Author's Note: Wow, I did not see that coming. 'Clip Show' is one of the latest of Supernatural episodes that just depressed me. All my favorite characters seem to be dying off in season 8. Oh well. I'm still writing this story. I am stoked at how many people seem to like this fic. Haven't seen much of Season 9 except for the premier, but I'll try to keep things congruous.

Playlist for the Chapter: Louie Louie by The Kingsman, Wherever I May Roam by Metallica, Devil Woman by Cliff Richard

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Lisa Under Duress

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"Dean, if you don't stop treating me like some sort of wounded princess, I am going to punch you." Sam never took his eyes off of the solitaire game on his computer, but he did push away the bowl of ramen Dean had set next to his elbow.

Dean eyed his cranky, sick little brother from where he'd been pretending not to hover like a mother hen. "I doubt you could punch a pillow right now, Peach, let alone me. You'd probably strain something." Dean tried for brevity, but it was hollow.

Sam looked up and glared at him. "Maybe not, but I'm still bigger than you, short stuff. I will sit on you, and I gotta say dude, all that soup you've been tamping down my throat makes my burrito assault look like a rose garden. It won't be crop dusting, it will be nuclear. And you won't be able to roll down a window to escape, either."

Dean threw up his hands, finally giving up in exasperation. "Whatever, gassy-pants. And I am not short, you're just freakishly huge."

"Midget."

"Samsquanch."

Dean ambled down the hall to his room, leaving Sam to his computer game. He slumped onto his bed, suddenly feeling old and tired. He stared at his hands. They were scarred, though not as scarred as they should be given Cas's frequent healings. His heart constricted at the thought of the errant angel off doing God knew what with the tablet. His family was so broken, so messed up. There was so much pain, and there was nothing Dean could do to fix it.

"Cas?" he asked, breaking the oppressive quiet. He was past being embarrassed at how broken his voice sounded.

There was no rush of wings, no answer. Dean dropped his head into his hands. Fate was an endless dark tide against his family. He and Sammy would try to combat it, try to defeat the rising darkness, but for every skirmish they won the war remained lost. He could not give up though, he would fight on. It was what he was good at, the only thing he could do.

Dean's fists clenched in his hair. With a quick glance at the doorway to make sure his brother was still warring with his computer, he carefully opened the bottom drawer of his beside dresser. He pulled a packet of worn pictures from beneath his socks, and slowly rifled through them.

Ben at baseball practice. Dean and Lisa at an after game party, surrounded by the glowing triumphant young faces of Ben's teammates. Lisa, elbows deep in piecrust dough, laughing as sunlight lit up the kitchen. Dean's rough fingers traced the fine contours of her face reverently.

Lisa had been the embodiment everything he'd ever wanted- the life he'd craved, the secret dream he'd cherished since he was young. Perhaps if he'd been better at living, he could have been the other half of that dream for her. Dean was a Hunter through to the marrow of his bones though, and a Hunter had no place in a quiet home.

.x.

Lisa, over the course of the six months she and Sarah had been partners, had come to realize one general principal: ghosts were complete assholes. She'd been thrown into things, zapped, strangled, had ectoplasmic vomit puked up on her- all by deceased crazies with a bone to pick with the world.

Initially she'd been scared shitless to walk into dark evil places no sane person would willingly go. Now she was just annoyed. It may have been the ghostly vomit that had broken the camel's back, but Lisa thought that the supernatural menace was one of the most exasperating things she'd ever encountered. And that was saying something, because Ben's terrible two's had been pretty bad.

Hunting sucked, but Lisa couldn't deny that it did come with a small measure of freedom. Back in Battle Creek she'd been drowning. Bills, two jobs, no friends, no love life. What she had now wasn't much, but for the first time in years Lisa felt like she was alive.

Finding her son was her crusade, but if she was completely honest with herself she knew she couldn't go back to the quiet suburbs after saving him. Not after what she knew, what she'd seen of what went bump in the dark. Constantly on the road was probably a shitty way to raise a kid, but she was beginning to realize that Hunting was a steep job. Too many people went unsaved.

Lisa limped to her seat across from Sarah at an outdoor cafe in Blacksburg, Virginia and sank into it with a groan. She tilted her head back to let sunlight soak into her face. The weak warmth from the early morning sun felt nice on her skin. It helped to temporarily alleviate some of the throbbing pain in her left thigh.

"Leg still bugging you?" Sarah asked sympathetically as she took a sip of her steaming tea.

Lisa massaged her thigh and nodded. "Yeah. That rock that that trucker kicked up pinged me pretty good."

Sarah set down her teacup and picked up the newspaper, flicking it open to the front page. "I think we should bench your bike until they clean up the salt and gravel from the roads. The main highways are fine, but all the back roads are still covered in crap leftover from winter."

"Maybe you're right," Lisa said, sighing. She raked a hand through her hair. "Ugh, and I was itching to be back on the road. Being cooped up in your truck all winter made me antsy. No offense."

Sarah laughed. "None taken. I'm not surprised that you got sick of I Spy."

"After the bazillionth cow field in podunk Midwest, yeah," Lisa retorted. "You can only Spy Bessie the heifer so many times."

"Hey! I changed it up occasionally, I'm pretty sure there was a goat in there somewhere."

"Whatever. Whatcha reading?"

Sarah pushed the paper at Lisa and went back to sipping at her tea. "Louisiana. Seven people dead so far in New Orleans. CDC is calling it an outbreak of a bacterial infection carried by rats, some older locals are calling it the work of a hoodoo priestess. People that are infected go after others and spread the outbreak."

Lisa scanned the article, chewing her lip. So far the only supernatural creepy crawlies she and Sarah had come across had been pissed off ghosts. Since she had started killing Casper and his extended family, she'd seen a fair bit of weird. She supposed it was only logical that if there were ghosts, then there must be other things too, but it was still hard to picture.

"The article says most of the infected attacked town council members before succumbing." Lisa set the paper down, weighing it with her plate. "That's certainly an odd disease. Strange that it's so specific with its target."

"That's what I figured," Sarah replied, adding a fresh teabag to her cup. "I say it couldn't hurt to have a look."

Lisa pulled out her journal, running her fingers over the red leather. Already the little book was showing signs of wear. She'd taken it along on every Hunting excursion, writing down information as she came across it. So far there was nothing on the thing that had taken Ben, but she was not going to give up hope.

"Oki doki." Lisa stood, stretching. "Let's go, then."

.x.

A week later they were in New Orleans, Louisiana, hunting for a good gumbo restaurant, along with any gossip pertaining to the outbreak. They chose a rundown joint in the French Quarter. Vieux Carre was the oldest part of New Orleans, and they figured that while it was a huge tourist trap, they might still get some heresay out of the locals.

Much of the roadways in the French Quarter were cramped and small, and clogged with people. Lisa and Sarah left the truck parked at their campground in Jefferson Perish and took the motorcycle. Sarah rode perched on the back behind Lisa, wearing Lisa's helmet, while Lisa herself made do with her scarf and sunglasses. The Harley easily navigated through the crowds and in no time at all they were soon parked outside of a rundown Creole diner that was more shanty than building.

They picked a table near the waitress station where they would hopefully hear the most gossip.

"Oh my god they have Bananas Foster," Sarah breathed, staring at the menu. "I'm an adult, dessert for lunch is allowed right?"

"Well if you were my kid then I'd make you pick something with vegetables in it," Lisa grinned. "But since you're not, I say go for it. I am going to get a bucket of oysters, myself."

"Unfortunately we don't do oysters by the bucket." A waitress stood by their table wearing a grin and a brightly colored dress.

Lisa sighed. "Pity. Oysters are delicious and awesome and were I ever to become Supreme Over Lord of the Universe I would decree that they would always be served by the bucket. Or perhaps a trough. How about the Oysters en Brochette, then?"

"I'll have the Bananas Foster," Sarah said promptly and without remorse.

The waitress grinned and jotted it down on her notepad. "You got it. My name is Marie. Need anything else, give me a holler."

They settled in to absorb the ambiance and to listen to the conversation around them.

They got more than they expected, but not as much as they hoped. Most of the tables around them were filled with tourists, who were concerned with normal touristy things: seeing the sights, the food, the flowers, etc. The diners were a loud buzz, drowning out the murmur of conversation from the wait staff.

Lisa and Sarah were able to catch a few snatches however, with Lisa doing most of the successful eavesdropping. Lisa supposed her unlikely skill was due to being a mom. Ben was a good kid, but he still got into more trouble than Calvin and Hobbes on an imagination binge.

"Marie's aunt was on the town council," Lisa murmured, head cocked and listening hard. "She's telling another waitress that she thinks it wasn't an accident that the infected man went for her."

"I heard something that sounded like 'salami,' maybe?" Sarah said.

"Salome," Lisa corrected. "I think it's a name. Can't hear whether it's a good or a bad thing, though."

"…That makes a tad more sense than salami."

"Doesn't mean that it's more interesting."

"Anyway. Google will fix that right quick when we find a library, I'm sure," Sarah answered, plucking a bread roll out of their basket and buttering it. "What with the NSA being all up in people's business nowadays."

"Just because they are doesn't mean they're gonna be obvious about it." Lisa gave up her listening and leaned forward to snag her own bread roll. "I mean, well, maybe. Hopefully we'll get something but we should still hang out here to be sure that we get as much as we can."

Sarah laughed and tossed a butter packet at her. "I call BS, you just want your oysters."

"Hey!" Lisa caught the dairy projectile. "I will have you know that oysters are only a perk. Info is very important to me."

"Whatever. I have been stuck in a truck with you all winter. You are a food person through and through, it is no use lying to me."

Lisa shrugged and grinned. "Wasn't gonna deny it."

Marie's reappearance with their food broke off any retort Sarah had brewing. The previously cheerful waitress had a noticeable worry line creasing her forehead, and her lips were pursed into an unhappy line. Sarah kicked Lisa's ankle under the table, and when Lisa looked at her with an offended expression, Sarah mouthed 'Do your mom thing.'

Lisa rolled her eyes, but she leaned towards Marie and asked, "Ma'am, are you alright? You seem upset." Lisa injected as much warmth and trustworthiness into her voice as she could.

Marie set down their plates and her shoulders slumped. "There was a biohazard outbreak at my mom's work. She's an assistant for the mayor, and I'm convinced it was intentional but the detectives in charge of the case aren't doing jack squat."

"Do you mind if we ask some questions?" Sarah asked timidly. "We're from the University and we're doing a paper on the medical practices of the New Orleans voodoo community. I realize it's a sensitive subject, and I apologize if we're out of bounds."

Marie gave a watery smile. "It's okay. Any pressure at all on the case will help, though it's not voodoo. That stuff is mostly just a gag for tourists. I get off in about forty-five minutes though. We can talk then."

Sarah smiled brightly. "Thanks!"

Lisa nodded. "We really appreciate it."

Marie disappeared into the back of the restaurant, and Lisa and Sarah shared a relieved sigh.

"I can't believe that worked," Lisa whispered, astonished, "I thought for sure she'd tell us to shove it. Good idea with the college angle."

"Me neither," Sarah said, shaking her head. "I just thought a pair of college students would be believable."

Lisa snorted and gingerly touched the faint laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. "I think we're a little old for college students."

"Whatever." Sarah rolled her eyes and stuck her spoon into her desert. "I could totally pass as a college kid."

A little while later after they'd finished their food Marie joined them, carrying a pot of coffee with her. She filled their coffee cups and her own, staring into the steam as she collected her thoughts. "Here's the deal," Marie said finally, voice low. "I'm going to give you a name and you can do with it what you will. I can't make you do anything, but I can warn you. People say magic ain't real, but I know it is. That's why if you do look into this, then you got to know what you're getting into."

Lisa leaned forward. "Tell us," she said firmly.

Marie took a deep breath. "The person you're looking for is named Salome Riene de Sang."

"Tell us about her." Sarah pulled out a pen and picked up Lisa's journal.

"She's a mambo for Mama Brigitte," Marie explained, "She runs a church out of a mansion in the Garden District. It's no secret that she considers herself Queen of New Orleans, and she runs most of the mob activity in the city. I know she tried to kill my aunt and the mayor, I just know it."

"What's a mambo?" Lisa asked, "And who's Mama Brigitte?"

Marie gave her an odd look. "I thought you guys were students, how do you not know? A mambo is a Vodou priestess and Mama Brigitte is a Vodou Loa. Part of the Vodou pantheon. Mama Brigitte is the Loa of black magic and cemeteries, and the wife of Baron Samedi."

Lisa had no idea what any of that meant, but she decided it was best to keep her big mouth shut in the mean time in case she gave them away any further. Instead, Lisa sipped at her coffee and took notes in her journal. She wasn't sure what to title her new entry, so she just wrote New Orleans Voodoo at the top of the page.

"Things haven't been right in these parts for a while," Marie said, blowing softly on her coffee. "I don't know why, but Salome has got it into her head that she wants to be Voodoo Queen of New Orleans."

Sarah frowned, and leaned forward slightly. "I remember reading somewhere that she already was."

"No, I don't just mean queen, I mean Queen," Marie said. "Salome runs most of the crime rings in New Orleans and Louisiana. Everyone knows it. These past few years though, she's been getting bolder. There are whispers that she wants to make a run for office."

"And they're just going to let a voodoo queen run the city?" Sarah asked incredulously.

"I didn't say her head was on straight, just that she wanted to be in charge," Marie answered.

Lisa leaned forward, frowning. "If people are getting hurt why don't the authorities get involved?"

Marie rolled her eyes. "What would they investigate? Old world hoodoo? Impossible. No one takes magic seriously anymore."

"We'll poke around and ask some questions," Sarah said. "At the very least your Aunt's case will get some attention."

Lisa added sugar to her coffee, stirring thoughtfully. They still didn't know how to neutralize the Mambo if she was behind the incident. She and Sarah had to be able to defend themselves as well as get rid of the supernatural threat- they couldn't just go in blind. Lisa was wary about asking Marie any more though, the woman already seemed suspicious.

Lisa decided she'd have to risk it. When it came down to it, lives were at stake. "So for our records, how would you be willing to talk more about protection from the Loa?"

"Do you actually any believe this is real?" Marie was uncertain, mistrust back in her eyes. "I mean, I know I'm paranoid, but-"

"We've been doing this for a while," Sarah said softly. She didn't specify exactly what 'this' was. "Anything is possible and I personally would rather be safe than sorry."

Marie was quiet for a long, long time. Finally she reached out her hand. "Alright. Give me that book of yours, I'll write down a list for you. There's an apothecary down the street that has some legit voodoo supplies, they'll be able to give you what you need."

.x.

Five minutes later Lisa and Sarah had paid their bill and were headed down the street, list in hand.

They found the apothecary with little trouble. Unfortunately it was as crowded as all get out, stuffed to the brink with tourists. They elbowed their way in looking around with dismay. There was no way they were going to be able to find what they needed in the mayhem.

There was a light touch at Lisa's shoulder. "Ma'am?"

Lisa and Sarah turned to find the shop keeper standing there, watching them. The shopkeeper studied them both carefully, then turned and headed into the back without a word. Lisa chewed her lip. Were they supposed to follow? She glanced at Sarah, who shrugged.

Lisa mouthed, 'I'll risk it' and Sarah nodded, patting her purse to indicate that one of June's Baretta 9MMs was stuffed inside. Lisa followed the shopkeeper. At least they weren't going in defenseless, but she still didn't feel comfortable about Sarah being the only one carrying. Lisa was rotten with a gun, which is why she didn't carry one. She preferred to stick to knives, which she could throw with deadly accuracy, and her sword.

The strange sword with all of the symbols on it had rapidly become her weapon of choice. It felt right in her hand, and it dispatched most of whatever they encountered with ease. She needed a way to keep her sword on her at all times, hidden in plain sight. She felt naked without it. The knife strapped to her ankle was a small comfort, but it didn't carry the deadly promise of the sword.

The shopkeeper was waiting in the back, arms crossed over her ample chest. Her wiry black hair was done up in dreads, and tattoos covered her face and arms.

"You Hunters?" she asked abruptly.

Taken aback, Lisa and Sarah both nodded. The shopkeeper nodded briskly. "I figured. What're you here for? Witch? Buruburu?"

"Mambo and a Voodoo Loa," Lisa answered shortly.

The shopkeeper stared at them, visibly startled. "You're going to take down Salome?"

"We're going to try."

The shopkeeper shook her head in unconcealed amazement. "Well if you're fool enough to try, I ain't gonna stop you. Salome is one of the big dogs. Hunters been tryin' to take her down for years and no one's done it yet. Actually had one of you in here bout' an hour ago askin' bout Salome."

Lisa wasn't sure how she felt about a new player on the field so she didn't say anything, merely handed the woman her notebook. "We'd like everything on this list, please."

.x.

Dean shouldered his phone as he juggled the bag of takeout and the cashier's change. "No Kevin, I don't care, the tablet-"

Kevin broke in again, babbling about Crowley and dreams and hell gates. In front of Dean, the cashier was trying to tell him he didn't have enough change, and behind him the TV was droning on about some lady who had murdered a ton of her neighbors.

"Listen Kevin," Dean growled, finally losing patience and shoving a twenty at the kid behind the counter. "I don't want to hear it. I'm on my way and I've got food. Hang tight til I get there. You can talk my ear off then."

Even holed up on Garth's boat miles away from him Kevin was still managing to drive him crazy. Dean strode out to the Impala, too preoccupied with trying not to squish the bag of cheeseburgers and still argue with Kevin at the same time to glance at the television as he walked past.

If he had, he would have seen a flash of Lisa's hospital ID photo emblazoned with the words WANTED FOR MULTIPLE HOMICIDE, followed by footage of the smoldering ruins of June's house and the bodies of Lisa's neighbors lying in the street.

.x.

The dream started out in a confused blur of images and sounds, and she didn't know where she was. There was screaming somewhere behind her. She was kneeling on cold white linoleum, covered to her elbows in blood as she tried to keep the woman underneath her from bleeding to death. Next to her, another orderly worked feverishly to help stem the blood flow from the puncture on the woman's neck. For a moment she was confused, and then Lisa recognized the subject of her dream: the day in question had made the list of Most Notorious Lisa Bradaen Worst Days Ever.

Lisa had been working the late shift at the hospital. She was in the admittance office to pick up some paperwork when a young woman in gang regalia stumbled in and collapsed, blood spurting from a stab wound in her neck. Lisa had gotten her first aid certification because her physical therapy office paid a little extra for it, so she'd jumped in along with a likewise trained secretary.

Now she was struggling to keep the woman alive while they waited for a team from the emergency room.

"Where the hell are the doctors?!" the secretary shouted, and then after a moment snarled "Turn the phone off, jackass!"

Lisa's head jerked up just in time to see one of the crowd of onlookers snap a picture with their smart phone. She had no time to do anything about it though. The woman she was trying to save was dying despite her best efforts. The woman slowly stopped thrashing and stilled with several marionette-like jerks.

The doors to the waiting area banged open as several nurses rushed in with a gurney. They swarmed the dying woman and shouldered Lisa and the secretary out of the way, but Lisa was numb and cold. Somehow she knew that eventually the surgeon in charge would pronounce her dead, that the lady was gone.

The secretary was chewing out the rude photographer when Lisa called her department to tell them she was going home early. They'd understood completely, and even if they hadn't, her scrubs were covered in blood. She was walking hazmat and going home.

Lisa had got back some of her composure as she scrubbed off her hands in the bathroom, but it flew straight out the window when she realized her car wasn't in the parking lot where she'd left it.

She stared dumbly at the empty parking space with her keys in her hand while she tried to wrap her brain around the fact that someone had jacked her crappy little car. The loss of her car was the straw that broke the camel's back. Bills, the bitches in the PTA who got on her constantly for being an unwed single mom, the long grueling job hours with lack of sleep, the failure to save that woman's life- it all hit her like a ton of bricks. Lisa slumped to the curb, put her head in her hands, and sobbed.

She couldn't say how much longer it was until she felt a warm calloused hand touch her hair. "Lisa?"

Lisa raised her head and the man with the face she couldn't remember was squatting in front of her, worried concern lining his face. Lisa studied him. His clothes smelled like cheap whiskey and there were bags under his eyes. His hair stuck straight up as though he'd slept on it wrong and the faded green flannel shirt he was wearing was severely wrinkled.

The calloused hand on her hair was gentle though. Lisa sniveled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "What are you doing here?"

She was embarrassed about how wobbly and hiccupy her voice was.

"Your coworker called the house," he explained. "Said someone died. Do you wanna talk about it?"

Lisa shook her head, sniffling and trying to get her blubbering under control. He probably thought she was a complete idiot.

"Okay." His voice was gentle and scratchy. Lisa knew that the scratchy part was probably from drinking too much and lack of sleep, though how she knew she couldn't say.

He glanced around, scanning the small employee lot for her car. He frowned. "Did your car get jacked?"

She nodded, surprised at how quickly he put it together. He sat next to her on the curb and after a moment she leaned her head on his shoulder. Facts that she knew she wouldn't have when she woke were running through her head: he had suffered an immeasurable loss which was why he drank all the time and never slept. It was also why she'd let him into her home but hadn't asked anything of him.

"I don't know what to do," Lisa said after a while. "What do I do?" Her voice was small and filled with a sort of panic desperation.

He kissed her hair and squeezed her hand. "I've been freeloading on you for too long, Leese. You should have said something."

"No," she said fiercely. "I knew when I took you in that you needed a safe place. I am not going to ask you for anything you can't give. I mean it."

He smiled for the first time since he'd come to stay with her. "I know, Lisa, baby. But I wanna take care of you."

"You don't need to. I can take care of myself," Lisa told him firmly. "I always have."

"I know you can," he said gently, "But there's nothing wrong with asking for help."

Lisa was uncertain. It felt wrong to ask him anything, taboo. "Too much has been asked of you already," she said softly. "I can't-"

He cut her off. "Yes, you can. I ain't broken yet." He was looking decidedly obstinate and she knew she wasn't going to win this argument.

Lisa gave him a wobbly smile. "Then can I have a ride home?"

He kissed her cheek. "Course. Let's go home. And I'll find the asshole who stole your car, too. It'll be better therapy than any shrink behind a fancy desk."

She suddenly felt a wash of pity for the poor fool who had probably thought her car was an easy mark. She sqelched that feeling as she slid next to him, resting her head against his shoulder as he started his car. It was going to be okay.

Lisa jerked awake from where she'd been passed out in the front seat of Sarah's truck. The dream had been so real. She could swear that she could still feel his shoulder under her cheek, warm and firm.

"Your nose is bleeding again," Sarah said calmly, holding out a package of Kleenex when she saw Lisa was awake.

Lisa reached for a tissue and tilted her head back. Sarah no longer looked horrified when Lisa's dreams gave her migraines and nosebleeds, but she had that careful note in her voice whenever she pointed them out that suggested she was still very worried.

"I was dreaming." Lisa tossed her bloody tissue into the trash bag in the back seat. She glanced at Sarah, who was still looking at her uncertainly. "It was that guy again."

"You know," Sarah murmured conversationally, staring back out the window. They were sitting in the shadows across from Salome's massive mansion. "There's got to be a resource we could use to find out what the deal is with your memory. It can't just be a coincidence that a huge part of your life is blacked out, and your son is missing."

"I've considered that." Lisa ran her fingers lightly along the mottled curve of her sword. The blade was razor sharp and she wisely kept her hands away from its wicked edge. "I don't know where to start though. And I don't even know if that is connected to my memory loss. It seems a little too convenient."

Sarah chewed her lip. "Maybe."

They sat there in companionable silence. Salome's mansion was massive with large Grecian columns holding up stately balconies in front of the house, making up a typical southern manor. Ivy and vines covered the house in thick curtains, hiding much of the weather faded white paint. The house itself was lit up with friendly golden lights, but Lisa felt an underlying chill emanating from it.

That way lay dragons.

They were waiting for Salome and her minions to leave, that way they could investigate the house without confronting its sinister owner. Lisa and Sarah didn't want to hurt an innocent person, so they figured breaking and entering was the better of the two evils. There was a chance that Marie and their library sleuthing could have been wrong. There was a ton of articles on Salome and her underworld connections, but most of it seemed like it could be misconstrued as hearsay.

"Hey." Sarah straightened suddenly, her tone serious. "Look."

Lisa looked. A man was getting out of a beat up rust stained Subaru and carrying a filthy canvas duffle bag. He was wearing a knit cap, a dark brown carhartt jacket and looked like the stereotypical hick, but it was his expression that really caught Lisa's attention.

A lifetime of violence, fear, and anger was carved into the lines on his face. Lisa shivered. Her instincts whispered that he must be the other Hunter that the Apothecary shop keeper had mentioned.

"Do we approach him?' Sarah asked softly, having arrived at the same conclusion.

"Yes," Lisa decided finally. She raked her shaggy hair back with her fingers before reaching for her sword. "We presumably have the same goal, and if this Mambo is as bad as everyone says she is then it won't hurt to have help. We should be on the same side."

Lisa got out of the car, slinging the bag filled with her portion of the equipment over her shoulder. She considered sheathing her sword to look less threatening but decided that she'd rather have it out. It was a comfort thing.

She bent, a hand on the roof of the car, and looked in at Sarah. "We'd better play it safe, though. Stay here unless I motion for you. If he tries anything funny, shoot him."

Sarah nodded, already reaching for June's Berretta and began screwing on a long silencer. Then she fitted a laser site onto the top of the gun with smooth practiced motions. Lisa shut the door quietly and began walking across the street to the man who was just closing his car door, and slinging his duffle over one shoulder.

"Hey," Lisa called when she was close enough.

He turned in one fluid motion, a 357 Magnum pointed right at her chest. Lisa stopped, holding up one hand in supplication. She didn't let go of her sword but didn't raise it threateningly either.

"Are you here to take care of Salome?" Lisa asked, like the gun he was holding couldn't blow a hole in her chest at a moment's notice.

"Yeah." His voice was low and scratchy with a distinct back woods accent, and was slightly muffled around the wad of chew that he had stuffed in his lower lip. "You a Hunter?"

Lisa nodded. "I'd like to help. We're on the same side, so if you could put the gun down my partner won't make a new hole in your face."

At the word 'face' Sarah shined the brilliant red dot of the laser site onto his cheek before dropping it down to rest on his heart. Her aim was disturbingly steady. He glanced down at it and his shoulders stiffened. Finally his gun hand dropped in resignation. He knew when he was beat.

"Tell yer buddy to put away their cannon. I'd be glad for the help," he said, stuffing his pistol into the back of his pants.

Lisa studied his face for a moment before she turned and waved to Sarah. Sarah emerged warily from the truck, Beretta still held loosely in her hand, as she locked the door and started towards them. Her back pack with her hunting supplies hung over her shoulder. She smiled in greeting when she reached them but Lisa noticed that it didn't quite reach her eyes. Sarah clearly did not trust their new ally.

"My name is Lisa." Lisa smiled and then gestured at Sarah with the hilt of her sword. "That's Sarah."

"Name's Roy," he answered gruffly, nodding at them.

The three of them made their way silently around the back of Salome's mansion. The mansion itself appeared to be deserted. All of the lights were on but the house itself was empty and silent. They got in through a back door. Roy jimmied the lock and the door swung open on disturbingly well oiled hinges. The mansion, despite its fancy trappings and chic décor, smelled like a charnel house. The metallic scent of blood stuck inside Lisa's nose and clogged the back of her throat. She felt ill. Behind her Sarah made a soft gagging noise. Roy glanced back at them with a grim smile.

"Never Hunted a Mambo gone bad, huh?" he asked.

Lisa shook her head. If she'd had any doubts about Salome before, she didn't now. Her grip tightened on her sword. A lot of death had happened here to create the level of stink and despair that the house radiated. Lisa made a decision then and there that even though she'd never met the woman, Salome wasn't going make it through the night alive.

They found the source of the smell in the basement of the house. Body parts were splashed along the marble floors amidst a sea of blood. Lisa felt like she was going to vomit; the stench was overpowering.

A woman stood at an alter at the end of the room clad in a ratty sheath dress that had once been white, but was now grey with grime and spattered with dried blood. Her skin was an unearthly shade of mottled white. When she turned, Lisa saw that it wasn't her real skin at all but layers of white chalk. Kohl ringed Salome's eyes in fierce spirals making the brown of her irises look black in the dim light.

She saw them and smiled, a wide creepy Cheshire grin stretching across her face that showed way too many teeth.

"Hunters, three." Her voice was deep, a sing song echo that bounced disturbingly off of the high walls. "Come to slay me."

"Yep, sounds about right." Roy was pulling heavy bags out of his duffle. He seemed unconcerned, as though this were something he did every day.

Lisa and Sarah remained silent but fanned out to flank Roy. Lisa felt the icy fingers of unease crawling up her spine. There were three of them and Salome was only one woman; Salome should have been more worried at the prospect of her own demise and the unevenness of their numbers. Lisa's eyes flicked around the room again, studying the darker shadowed areas. There was something they were missing, something crucial.

Salome followed her gaze with a throaty laugh. "Wise girl, knows you're done, of my poppets you'll all soon become one."

At 'poppets' four human shapes stepped from the shadows. Lisa felt ill. Three men and one woman stood swaying in the dancing light of the torches at the edges of the room. They wore dirty and torn clothing, but what caught Lisa's attention but was the fact that their eyes were missing- along with their noses, ears, and lips. The gaping ragged holes that were there instead had been stuffed with bloodstained straw and stitched closed with heavy brown twine.

"Shit," Roy growled, staring at the poppets wild-eyed, "You been busy."

Salome smiled at him. "Hunters, all the same. For your fate, there's only you to blame."

One of the poppets stepped forward with a low crackle coming from his throat, like the sound of brittle straw crunching underfoot. Sarah shot him in the forehead without preamble and the sharp crack of the gunshot broke the spell over the three of them. The sight of the neat round bloodless hole just above the center of his eyes made the bottom of Lisa's stomach drop out. They were in some deep shit.

"Run!" Roy shouted. Without waiting to see if Lisa and Sarah were following he turned and fled.

Lisa and Sarah shared a quick indeterminable and fierce look before they turned and followed Roy back out of the basement. Behind them the sound of the poppets' jolting gate followed them along with the sound of Salome's raucous eerie laughter.

They raced through the empty manor. Ahead of them the double doors of a closet rose up out the gloom of the torch light. Roy hit the doors hard. Lisa caught a glimpse of his terrified face before he slammed and barred the door.

Sarah got there a second too late and slapped the door in angry frustration. "You asshole!"

"Leave it," Lisa said tersely. "We need to find a place to defend if we're going to make it out of this alive. He'll get his due, don't worry."

Sarah turned, a grim resignation stamped all over her features. She nodded and her eyes flicked to the hallway behind them. Lisa knew without turning that the poppets were emerging behind them. Lisa and Sarah turned and ran; searching for a place they could either hide or have a last stand.

The sound of the poppets behind them drove them on. Lisa could feel her lungs burning, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Here," Sarah panted, gesturing at the doorway of a parlor. "There are no windows. The hallway is a choke point."

Lisa understood immediately. The cramped hallway would mean that the poppets wouldn't be able to rush them all at once, and the windowless room would keep anyone from sneaking up behind them. It was the best chance that they would get. Somewhere in the depths of the house, Roy started screaming. Lisa allowed a grim smile to cross her face. Karma was a bitch.

"Switch to the shotgun," Lisa advised her.

Sarah began digging through her bag even as she shook her head. "You saw me shoot the other one. Bullets don't seem to have any effect."

Lisa grinned fiercely. "They're dead bodies made of straw. They may already be dead, but if you blow off a limb they won't be able to do much to us." Sarah still looked slightly worried so Lisa explained, "Tis merely a flesh wound!" in her best Monty Python voice.

Understanding dawned on Sarah's face and her answering smile mirrored Lisa's ferocity. "This is beginning to shape up like a Sam Raimi film."

Lisa jabbed a finger at her. "If someone pukes blood on me or assaults me with a tree, and it's because you've jinxed us, I will be pissed."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "There would be something wrong with you if you weren't." She pulled out June's Mossberg and began sliding cartridges into the gun. "What's your plan?"

"I'm going to see if the hoodoo stuff we bought works any," Lisa answered. Then she ran her fingers down the length of her sword, feeling the familiar ridges and grooves of the unknown symbols marking the blade. "And I'm going to see if Salome's zombies can survive without their heads."

Lisa pulled the bags of hoodoo powder from her satchel while Sarah began putting together her guns and loading them. Lisa spread the powder through the hallway and used the remainder to ring the room. She wasn't sure how the powder was supposed to be used so she did the best she could. Just as she was about to spread the last of it, the poppets appeared at the end of the hallway. Without thinking Lisa darted forward. She'd always been nimble and light on her feet due to the yoga and gymnastics, and she hoped that her luck would continue to hold. So far the poppets had been much slower than her. She held up her last fist full of hoodoo dust and blew it all into the face of the poppet in the lead of the pack.

It stopped to claw at its face, emitting that strange crackling straw sound that served as its voice. Lisa didn't stay around to watch but sprinted back to where Sarah waited, white faced and determined.

Lisa crouched at the doorway. The poppets were making their way to them. Where their bare feet touched the powder in the hallway a sizzling sound rose up along with the nauseating stench of cooking meat.

Just as the first poppet reached them Sarah fired twice in quick succession. The spread of shotgun pellets hit the poppet in the knees and it crumpled to the floor with a startled crackle. The moment it collapsed Lisa lunged, slicing off its head in one fluid motion. The poppet immediately began to disintegrate, bloody sand and straw spilling from the space where its head used to be.

Lisa waited a split second to see if the poppet would get back up but it didn't. Then she flashed Sarah a thumbs up.

"Good news, we can kill them," Lisa called cheerfully. "Every cloud has a silver lining."

"It might have been the sword," Sarah answered, reloading. "My bullets had no real effect other than just maiming." Sarah fired again, the next poppet falling because of all the lead in its kneecaps.

"Huh," Lisa's tone was conversational. Her sword was a bright silver flash in the dim light and the poppet's head rolled on the dirty floor. "You may be right. Either way we're still lucky."

"Luckier than Roy," Sarah muttered, sliding shells into the chamber of her gun.

Lisa shrugged. It was hard for her to feel bad since he'd essentially left them to die. "Serves him right. Whatever is happening to him now wouldn't be happening if he hadn't ditched us."

The last two poppets met the same fate as their fellows and both Sarah and Lisa waited to see if anything else would happen. Nothing did; the mansion was silent as a grave.

"Let's go find Roy," Lisa said, wiping the old gummy blood off of her sword on the back of one of the parlor's expensive poofy chairs. The dark blood stained the gold and cream upholstery horribly but Lisa couldn't find it in her to care.

Sarah stowed her weapons, sticking most of them back in her bag and the Beretta through her belt. The black coated automatic shotgun hung loosely in her hands and she gave Lisa a ready nod. Lisa shouldered her pack and led the way out into the hallway, retracing their steps back to where they'd left Roy.

The door to his closet was hanging off of one hinge, several deep scratch marks goring the wood. Lisa knew now why they'd had time to set up their last stand: the poppets had been busy with Roy. Both Lisa and Sarah hesitated as they approached the closet, sharing a wary glance and flanking the door. It could be a trap.

Sarah nodded, raising the shotgun, and Lisa pushed open the door. Roy was sprawled out at the back of the closet amidst mop buckets and cleaning supplies. Several deep gouges marred his chest and throat. His breath came in short watering gasps as blood bubbled in the stubble around his mouth. It looked like dogs had been at him, not people shaped things.

Lisa dropped to her knees beside him, uncertain where she would even begin to find a pulse in his ragged bloody skin. "Cover the door," Lisa told Sarah. "I'm going to see what I can do."

Sarah moved to the doorway, eyes peeled for movement in the gloom. "Can you even?" She said without turning. "He looks pretty bad. I'm no doctor, but…" Her voice trailed off.

"I've got some rudimentary EMT skills," Lisa answered. "I'll do what I can."

"Okay. Something tells me we won't have long, though. Salome will probably come to see what happened to her zombies."

"Agreed."

Lisa turned to Roy who was watching her with pain filled glassy eyes. "You're going to be okay," Lisa told him with a conviction she didn't believe.

Apparently Roy didn't believe her either. He laughed which turned rapidly into a watery cough. Blood stained his mouth and chin. "Bullshit," he said. "Why was she so strong? She shouldn't have been able to do that. It was supposed to be a straight job."

He wasn't talking to her anymore. Lisa cocked her head and gave his shoulder a light squeeze to bring him back to the present. "Hey, what are you talking about?"

His unfocused eyes found her face. "Mambos aren't that strong."

"She serves Mama Brigitte," Lisa explained, beginning to pull medical supplies out of her bag. She wasn't quite sure where to begin. Roy's wounds were extensive. "I think that's where she's getting most of her power."

"...That explains it." Roy's voice was a pained whisper.

"How?" Lisa began to apply pressure to Roy's more dangerous injuries and the white gauze quickly turned crimson. "I was under the impression that the Loa weren't this volatile. Even the darker ones."

"Well I ain't surprised the great bitch is cheesed off," Roy struggled to get his words out between shaky breaths. "Supernatural critters haven't been behaving right since the apocalypse."

Lisa figured he must be referring Mama Brigitte, but she wasn't certain about the apocalypse bit. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The biblical apocalypse took place couple a years ago. Baron Samedi and a couple other pagan gods tried to stop the Devil, but they got their gooses cooked."

"Ah." Lisa had no idea that the world had apparently dodged some sort of cosmic bullet. A couple of years ago she'd been working, and helping Ben with his homework. She felt ill at the thought of how close she'd come to eternity in suffering.

"Yeah. Created a power vacuum when Lucifer got himself locked up by the Winchesters. Now all the supernatural baddies are jockeyin' for the slot of top dog now that the main gods are dead. Sounds about right that Mama Brigitte is out for blood, what with her man dead n' all."

"Wait, who are the Winchesters?" Somehow she knew the name. The word sent shivers up Lisa's spine.

"Vicious bastards, the both of em'. The younger one almost ended the world. Me and Walt were gonna stop them, and we did, but they came back, and the older one killed my-"a sob choked his words and Roy faltered, unable to continue. The memory of his loss was too painful for words. "Walt's dead."

Lisa didn't really pay attention to the last part. She had no idea who Walt was. The Winchesters though… "They're Hunters?" She asked desperately.

Roy nodded, glowering. "They like to pretend they're Hunters, but they're both monsters."

Lisa shook her head, ignoring him. She was thinking fast. If the Winchesters were good enough Hunters to stop the frigging Apocalypse then they might know how to save Ben. She had to find them. She had to save her son. Whatever they needed from her she'd give it to save Ben.

"How do I find the Winchesters?" Lisa asked, voice low and hard.

Roy's eyes went wide. Then he coughed again. "You can't. But I can put you in touch with someone who can."

Lisa pulled out her phone. "Give me a name and number."

Roy's voice was getting weaker. "The name you're looking for is Garth. He'll take care of you. He's kind of like the Hunter go to when there's questions that need answerin'."

Lisa programmed Garth's number into her phone. Roy watched her, eyes glassy and bright. "Don't let her get me," he said finally, voice surprisingly steady. "Don't let me become a ghost or one of those- those things."

Lisa laid a gentle hand against his scratchy cheek. "I won't," she told him firmly. That at least she could promise.

Roy gasped then, almost in surprise, and then he slumped. His face slackened and Lisa knew that he wasn't there anymore. Roy was dead. She stared at him for a moment, taken aback, and then began to loot his pockets. Lisa could feel Sarah's incredulity burning between her shoulder blades but she didn't care. Roy was dead and any cash or weapons he'd had weren't going to do him any favors now.

She found about two hundred dollars in cash in his pockets, along with two full bags of hoodoo dust in his duffle. His dufflebag also contained a ton of weaponry and ammunition, some of which Lisa had never seen the like of before. Twisted amulets and gnarled bones. There was even a bit of driftwood that was splashed with something that looked a lot like dried blood. They didn't have time to go through it now, though. Lisa slung the bag over her shoulder and stood.

"Let's go."

They left Roy's body where it was and headed back down to the basement. The journey there was terse and quiet, neither trusting themselves to speak.

They stopped just outside the stairs to the basement.

"How do we do this?" Lisa asked softly. It was more of a rhetorical question than anything, but Sarah answered her.

"I go first," she replied firmly.

Lisa stared at her. "Do you have a death wish?"

Sarah crossed her arms. "No, but it's not like we have a choice. Guns don't seem to work in this situation and your sword does. You're faster than me. If I distract her you may have a chance to cut off her head."

Lisa shook her head, still feeling mutinous. "I do NOT like this plan. This is a terrible idea."

Sarah put her hands on her hips. "I don't see you coming up with anything better."

Lisa was unable to give her an answer to that. Her shoulders slumped. "Okay."

Sarah reached out and poked Lisa in the forehead. "Buck up. I need you fast and ready to rock. I don't want to die in there."

Lisa took a deep breath and nodded. "Be careful," she said softly. "You're the only friend I've got."

"I knew I was special." Sarah clapped a hand over her heart with a mock smile. "Now, I've got to go or I'll lose my courage and run screaming for the hills."

With that Sarah racked the shotgun and started back down the stairs. Lisa waited in the stillness feeling like she'd made a huge mistake. Then after a moment she crept down the stairs. Voices echoed up to her. Sarah was talking to Salome and trying to keep the Mambo distracted.

"You're all alone now, little mouse. All alone in my house," Salome murmured.

Lisa grimaced. Salome was freaking creepy with her stupid rhyming and riddles. Salome was not paying attention to the stairs. She obviously thought that Sarah was the only Hunter left and was watching her with all of the fixed attention of a cat watching a mouse.

"Why are you killing people?" Sarah asked, her gun arm raised and Beretta pointed right at Salome.

Salome appeared unworried that she was staring down the business end of a gun so Lisa figured that they were right in assuming that guns were useless.

Lisa stuck to the shadows as she circled the room, trying to stay behind Salome. Sarah must have noticed Lisa creeping around but she didn't give away her position, something Lisa was very grateful for. Lisa's sword glinted dully in the torchlight but Salome was so focused on Sarah that she didn't notice.

"Power, my sweet. Why else do visionaries meet?" Salome's hands were opening and closing slightly, as though she could imagine them around Sarah's throat.

"I won't let you kill anyone else. You're not a visionary, you're crack-ass crazy," Sarah said firmly.

"I think not," Salome said simply. "Death is your lot." The Mambo raised her hands starting to chant in a wild and eerie shriek.

Darkness began to crawl along the walls and Lisa had a sudden suspicion that the Salome was trying to call the dark Loa that she served. Power gathered in the form of static energy crackling through the room. The ground shook.

Lisa had absolutely no desire to tangle with Mama Brigitte who was supposedly some sort of god, and an angry evil one at that. Mama Brigitte would most likely kill both her and Sarah, and then Ben would be lost. In all the time that she and Sarah had been hunting, the only monsters they'd faced were already dead. Angry ghosts that were merely shades, all the humanity burned out of them long ago by rage. Salome was human, skin and bone, and very much alive. Up to this point Lisa had been entertaining the hope that maybe Salome could be reasoned with. The Mambo was going to kill them though. The thought of murder left her feeling slightly ill, but the thought of Ben at the mercy of the dark was unthinkable.

So Lisa did the only thing she could do: she steeled her nerves, lunged forward, and cut off Salome Riene de Sang's head.

.x.

"What do you think Garth looks like?" Sarah wondered as they pushed open the door to a Starbucks on the campus of the University of New Orleans.

Lisa shrugged and lead the way inside. "Dunno. He said he'd be wearing a tan leather jacket with a green baseball cap."

As they walked in a scrawny man with a large nose stood up at the back of the sprawling and quite crowded coffee shop and began waving his arms wildly. He was wearing a tan suede jacket covered in a ridiculous amount of fringe along with a ratty sweat stained baseball cap. Whatever Lisa had imagined Garth would look like, it wasn't this. She sighed and then waved back.

"You go meet him," Sarah said, pushing Lisa towards the back with a gentle shove. "I'll get us coffee."

Lisa gave her a wounded look. "You're ditching me? Coward."

"Yep." Sarah was unapologetically cheerful, and she moved off to where the baristas were frantically churning out overpriced coffee for the vast hoards of caffeine addicted college students.

Garth reached across the table to shake her hand enthusiastically when she sat down. "I'm Garth!" he said amiably.

Quite frankly Lisa was amazed at both his trust and his odd cheerfulness. She could be an ax murderer for all he knew. Or a sword murderer, as was now the case.

"I'm-" she hesitated. It suddenly seemed silly that she'd been throwing her real name around willy nilly. Unfortunately Garth had that dilemma solved for her.

"Lisa," he finished gently. "I know who you are."

Lisa was suddenly wary and nakedly aware that she'd left her sword and all of the guns in the truck. Her fingers twitched towards the kukri knife she'd gotten out of Roy's stash hidden in her boot.

Garth seemed unaware that she was close to stabbing him and running away. He sipped at his pumpkin spice latte comfortably. Finally he set his drink down, folding his long pale fingers around the paper cup.

"I've seen you on the news," he told her quietly.

Lisa felt ill. She had insisted that she and Sarah stay as much off the grid as possible, and she hadn't tried to look back in any way. Seeing any reports would make Ben's disappearance more awful and real than it already was.

"What do you mean?" her voice was a low, hoarse rasp. Her hands clenched and unclenched under the table, and her body was filled with a sick adrenaline that had nowhere to go.

"The Feds have you pegged you're the murder of your neighbors and the disappearance of your kid. Also the stealing of military grade weaponry." He was watching her, face still calm despite a probable murderer sitting across the table from him.

Lisa took a deep shuddering breath, deciding to come clean. There was something about Garth that seemed good, trustworthy. For all his awkwardness and weird quirks she could sense he was a good man.

"Something broke into my house and stole my son," she said finally. "It killed my neighbors and my best friend. She gave me those guns, I didn't steal them." Well, she didn't steal most of them. Roy didn't count.

Garth cocked his head, brow furrowing. "Stole? How exactly?"

Lisa stared at him. "What, you mean there's a difference?"

Garth nodded, taking another deep swig of his latte that left a foam mustache across his thin lips. "Could be a lot of different things. Could a Changling, but they usually replace the kid instead of just taking it. Or maybe an Arachne, but they leave behind a ton of sticky spider butt goo when they take someone and you'd have noticed that.

"Seriously? Spider butt goo? That's it." Lisa pulled her journal out of her bag and wrote 'Encyclopedia of Weird Shit' in bold letters across the top with a black sharpie. Underneath she scribbled 'Don't Panic' in smaller ones.

Garth smiled at what she wrote. "Welcome to the job of Hunters. You'll never see normal the same way again." He tossed his now empty coffee cup into the trash. "Now, tell me about your son."

"Black smoke," Lisa said, crossing her arms to rest her elbows on the table. "It got into my neighbor first. It attacked the house but I managed to ward it off with salt. I got upstairs to find several columns of the stuff harassing Ben, trying to get him to agree to something. We got out and ran to my neighbors but in the end Ben said yes in order to save me."

She scrubbed angrily at her eyes. She was not going to cry in front of a man, a season Hunter no less, that she barely knew.

Garth's face was sympathetic. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I can tell you what took your son, though."

Lisa felt like someone had jabbed her with a hot poker. "Tell me," she said, voice low and fierce.

"Demons," he replied. "From what it sounds like, a lot of them, which isn't really normal. They can't stand each other long enough to work together unless they've got a higher demon running the show. They only demons I've heard of working in tandem were the Seven Deadly Sins and they got ganked by the Winchesters."

There was that name again, touching her skin like a burn. She could almost feel calloused fingers on her spine and see green eyes twinkling at her.

She squelched the feeling. She'd deal with it later. "How do I kill it? How do I get it to give back my son?"

"You have to know its name in order to summon it," Garth said, pulling a packet of Twinkies from his pocket and beginning to munch. "Demons can be killed by stabbing them with an angel blade or shooting them with bullets melted down from an angel blade. Most of the time we just exorcise them out of the victim though. That sends em' back to Hell."

"How do I find its name?" Lisa asked. "And where can I get an angel blade?"

"Gotta summon a lower echelon demon and ask in order to get a name. Usually a Cross Roads Demon, they're the easiest. I wouldn't advise it though."

"Why not?" Lisa knew the desperation was coloring her voice but she didn't care.

"Too much could go wrong," Garth said. "If you get killed, then your son is up the river without a paddle."

Lisa slumped, wanting to cry. She didn't trust herself to speak.

"I'll make you a deal," Garth said gently, squeezing her hand. "The Winchesters will know which strings to pull and they're mean enough and ballsy enough to make whatever they summon talk. I'll give them a call and I'll get you some angel blades."

"In return for what?" Lisa was wary, uncertain of what he wanted from her.

"Becoming one of my Hunters. There aren't enough of us," Garth said, staring sadly into his cup. "I'm not as good in the field as most of you, but I have a knack for planning and information. I call you with a job, you go. That's the deal."

Lisa nodded slowly. It was something she could live with. If it saved Ben, she would agree to anything. She stuck out her hand. "You got yourself a Hunter."

Garth shook it energetically, making her teeth rattle. "Glad to have you!"

Sarah chose that moment to come up to the table with two coffees looking as though she'd been through a war. A war filled with over caffeinated college students.

"What'd I miss?"

.x.

Lisa thumbed through her newly updated journal after she and Sarah made camp that night. They'd driven up into Texas, thinking it best if they got the hell out of dodge just in case they were ID'd for the murder of Salome. Before they'd left, Garth had taken her journal and written down everything he knew, all the tricks of the trade, and in alphabetical order no less. There was a nice table of contents with the names of all the things that went bump in the night along with page numbers. There was also a list of exorcisms, protection symbols, and herbal remedies for almost any crisis she could think of. There was also a list of contact numbers for different Hunters organized by the states they usually operated in.

"Listen to this," Lisa said, raising her voice. Sarah looked up from where she'd been poking at foil covered potatoes buried in the coals of their campfire.

"An Amazon will bang dudes, then kill them, and have a kid after about 36 hours of gestation. The kid then kills their father in order to become a full Amazon." Lisa shook her head. "That's weird."

"Yep," Sarah said, handing her a hot potato. "You'd wonder how the Universe possibly came up with some of this stuff."

Lisa sprinkled some salt onto her potato and blew on it. They seemed very alone in the wide, flat, Texas terrain. The night sky was studded with stars and went on endlessly in either direction. Lisa no longer could count the number of nights she'd spent lying awake, fear and despair keeping sleep from the shores of her mind.

But now she had a name for her enemy, and with the updated journal and new allies she felt like the tides were finally turning. Her enemy didn't have a name yet, but now she knew what it was and how to kill it.

Lisa Braeden was back in the game.

.x.

To be continued...

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