CHAPTER 2

No, no, no, no, NO!

I sprinted down East Kiowa Avenue as fast as I could run, my combat boots slapping loudly against the pavement.

By the time I reached the library, a crowd had gathered out back by the field. Yellow police tape fluttered in the breeze.

I slowed to a jog as I approached and wrapped my rain coat tighter around my body. Police and civilians muttered darkly as they stared at the crime scene. As I reached the police tape my eyes widened in shock at what I saw before me.

"What the hell –?"

In a perfect circle about 10 feet across, the grass had been charred to a sickly coal black. It looked like someone had scorched the earth with a compass. But that wasn't the worst part. Howie Warton's dead body lay splayed spread-eagle in the very center of the circle, his eyes wide and terrified. Strangely, they seemed to have the milky, silvery film I thought they had possessed the day before. Worst of all were his feet, or what was left of them anyway. Blistered and flayed, they were more stumps than anything resembling human feet. There was a steady stream of blood from his feet that trailed the circumference of the circle of dead grass, almost as if Howie had walked the length of it before collapsing from blood loss.

Tears stung my eyes. This is all my fault, I thought. It had to be. There was no other possibility. Something this weird, this supernatural, occurring in the town where I was living was no coincidence. It was the key. The damn thing was a magnet for trouble.

They must have found me, I thought, panicked. They tracked me down and they killed Howie and now they're going to come for me, oh God, oh God…

As I wiped the tears from my eyes I heard the low, rumbling engine of an approaching car. It was the car from yesterday, I realized with a start.

As it slowed to a stop, the doors opened to reveal the two brothers, now decked out in suits and ties and looking for all the world like Mulder and Scully. They decidedly walked through the yellow tape and up to the burnt grass.

Inspector Hathaway approached the two men with a frown. "Gentlemen, this is a crime scene so I'd really appreciate it if –"

Dean reached into his coat and extracted an official looking badge. "My name is Agent Ryan, and this is my partner, Agent Skinner." Sam also flashed a badge. "We're FBI."

Hathaway looked as baffled as I felt. "Sorry, but why would the FBI want to look into this?"

Dean grimaced. "We've got orders from up top. Looks like you've got some weird serial killer or cult on your hands."

His eyes scanned the crowd that had formed around the police tape. When we made eye contact I could see the brief recognition that crossed his face. My gaze hardened and I turned away.

Walking back to the coffee shop was absolute mental torture. Should I leave town now? I supposed I had to, now that my boss/landlord was dead. In frustration, I kicked a stone on the sidewalk into a dumpster. The loud clang that it made brought me back to reality, slightly.

Howie's death wasn't normal – the crime scene made that much obvious. The strangeness of his death turned my stomach – this was definitely a murder, and one outside the norm at that. And as much as I liked Elizabeth, it was too dangerous for me to be around something this out of the ordinary. The murder was bound to attract attention – the FBI agents were evidence of that – and the last thing I needed was a bunch of people flooding into the town where I was.

Fine, I decided, as I sidled back into the coffee shop and tied my apron around my waist. I'll start packing tonight.

The coffee shop was understandably packed that day – I guess working at the place where the owner gets murdered makes you the hot gossip for a town where the only interesting thing that happened in the past week was Miss Larson's cat eating all the icing off the cake at the Harvest Festival.

"Kit, did he say anything to you?" Abby Price asked me in a stage whisper. A group of townspeople behind her eagerly craned around to listen.

I shrugged tersely. "I dunno, Abby. Here's your mocha."

"Oh, come on, Kit!" she moaned; "He must have said something! People don't just up and die!"

"That depends," said a new voice. I glanced up to find my old friends the FBI agents trying to shimmy their way through the crowd and up to the counter.

I raised my eyebrows. "You were here yesterday, yeah? Ham sandwich and peach pie?"

Dean smiled. "That's us – valued customers. Speaking of which, would you happen to have any more of that pie –?"

Sam cut him off with an elbow to the ribs. "We just wanted to ask you a few questions about Mr. Warton."

I blanched. Honestly, I shouldn't have been surprised that they wanted to question me, but anything that brought me out of my low profile life immediately brought on the cold sweats. "Yeah, uh, just give me a minute," I mumbled, turning the sign on the window to 'closed.' Customers grumbled as I herded them to the exit and lead Sam and Dean to the back room where Howie would keep the books.

I leaned on the desk and feigned an expression of disinterest. "So what do you want to know?"

Dean glanced at the nametag on my apron. "So… Kit. Did you notice anything weird going on with your boss the day he died?" he asked. "Anything out of the ordinary?"

I shook my head. "Not really. Howie was a pretty standard guy, just a normal family man. But…"

"But what?" Dean asked, brow creased.

"I dunno," I shrugged. "Just something he mentioned yesterday morning. Said that he had met some lady when he was out walking the other day. It was strange because Howie never seemed the type to have an affair, really."

"Well, boring suburban dudes tend to have hidden depths," Dean said sarcastically.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Did Howie mention anything about the woman?"

Suddenly, something clicked from the other day. "Wait," I said. "Howie did mention that he met her down by the library. That's where he died, right?" The memory of Howie's dead body and bleeding, stumpy feet made me shiver. "He said she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen."

Dean snorted. "Typical. Middle-aged loser gets a hold of a sweet piece of ass, not even realizing she's out for blood."

I shuddered again. All of this seemed too much to handle. Almost out of habit, my hand crept up to the key hanging around my neck. I could feel the thrum of power whisper through my fingers as I turned it over in my hand. Sam looked at me curiously.

"Kit, how long have you been in town for?"

My heart dropped. They know, a voice whispered in my head. They know… they're with them…

"Uh…" I sputtered out, "Not long, just about three weeks."

Sam raised his eyebrows "Not many newcomers here in Elizabeth," he said, quoting me from the other day.

Dammit, I knew that would come back to bite me in the ass.

I laughed nervously, trying to ignore the suspicious glance Dean was throwing my way. "Well, I'm the exception I guess."

"Where'd you live before coming to Elizabeth?" Dean asked, glancing at Sam with raised eyebrows.

"Oh, you know," I said nervously, still fiddling with the key, "I've traveled around a bit."

"Right…" said Dean suspiciously.

Great, now the FBI think I'm a murderer.

"Anyway, I should get back to work, I said hurriedly. "So, if you gentlemen don't have any more questions?"

"Nah, we're good," said Dean, his hand on the door handle.

"Wait!" I said suddenly, and grabbed the last slice of pie out the fridge. With a grin, I stuffed the plate into Dean's hand. "Take it," I said. "On the house."

Dean's face lit up. "You mean it?"

"Yeah, sure," I said. "Not every day I meet FBI agents. Figure it's my civic duty to be hospitable." Truthfully, I was really just hoping that in the face of homemade pie, any suspicion held over me would be forgotten, and I could make a quick get away from town before anyone noticed I was gone.

Packing that night was a nightmare, in multiple ways.

Sure, there was the rigmarole of gathering up all my possessions from the various locations I had thrown them – shoes under the bed, books stashed behind the couch, socks hidden under my comforter – but that wasn't the worst part. Truth was, I didn't want to leave Elizabeth. I felt like this town would have been the one; one where I wouldn't have to run anymore and just live out my life, or what was left of it anyway. But with Howie dead because of God knows what and the Feds sniffing around, I had to leave before things got any worse. If I stuck around, it was only a matter of time before they came looking for me and then, well…

Let's just say Elizabeth wouldn't so much of a town as a graveyard.

"C'mon then, darlings," I mused to my succulents as I packed them into a paper bag. "Time to move again." The succulents didn't answer. "I'm going nuts," I sighed. "Talking to some damn plants –"

CRASH

I froze, succulent in hand. The noise had come from my bedroom, and I knew that there was nothing big enough or heavy enough in there that would make such a large noise if it fell over. My eyes dashed around my apartment for something I could use as a weapon, but all I had was potted succulents.

Well, if that's how it gonna be, I thought, grabbing a particularly docile-looking purple echeveria and holding it over my head like a mace, I'm going out like Better Homes and Gardens.

Slowly, I inched towards my room, my back to the wall. From inside I could hear two voices, both men and sounding strangely familiar.

"Dammit Dean, you're such a klutz!" the first one hissed. Oh, God, it was the agents.

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean gasped in pain. "Next time you try climbing in the window first. This place is like the world's crappiest obstacle course."

"Stop complaining and start looking," whispered Sam. "Herbs, bones, talismans, anything. She's a witch, she's bound to have something lying around for cursing people."

I'm sorry, what?

They thought I was a what?

I may not be the quickest on the uptake most days, but even I could tell that these two were not FBI. They had to be nuts – criminals or secret escaped murderers. But there was a small, insistent voice in the back of my mind that wouldn't quit. Witches aren't too implausible, you know, the voice said. After the things you've run into, you shouldn't be surprised…

"Shut up," I muttered to myself under my breath. Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity, and I had enough on my plate as is.

Inside my bedroom I could hear shuffling around, like Sam and Dean were looking through my drawers or something.

"Nothing," whispered Sam with a frustrated sigh. "You keep checking in here, I'll look in the other rooms."

"All right, be careful," Dean whispered back.

Sam's footsteps came tentatively closer and closer to the doorframe; I shrank against the wall and felt my trembling hands clutch the flowerpot. My knuckles were white against the terracotta.

As soon as I saw Sam's head peek around the doorframe, I brought the succulent down with the heaviest blow I could strike. Dirt showered the walls, the floor, my hair; as the terracotta pot exploded.

Sam stumbled backwards and blinked dirt out of his eyes, shaking his head like a dog that had just come out of the bath.

I knew I only had a split second before Dean would come running, so as soon as Sam went down I dashed towards my front door – packing be damned, if I had to leave town with nothing but the clothes on my back, so be it.

"Oh, damn, no!" I half-sobbed as I reached the front door – damn my sensibilities, I had left the chain locked, and the stupid thing always took a good bit of jiggling to get undone.

"Hurry up, goddammit!" I hissed at myself as I clawed at the chain with shaky fingers. Without warning, a hand grabbed my wrist and yanked me back. My captor whirled me around and pinned me against the door. It was Dean.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said with a smirk, "but you're not getting' away that easy."

In one fluid movement, Dean whipped out a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and clasped them to my wrists.

"Now," said Dean, as Sam appeared around the corner, clutching his head, "what can you tell us about your after-school activities?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, eyes wide and terrified. "I swear, I would never kill Howie."

Sam and Dean exchanged dark looks.

Dean jerked his head over his shoulder. "Check the room."

Sam nodded, and immediately began rustling through my suitcase.

"Going somewhere?" asked Dean. I looked away. Honestly, there was nothing I could say that would make me look remotely innocent. Packing to leave after my boss got killed the day before? Yeah, real smart, Kit. Lucky for me, Sam seemed to be on my side.

"She's clean, Dean," he said, coming up behind his brother.

"What?"

"Yeah, there's nothing here – no hex bags, not even a candle."

"I told you," I said. "I know this looks bad, but I swear I'd never hurt Howie!"

A bit too reluctantly for my taste, Dean unpinned me from the door and removed my handcuffs. Before they disappeared back into his pocket, I noticed that there was something carved on them, almost like a pentagram, but Dean shoved them into his coat before I could get a closer look.

"Well now what?" he grumbled. "She was our one lead and now we're coming up empty."

"I'm right here," I said indignantly. "And I think you owe me some sort of explanation – you're obviously not feds."

Dean glanced at the suitcase. "Listen sweetheart, how 'bout this – you leave us alone and we won't ask about you're going all 'Boxcar Children' as soon as a dead body shows up."

"What the hell is wrong with you anyway?" I exclaimed. "Do I look like Hermione Granger to you? What's all this witch talk?"

Sam smiled sheepishly. "You might not believe us if we told you."

I shrugged. "Listen, I know something was fishy with Howie's death. Stuff like that – that's not normal. It looked like he tangoed with butcher knives on his feet. So what, are the Sanderson Sister going 'Hocus Pocus' on the town or something?"

"That's what we thought, anyway," said Dean from his place leaning on my kitchen counter. "We figured you were doing some bad mojo on Howie – jealous lover or whatever –"

I made an indignant noise; Dean chuckled.

"Yeah, we thought you were working some hoodoo with… that," Sam said, pointing to the key around my neck. "Used it in some spell to 'unlock' Howie's mind or something."

I swallowed nervously and my hand went to the key. "Clever, but no. I'm as ordinary as you can get, and the key's just another piece of jewelry."

I really am an excellent liar when I need to be.

Dean grimaced. "But if you're not pulling some half-baked curse out of your ass, we're back at square one."

We sat in silence for a moment before something clicked in my mind. "You know, this didn't seem important before, but now that magic is on the table it might make more sense."

Sam shifted. "Yeah, what?"

"It's funny," I mused, "but when Howie was talking about the lady he met down by the library, his eyes went all foggy for a second, and his – his body, after he died, he had the same cloudy eyes."

Sam glanced at Dean. "Foggy eyes? You ever hear anything like that before?"

Dean shook his head. "It's the only thing we've got, though. I'll hit up Bobby; give him something to do."

Just then, a piercing cry rang out from the street, sending me jumping about a foot in the air: "OH GOD, HELP ME!"

The three of us exchanged bewildered looks before dashing to the window to look to the street. Out on the pavement was a sight that turned my stomach – a man limped down the street on stump legs. Well, not quite stumps. What was left of his feet were hanging on by tendons alone, looking like they were going to fall off any minute. A trail of blood dripped from his feet up East Kiowa Avenue, toward the library.

"PLEASE, SOMEBODY HELP ME!" he screamed.

Sam, Dean and I thundered down the stairs of my apartment and onto the street. "Somebody should call an ambulance," someone said.

It was me, saying that, I realized later, but my voice was strange, and distant. Shock does funny things to a body, I guess.

It was then when I realized something strange about the man – despite the fact that his feet were falling off his own body, he kept walking. No, not walking; he was doing this weird little skipping hop, almost like he was… dancing down the street. Finally, the force of moving did its toll; with a sickening snap, the man's feet detached themselves and lay on the pavement like the world's grossest roadkill. This was the last straw for the poor guy, who collapsed where he stood, his legs still twitching like he was trying to Riverdance.

"Help me…" he burbled. I could feel bile rising up in my own throat as I realized that he was choking on his blood. "Help –"

The man gave one last, desperate twitch. He didn't move at all after that. It wasn't until a few minutes later, when I shook off my trauma-induced confusion, that I realized the corpse had cloudy eyes.

"His name was Joshua Stanton," said Dean, as he came back from the police station. I'd offered up my apartment as a temporary home base for the brothers, since it was a front-row seat to the latest crime scene. "Pretty standard dude. If I'm gonna be honest, everyone in this town in boring as hell. No offense," he added, shooting me a glance.

"None taken," I murmured from my place on the couch. You're wasting time, I thought. You should've been out of this town yesterday. You're in the center of all this bullshit and it's only a matter of time before they catch up with you… And you're here playing detective.

"What'd he do?" asked Sam. He had set up shop at my desk, laptop out at researching all manner of curses from all different cultures. He'd also been on and off the phone with someone named 'Bobby' who apparently knew a hell of a lot more than they did regarding this kind of ooga-booga stuff.

Dean shifted through some papers. "Guy cut lawns for a living, nothing life changing."

My brow creased. A landscaper… "Did he cut the lawn at the library?" I asked.

More paper shifting. "Matter of fact, he did," said Dean. "So what, some pissed off spirit wants people to keep off the grass?"

"Hey, check this out," Sam said suddenly from his laptop. "I think I got something."

"Yeah, what is it?" Dean asked as he and I moved behind Sam.

"They're called Iele," Sam explained. "Some type of Romanian fairy. Pretty typical stuff, messing with mortals, whatever; but get this – they dance at night, and if mortals intrude upon their circle, they'll force them to dance without stopping."

Dean pulled a face. "Even if they lose their feet."

"Exactly," Sam confirmed.

"Hold on," I said. "What about the grass? When Howie died, the grass around him was all black."

"Says here that places where they dance remain carbonized," said Sam, pointing to the screen. "Would explain the dead grass."

"Ok, so how do we get rid of 'em?" Dean asked.

"Uh… some exorcism ritual, it looks like," Sam said, reading the article. "Look like we have to –oh."

Dean tensed. "Oh? What do you mean 'oh?' I'm not a fan of 'oh,' Sammy."

"You're not gonna like this," Sam replied, suppressing a laugh.

"This is stupid," Dean muttered. "Can't we just gank 'em with iron or something"

Sam chuckled. "Sorry, no. This has to be it, so limber up, Kevin Bacon."

What are you doing here? I asked myself for the millionth time. This isn't your department; you promised yourself you wouldn't stick your nose in other people's business and you're just putting everyone in danger by staying here. Frustrated, I pushed those thoughts aside. Earlier, even Dean had questioned why I wanted to tag along. I'd shrugged, said it didn't really matter, but really I felt like I owed it to Howie, owed it to this town. Elizabeth was a good place, the first town in a while that felt like home – I feel like I owed it something before I ditched for good.

The three of us were standing in the field behind the library, kicking up the dirt and generally making a mess of the place. It seemed futile until she appeared. It was like she just sprouted out the ground, but my mind didn't question that in the moment. Nothing mattered except her; her beautiful hair, her flawless body, the way she danced in the moonlight – made me want to dance to…

"Dean! Kit!" Sam shouted, tearing me away from the Iele. "Do it now!"

"Oh for Christ's sake," Dean grumbled, linking arms with Sam. The two of them raised their right arms, rhythmically waved to the faerie, and stomped backwards in precision. My turn. I marched out like the saddest member of the high school marching band, pumping my arms in the air like there was no tomorrow. The Iele hissed, frozen in place.

The Calusari dance went on for a good five minutes, and I felt stupider by the second. The three of us, ducked, wove, and stomped our wave across the field, and if you never had to dance with two guys who are much taller than you… well, I'll spare you the details.

Finally, finally, with one last ridiculous stomp, we finished the dance and the Iele burst into smoke and disappeared.

"Well," panted Sam, his chest heaving. "I'm never doing that again.

"Agreed," Dean and I intoned.

I'm not a fan of goodbyes, so I don't make them. Sam and Dean crashed on my couch that night, which I took as my cue to leave for good. My bags were packed, my succulents were secured (minus the one sacrificed to Sam), and I had a taxi waiting for me outside. It was a good thing the boys were heavy sleepers – I could drag all my stuff down the stairs without worrying about waking either of them.

"Where you heading, miss?" the driver asked as I loaded my stuff into the trunk.

"Denver," I replied. "I've got a train to catch."

"Going home for Thanksgiving?" he asked with a kind smile.

"Yeah," I lied. "It'll be good to see family again."

I'm getting better at lying about stuff like that – I can barely feel the tears pricking my eyes.

The taxi is the old, smelly kind with dirty windows. As I'm driving away from my old apartment, I see Dean staring at me from the fire escape, but when I look back, he's gone.

I don't know where to go next – all I know is that it has to be far away from here. Maybe up north, maybe the west coast… it doesn't really matter. With a sinking feeling I realize that I have to pick a new name, too. I wasn't even Kit Munroe for that long. It's funny to get attached to an alias, but I liked being Kit. I liked Elizabeth. But that doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is to keep moving.

Kit Munroe enters the Amtrak in Denver, but it's Darby Curtis who leaves.

A/N: Chapter two done! This and chapter one make up the first 'episode' of this fic, as you can see by the chapter title. As to what season this is taking place in… uh…. That's kind of a wild card. I tell myself that it's between season 5 and 8 haha, but it's kind of up to the reader. It's hard to write an extra 'season' of SPN because all the seasons in the show kind of flow into each other. Anyways, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and favorited and followed! Even if you just checked out the story without saying anything, I really appreciate it! I love looking at the traffic graphs to see the places where people are reading my story haha. So thank you all for the support and I hope you stick around! Oh, and I do recommend looking up the Calusari dance I mentioned - Sam and Dean might not appreciate me forcing them to do that haha :)