Tessa's limp body. Blood was oozing from the gash in her throat, soaking the wooden tiles and Marlene's hands with crimson. "Dad!"

"I have to say..." Marley snapped her head at her father's voice. He was standing in the archway, face shockingly impassive. He looked unimpressed. Bored. "This was kind of anticlimactic."

"Dad?" Marlene whispered, a strange, foreboding feeling building in her chest.

"Hello, darling."

His eyes glowed red.

Marlene gasped, shotting up from the sweat-soaked pillow. Those eyes...her body had felt like it was set aflame, blood boiling in her veins. Her vision was filled with crimson as Marley tried to calm her breathing, taking in the familiar surroundings of the living room. She must've passed out on the couch while reading a book. And sure enough, it was laying on her stomach, opened on chapter "Common wards against demons". Well, that explains it.

But the dream felt so sickeningly real. Marley looked down at her hands to make sure they were not stained with her friend's blood.

The same color as her father's eyes.

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

Marlene had been googling Tessa's name every day.

And every day the search engine's page would give her nothing but obscure genealogy websites and Tessa's extensive web presence. On those days, Marlene breathed with relief. Because each time she typed her friend's name with numbing trepidation, she feared to see a news report or an obituary in Yale Daily News pop up.

Eventually, it did.

The New-Haven police had found a body of a young female near West River, fully clothed, signs of hypothermia. Cause of death — broken neck and internal bleeding. She had fallen from the cliff, the report said. Suicide.

There was an obituary in Yale Daily news: Theresa Margaret Armitage, 1985-2009, a beloved student, friend and daughter. They mourned Tessa and praised her for her outstanding academic achievements. But Tess hated Yale and had been almost kicked out for missing five deadlines for her graduate thesis. They had chosen a terrible picture. She would've absolutely hated it — her nose looked too long, she would've said.

Marlene was sitting on her bed, staring at Tessa's smile that lit up the entire screen. She was young and full of promise, holding her Bachelor's diploma, blonde hair looking like spun gold in the sunlight. The picture had been cropped to leave out Marlene and Maddock, but Marley still recognised it. Tessa's mother had taken it on the day of their graduation last year.

Tessa's face began to blur. Tears overflowed her eyes, and Marlene squeezed them shut, letting the droplets run down her cheeks. One after another, as she quietly weept for her best friend. The friend Marlene had lost long before the police found the body. The friend whose death she was responsible for. The friend who would've been alive had they never met. The friend Lilith had killed.

And just liked that, the sadness melted into scorching anger. Marlene brushed her tears away and jerked her head up to the ceiling, "Gabriel!" she yelled out. Nothing. "Gabriel!" Again, her cry was met with silence. Arthur had told her that praying to an angel was the only way of communication. But it seemed that Gabriel was either ignoring her or wasn't getting her call. Somehow, Marley was sure it was the former.

"You son of a bitch!" she cried out in frustration and slammed the laptop shut. She had been doing nothing but reading for almost three weeks — three freaking weeks — while Tessa's body was lying in a dump, and Lilith had been prancing around breaking seals in a new vessel. There had to be something Marlene could do — she was gifted, after all. Whatever the hell that meant.

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

Marlene didn't get to use her nonexistent gifts (apart from the headache that she'd been nursing all morning). The following day, though, she was in her father's study, scouring every drawer in his expensive mahogany table, looking through every folder in his cabinet. And all she found was a massive pile of squat.

The reason Marlene was turning her father's study upside down was because she needed to find a phone number. John Winchester's phone number. She had to get in contact with those infamous Winchester brothers, and since there was no way of tracking them down, snooping in her father's past was the only option. Arthur was a ridiculously meticulous hoarder — walking oxymoron, that man — and had rarely ever thrown anything away, much less journals and notebooks. Marlene only hoped that the old man hadn't changed his number.

Right when she was dangerously close to giving up, her eyes fell upon a door in the back of the room, hidden in the shadows of Arthur's impressive globe collection. It's ridiculous that she hadn't noticed it before. Was there a wardrobe that led to Narnia that she didn't know about, too? Of course, that's where all the good stuff was to be found. It's like she hadn't even lived here for 18 years.

Triumphant, Marley strolled up to it and reached for the door knob. Yes, it was locked. How idiotically naive it was of her to believe that her father would want her to roam that Masonic den of lies. And so Marlene did what any reasonable adult with a degree from Yale would do — she googled how to unlock the door with a hairpin.

Never had she understood the meaning of streetsmart more than she did then. And how she lacked any and all practical survival skills. Reciting passages from the Old Testament in perfect Classic Hebrew and translating monoliths from Old Armenian wasn't exactly the knowledge one could implement in real life. At least, if you weren't Indiana Jones.

But oh, when she'd heard that delightful click, it was better than any 'Excellent' she had got on her essays. And so after almost an hour trying to open the blasted door, Marlene finally did it. The hinges let out a winey creak, as unwelcoming as the stuffy air inside the room. Jesus, it really needed to be properly ventilated. Marley decided to leave the door open, if only to avoid dying.

She couldn't tear her eyes away from the wall. 22 years of research. 22 years of living in fear, constantly looking over your shoulder. 22 years of seeking the truth. Only for all of it to end up like this. On the brink of Apocalypse. That he...

No, Marley cut off the poisonous trail of thoughts. Instead, her eyes traveled lower, to the mugshots of the two men she was looking for. The tall one, Gabriel'd said, was like her. Gifted. Yeah, funny that. Marlene studied his grim face, so disgruntled it, almost looked like a petulant pout. His brother, though, looked completely unbothered — clearly, it hadn't been his first rodeo.

Right, Marlene reminded herself, looking away from the pictures, find the freaking number.

The table in this room was a perfect example of organised chaos: clattered with books and papers in a way that made perfect sense and was easy to navigate. Too bad they were all useless to Marlene who was becoming annoyed by the lack of any progress. She did find some random notes in the drawers, but those were just dates, names she didn't recognise and strange lists.

"Come on, dad," Marley muttered, flipping through the journals filled with bazaar recipes. They looked awfully like spells if she were honest. Just your regular Sabrina. She sighed and put the papers back where she'd found them.

Bored and annoyed, Marlene reached for the last drawer, but it wouldn't budge. She frowned and pulled harder, yet it still wouldn't open. Properly intrigued now, Marley crouched down. She put one hand on the table, the other on the drawer handle and pulled with all the strength she had.

The drawer flew open, nearly sending Marley falling straight on her ass. Even more pissed off now, she pushed some stray hair away from her face and took a look inside. There was a journal, a golden crucifix that belong to her mother and a velvet pouch of something that Marlene decided was herbs when she smelled it.

The journal was different from the others she'd gone, through: it looked older, warn out, thick with notes and photographs and ripped out book pages. Marley traced the rough, slightly yellowed pages with the gentle pads of her fingers, eyes scanning Arthur's immaculate handwriting.

Entry from 31 November, 1986

I don't have any of father's dusts anymore. I need more ingredients to make them, but the spellwork is too advanced. We need protection. It can come for Marlene again. I still haven't figured out what it was. The only thing I saw were yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

... I still haven't figured out how to summon him. The sigils I get, but the ingredients are too hard to come by. No one is willing to sell them to me. They think I'm a hunter. I didn't know the word had such a different meaning in this world. I wish we weren't the hunted.

Marlene studied her father's sketch of yellow eyes, imagining them looking down at her as she slept peacefully in her crib. Where would've she been right now had Azazel not come to their house that night? Laughing with Tessa and helping Maddock get himself a girlfriend on Tinder, worrying about her thesis and having to wake up for an 8 a.m lecture?

Entry from March 23, 1987

There is nothing wrong with my daughter.

I tell this to myself every day. Looking at her, putting her to sleep. Feeding her. She is just a child — how could something terrible have happened to a soul so new to the cruelness of this world? I blame myself. I should've listened to my father long ago. If I had, maybe that thing wouldn't have come for my daughter.

...

She is a year old today. It's also a year since Sophia died. Is she watching over us? Does she hate me?

The ink was blotched from tears, but Marlene knew that was her mother's name. Sophia Ter-Gabrielyan neé Rushinek, a brilliant scholar with a bright future. Her mother. Arthur's beloved wife. Yet another person she'd killed by simply being alive.

Sometimes Marlene felt guilty for not missing her more. Should she have? Her mother was a distant idea, like an angel who was always by your side but never in your life. Marley had no real memories to cherish. She didn't know the sound of her mother's laughter. She didn't know what lullabies she would've sung or if she would've kissed her to sleep. All Marlene had was very rare stories from her father. He didn't like talking about her.

Marley blinked away her tears and flipped to another page. It was covered in sigils and notes — was that a diagram? — an incantation in Latin scribbled in the right corner. GABRIEL ARCHANGEL OF THE LORD was written with a thick, black marker. Was that how her father'd summoned Gabriel?

Entry from June, 1987

I have achieved something my father never could. He wouldn't have been proud of me. I would've rubbed it in his face to show I that bested him at something. I wish things were different. But they wouldn't be even if he were still alive.

Gabriel didn't look like an angel. At least, not the angels I'd imagined: tall, golden-haired warriors with wings and spears, oozing divinity. He looked like a con artist. But there was a grace to him, something ethereal that seemed otherworldly.

He wasn't pleased. No one dares summon an archangel. He said he'd heard of the girl. The danger is much greater than I thought. My father's dusts are almost gone. Those I made myself are much weaker, I don't think I can hide us for much longer.

Gabriel promised to help with that. He said that demons weren't the only thing we should fear. That the angels know about Marlene and they want her dead.

Are you looking over us, Sophia? Can you help?

Entry from April, 1990

John Winchester's is a great man. My father would've loved him, which I find irritating. I wish I could be more like him, but all I have is books.

I feel sorry for his boys. Seeing them reassured me that I've made the right decision. I'll give Marlene the life she deserves for as long as I possibly can. She will never be burdened with it, living the life of revenge and bitterness, robbed of a careless childhood. One of his boys, Sam, is like her, John said. He is a quiet kid, sad. Marlene is nothing like that. They are just kids.

... John's traced the demon. He calls it yellow-eyes, which is a very apt name indeed. I wish I could be of more help.

... They're leaving Cambridge. I asked John if they had a home. He said they didn't need one. What was a home, anyway? Or rather, who?

There was a photograph pinned to the page by a shabby paper clip. It was old and faded, dusted and a little crumpled: two boys and a little girl in a princess dress. Marley was about five years old at the time the picture had been taken — she remembered that costume perfectly. Knowing Arthur, it was probably still stored somewhere in the basement.

She had a vague memory of that day. It was Halloween, and her dad had taken her trick or treating as he did every year. Only that time, they had company: one of Arthur's friends had dropped his kids off at their place, and they had decided to go together. Marley remembered that the older boy had been against it, but his brother seemed really excited.

Marlene unpinned the picture to take a closer look at it. The older boy stood in the middle, arms wrapped around his little brother and herself, smiling at the camera. It was probably Arthur who had taken the photo. Also, judging by the disgruntled look on Marley's face, she wasn't impressed by his instructions.

She flipped the picture. John's boys and Marlene, Cambridge, 1991 was written on the back next to a phone number. Brows furrowed, Marley looked at the photo again. John's boys...the Winchester brothers? She didn't know Arthur was this close to the man. So, she had met them once. Sam and Dean. FBI's most wanted, hunters, killers. Looking at the picture, it was hard to believe that those kids would end up stopping the Apocalypse. Hell, who knew that the little girl in a princess dress would turn out to be...this?

Arthur, probably.

There it was, though — John Winchester's phone number. Three of them, actually: one crossed out, probably out of use, the other two Marley would have to try. She took out her phone and dialled one, but the operator gently told her that the number was unavailable. And so Marlene called the other one, praying to all Gods who listened that the call would go through.

Whoever answered her prayers, Marley was eternally grateful, because there were clear beeps on the other line. Four, five, eight, nine. No one was answering, but she wasn't giving up. Marlene'd stay on the line until the operator told her to fuck off.

"Hello?" a gruff voice answered.

She almost dropped her phone. Marley had got too used to the beeping and was startled by the ramble of the voice. Which one of the brothers was that?

"Um, hello?" she ventured tentatively. The last time Marlene'd felt this nervous, she was Russia in model UN in high school, "Is that, uh, is that John's phone?"

"Who's asking?"

"M-Marlene," she mumbled and then said louder, "He, uh, I mean my father was —"

"You 'nother kid of his?"

"What? N-no, wh — "

"Listen, I can't help you right now, kid," he cut her off unceremoniously. Marlene opened and closed her mouth like a idiotic fish, "If you've got a problem, reach out to Bobby Singer, alright? He'll take care of it."

"Wait, but what about John Winchester?"

A pause. "He's dead."

Marley heard a car drive by on the other end of the line. Right before the call was ended. And she hadn't been the one who ended it.

Marlene stared at her phone it bewilderment, half convinced it had all been a dream. Had this conversation been real? She had never been so disappointed in her life. Talk about anticlimactic. And she had gone trick or treating with that guy? Ah.

She tried calling the number again, but the bastard had turned off the phone. Marley also tried to find something about this Bobby Singer guy in her father's journal, but there was no mention of him. Nothing.

There was only one other name Marley had. Only one lead.

Castiel.