Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews...they really do mean love to me so keep sending them my way!

This chapter focuses mainly on thoughts more than dialogue, but I felt it was needed. As always, I ask you to tell me what you think, good or bad.

Another update will happen as soon as I can get it out!

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Marie watched from Maggie's living room window as the Winchester brothers got into their car and began arguing with each other. She never was one to like conflict, but recently, she'd come to relish it, thrive in it. It was becoming like a drug for her and she found herself wanting, needing more.

She never used to be like that, never was the one who liked to see conflict or even be in conflict. She wanted to resolve it, if anything. But opening her eyes and immersing herself into the living world once again changed her stance on that. Everywhere she looked, she saw pain, suffering, violence, betrayal. Her fair city wasn't what it once been—it was dirty now, contaminated and showed no signs of improvement. It was getting worse with each passing day, night, week, month, year and Mother Nature wasn't the only one to blame for this. It was people or the acts of them—they were greedy now, hungry for blood and power.

She felt the pain of others when they came to visit her grave. It was mostly women who felt they were wronged by a loved one or by anyone in general. She remained in that tomb for so long, suffering, as everyone made their wish and told her their reasons. She wanted so much to reach out to them, tell them everything was going to be all right and work out for them in the end, but even she was beginning to realize that was a lie. She was lying to the people she swore to protect and something inside her finally snapped. Marie realized she couldn't lie to them anymore, couldn't make them believe something even she didn't believe.

So Marie came up with a spell. Not a simple one, mind you—it took a lot of concentration and many years to perfect. But it was a spell that, in the end, would have great rewards for her and dire consequences for others. It was a spell that would allow her to roam the streets of New Orleans once again, to make her town like it once was, to make people pay for the havoc they had wreaked on innocents.

Marie walked away from the window as she saw the black classic car pull off into traffic. She knew the boys were lying as soon as they introduced themselves. She'd seen the shorter one before, could remember everything about him as if it had only been yesterday. She remembered the pain and longing in his voice as he stood outside her tomb that rainy night two years ago and made his wish.

Even if he'd never made the wish and never came to her grave, she knew who he and the younger man with him were. Being a spirit, a powerful one at that, had its upside because people talked and the Winchester name was one that was most commonly used. Sure, there had been other hunters, but none as feared and loathed by the spirit world as the Winchester boys—Sam and Dean. They were the real deal and everyone was just longing to have their chance at them, to prove they could be the ones to bring them to their knees.

Though that was never her intention, Marie was going to be the one who did just that. What was the use of coming out into the open, if you couldn't have a little fun on the side? She knew exactly how she could do it, too, knew how she could cause a rift between the brothers. It wouldn't be easy and it would take a lot of persuasion on her part, but when she set her mind to a task, she always saw it through to the very end.

Walking to the bedroom, she stopped in front of the full-length mirror and smiled at her reflection. The girl she currently possessed had been a wonderful choice. She'd had such anger and such pain brewing inside of her, it almost made the voodoo queen giddy. She'd been easy to possess and she'd shown no signs of weakening or even fighting against her control, it was as if she'd been waiting for this release for such a long time and Marie was only too happy to oblige.

Marie was only going to use Maggie until she granted the girl's wish, but then she thought better of it. She needed a vessel in order to get her work done and use her power and Maggie was the perfect candidate. Marie didn't see why she had to only delegate herself to one woman's pain, so she reached out to other women who'd been scorned. All it took was a seedy little bar, a few drinks, and the young women were giving the voodoo queen their life stories, confessing to her who'd wronged them. Of course, when they confessed this to her, they never meant for her to kill them, they just wanted a willing ear to listen to them bitch and moan. Marie figured she'd owed them a release from their pain and what better way than in the form of their significant others' untimely deaths?

Phil Dunham had been the first "unfortunate" victim after Brad. Poor old Phil just never could say no to that busty blonde secretary of his and it had finally caught up with him. Madeline, his wife of six years, just couldn't take it anymore. She'd done everything an angry wife normally did—threw his stuff out on the lawn, trashed his prized Porsche, and showed up at his law firm, shouting out to all of his colleagues of her husband's indiscretions and embarrassing the hell out of Mitzi, the secretary. Marie found Madeline getting piss drunk at Marley's, a seedy little bar tucked away between a couple of abandoned businesses and the woman had been all too willing to blurt out everything about her husband, wishing he would get what was coming to him.

It didn't take too much prodding, Marie was more than happy to grant the wish, if anything to show the bastard and any other man what happened when they scorned a woman. Phil had been walking across the street, to pick up his dry cleaning when he all of a sudden felt the urge to jump in front of a tour bus. Of course, it had taken some gentle nudging from Marie in order for him to do that, but in the end there was just no way Phil was getting out of it. The bus tried to stop in time, but it was just too late for poor Phil. Marie remembered feeling a pleasant warmth run through her body as she heard the sickening sound of metal on flesh, as she saw the blood glittering like rubies in the sunlight.

The last one had been Frank Rose, a young man who thought it was okay two screw around with two women at the same time. Marie had struck gold with that one, considering she found both of his conquests conversing with one another at Marley's, more than happy to share their shitty relationship with anyone who would listen. Marie lent them that ear they needed, listened as they told her how Frank would grow tired of one and move on to the next one, neither girl knowing about the other. The women finally found out about each other, when they showed up at his apartment at the same time. Instead of being angry with each other, they chose to be angry with Frank, planning all sorts of horrible, painful situations for him.

Though they never asked for her help directly, she figured she owed it to them and came up with a sweet little revenge of her own. She found out from the women he worked in construction, building up homes and businesses that were destroyed during Hurricane Katrina. It was perfectly natural for someone to have an accident on the job, there never would be an investigation if someone just happened to fall from a scaffold. Only Marie and Frank, in his last moments, knew it was anything but. The way the police and foreman figured it, Frank lost his balance during a strong gust of wind and fell the eighteen stories to his death. Of course the rebar had been Marie's doing, conjuring it up at the last moment. She wanted the cheater to know exactly how it felt to be pierced in the heart.

She listened to many other stories, but she didn't want to spread herself out so thin, to get everyone suspicious of what was happening. They deaths were blamed on suicides or natural causes up until this point and she didn't see any reason for everyone to believe otherwise. She'd heard whispers of black magic and voodoo, since this was New Orleans and all. Every time someone died suddenly, it was always blamed on voodoo; people just didn't want to come up with any other explanation and since New Orleans was so rooted in legend and superstition, it was easy to get others to believe as well.

Everything was going okay for the past week—until now, that is, until the Winchester brothers decided to show up. Marie knew exactly why they were here, they suspected something supernatural going on and they wouldn't rest until they could prove it was true. She should have known they would show up, they seemed to do just that at the most inopportune times. She would admit she was worried about them, but she would keep her eye on them, make sure they didn't get too close. She didn't want to strike at them yet, it seemed premature and if anything, it would make them pursue it even harder.

No, she would wait until a perfect opportunity dropped into her lap. But that didn't mean that Maggie couldn't have her fun, Marie figured she owed that much to the girl. She saw how Sam looked at her, couldn't keep his eyes off of her, and knew something in Maggie was saying she was definitely interested in the young hunter. And who knew—maybe Marie would be able to use that if things started to get a little bad.

Glancing down at the sheet of paper in her hand, she smiled as she read the phone number, feeling a slight tremor rock her body.

Yes, this could be very good…

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It was around seven that evening when Sam and Dean finally returned to their small motel room. It wasn't an impressive room—the walls were made of cheap pine paneling, the carpet a dull muddy brown. A small night table was nestled in between two twin beds and a 19-inch TV rested on top of a small plywood dresser. A round table with two chairs was to the left side of the room and to the right was a tiny bathroom.

Dean shrugged off his jacket and threw it on one of the chairs and collapsed onto the bed. After their little exchange outside the Baywood Commons, he and Sam had been treading on careful ground with each other, neither one wanting to get into another argument. Dean didn't like the quiet, he liked Sam bitching at him, though he would never admit it to the kid. He just couldn't understand why Sam wouldn't open his eyes up to the possibility that maybe the leggy brunette was involved in the murders and couldn't understand his behavior. Sam never got this way with a girl, never allowed himself to get distracted from a job. If anything, that was something Dean would do. Maybe I'm rubbing off on him, after all.

He looked over to see Sam was spreading out notes on his bed, looking at each of them intently. They had spent the remainder of the afternoon interviewing friends and family of the other two victims, Phil Dunham and Frank Rose. They claimed to know nothing and were saying the same thing the cops were—it was suicide in each case, plain and simple. Plain and simple, my ass. Since when is anything we look into plain and simple?

Dean grabbed the remote from the nightstand and sitting on the edge of his bed, turned on the TV. There weren't many channels, just basic cable and he sped through each one, trying to find something that would grab his attention. Finding nothing remotely interesting, Dean finally settled on a repeat of Seinfeld. It wasn't something he really watched, but he figured, hoped, the laughter would break up the tension.

The older hunter couldn't entirely blame Sam for the tension in the room, he was just as much to blame. Ever since Sam mentioned Marie Laveau's name, Dean couldn't help but think back to that night when he made the wish. He knew there was no way the wish could come true, it was just a legend, a superstition. And while Dean found himself open to most things, it was just really hard to grasp his head around the fact that maybe his wish did come true, after all. Was it a coincidence John had called while he was in the cemetery making the wish? Was it a coincidence that that innocent event threw him and Sam together once again?

And then other thoughts troubled Dean—if the wish actually did come true, was it his fault he pulled Sam into this world again, a world Sam tried so desperately to get away from? Could Dean be to blame for Jess's death? What if he'd never shown up to pick Sam up, would Jess still be alive? Would Sam and Jess be living their ideal life right now? Would Sam blame him for all of this if he ever found out about Dean's wish? Would Sam leave him again?

The last thought is what scared the older man the most. He'd never say it to Sam, but he wouldn't be able to take it if the kid left him again. It hurt to see Sam walk away from him months ago, back in Indiana. It scared him because he didn't know what Sam would be walking towards, only what he was walking away from—protection, safety, love. And now, after finding out what the demon's plans were for his kid brother and telling him what John said to Dean before he died, he couldn't have Sam go away again. He had to keep an eye on him and if that meant keeping a secret from him that was more than likely to push Sam away, then Dean was going to keep it.

A rumble in Dean's stomach made him realize he hadn't eaten since breakfast, and that had only been a honey bun and a Coke from a gas station back in Lake Charles. He pulled himself off the bed and grabbed his jacket, glancing at his brother. "Hey, I'm hungry. You want to go get something to eat?"

Sam shook his head and kept his eyes focused on his notes. "No, I'm good."

"Do you want me to bring you back anything?"

"No."

"All right, don't say I didn't offer. I'll be back in a bit. I'm just going down the street."

Sam nodded.

Dean sighed realizing he wasn't going to get any other answers from Sam. Letting himself out of the room, he hoped Sam managed to get that stick he had wedged up his ass out before he got back.

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Sam leaned back against the flimsy faux oak headboard and let out a long sigh. The notes weren't making any sense to him, nothing about the case was making any sense to him. A part of him wanted to agree with what the cops were saying, that all the deaths were nothing more than suicides. Any casual observer would say the same thing and there wasn't any evidence to say otherwise. But with what he and Dean did, he knew there was something more to this; his mind wouldn't let him think different.

There was something odd about the deaths. First of all, the fact that most of the victims were male, with only the first being female, confused the young man. From what he could gather talking to the victims' families, the only thing linking the men together was they had been unfaithful. But that still left out Carlie Smith—how did she figure into this? Why was she the only female to die? Was her death just the result of a heart attack, like the coroner was saying, or was there something supernatural going on?

And Maggie…

How did she fit into all of this? Was it a coincidence she knew the first two victims, or was there a reason to suspect her like Dean was saying? Why was Sam willing to go against his brother and trust the word of a woman he barely knew? Didn't Dean earn his trust and respect by now? And why was Dean acting so strangely when Sam mentioned Marie Laveau on the way there? It was almost as if Dean was hiding something, Sam was sure of it. He wanted Dean to be able to tell him what was going on, not brush it off with an excuse he only hoped Sam would believe. Sam knew his brother well enough to know when Dean was keeping something from him and Dean should know by now he couldn't keep something from his younger brother.

Sam groaned as he felt the faint traces of a headache forming in the back of his head. All this thinking wasn't going to do him any good, not give him the answers he wanted. If anything, it was only going to drive him crazy and make him even more frustrated than he already felt. To make matters worse, his stomach started to growl, fussing at him for neglecting it for so long. He didn't know why he refused to go get something to eat with Dean. It was obvious his brother was trying to make amends with him after their argument, but Sam, carrying on the Winchester tradition of being stubborn, wouldn't agree to it.

Maybe I can catch him if I hurry, he thought as he pushed himself off the bed. He was heading towards the bathroom when the ringing of his cell phone stopped him. Walking over to the bed where he's thrown his jacket, he dug it out of the pocket and answered it on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Sam?" asked a hesitant female voice.

"Yeah…who is this?"

"This is Maggie—Maggie Lewis. You spoke to me earlier."

Sam felt a flutter in his chest at the mention of her name. "Maggie…hey," he said shyly.

"Listen, I know this may be a little weird, but I was hoping we could talk. Do you think we could maybe go out and grab a bite to eat?"

Sam thought about Dean, how his brother would react if he found out Sam agreed to go out with a potential suspect. But he figured Maggie wouldn't be willing to talk if Dean was with him and they needed answers. "Sure," he finally said. "Where did you want to meet?"

"Where are you staying at?"

"The Southern Motor Inn."

"I know the place," Maggie said. "There's a good little Cajun café right down the street from there—Jambalaya's."

"Yeah, I saw it when we pulled in," Sam said.

"Good…so I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes?"

"Sounds good." He disconnected the call and quickly scribbled a note to Dean, telling him he was going out and would be back later. Then, grabbing his jacket and his copy of the room key, he walked out the door and made his way to the little café.

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Dean had to admit it felt good to get out of the motel room, away from his brother, even if it was just for a short time. It's not that he wanted to get away from Sam, he just needed a break from him. Sam could be as intense as the best of them and when he was, it was hard to be in the same room for fear of being caught in Sam's mood. It was something Dean never understood about Sam—after all, Dean was supposed to be the intense one, not Sam. Sam was supposed to be the one with the level head, the brains of the outfit, but it seemed as if he was willing to give all of that up for a girl he hardly knew.

It wasn't that Dean didn't want his kid brother to be happy. Hell, after everything that happened in the last year, Sam deserved to have a little happiness; more than deserved, he needed it. Dean never wanted his brother to see the darker side of the world, the one that stayed hidden in the shadows. He'd done all he could to keep Sam away from that world, give him a shot at normalcy and the only thing it was doing was coming back and biting him in the ass. He knew Sam was still having a hard time dealing after Jess's death; he refused to spend much time with a woman for fear they would have the same fate as Jess. It took a lot of prodding to get Sam to agree to see Sarah Blake, but even that was for their job. It wasn't an out of the blue occurrence, there were strings attached, as was much of the things they did for themselves.

But Maggie—for some reason, she struck a bad nerve for the older hunter. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, just something was telling him they should be cautious around her, not put all of their trust into her. Of course, trying to convince Sammy of that might prove to be a little difficult and he wasn't sure if his kid brother would believe him or not. He barely mentioned it back at Maggie's apartment and Sam basically blew up at him. Maybe it would be better if Dean was cautious enough for the both of them—if he thought Sam was getting in over his head, he'd pull him away and make him see.

The case was bothering Dean more than he would have liked. He just didn't buy everyone's excuse that these deaths were suicides; it just seemed to be the easy excuse for everyone so they didn't have to deal with them. Suicides didn't happen so often during the course of a week, at least he'd never heard of that many before. There was something else going on, something darker at work. He'd learned enough over the years hunting with his dad to know when to trust his instincts, and right now those instincts were screaming at him some black magic was at work; something about the deaths were a little off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. And it wasn't the black magic he'd come in contact with the last time he'd been in New Orleans—that was your basic run-of-the-mill moron who thought he'd held all that power. This felt differently to Dean, more powerful and potent.

He'd have to research it a little better, dig more up on the voodoo culture and see what he could find. Maybe convince Sam there was some evil brewing in New Orleans, and not human kind, but supernatural.

That may be easier said than done…

Dean pushed his thoughts away as he pulled open the door to Ricky's Bar and Grill and was instantly bombarded with the distinct sounds of voices chatting and having an all around good time. Walking up to the bar, Dean's mouth began to water as he took in the smells of fried catfish and chicken that were emanating from the kitchen. He took a seat on the barstool and signaling the bartender, ordered a beer. While the bartender was getting his drink, he picked up a laminated menu and began to look it over, trying to find something that would quiet his stomach and something to satisfy Sam's girly taste.

The bartender placed a bottle in front of Dean and the hunter pushed a five at him. Finally a cute waitress with short blonde hair came up and asked to take his order. He ordered the seafood medley for himself and a grilled chicken sandwich for Sam. The waitress flashed him a dazzling smile and then retreated into the kitchen to place his order.

Dean picked up his beer and as he quietly nursed it, let his eyes roam the crowded room. Almost every table in the joint was occupied and the constant chatter among the patrons made it hard for Dean to pick up on any conversations. But that was okay with him, because the last thing he wanted to do was hear someone bitch and moan about their jobs and lack in a love life. Try mine, he thought ruefully. Come back and bitch to me when you're job requires you to traipse through graveyards and worry which demon or monster of the week you were going to have to face next.

"Is this seat taken?"

Dean's head jerked up at the sound of a female's voice. He glanced over to see a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties with dark raven hair and deep blues eyes, was looking at him expectantly. "No, not at all," he said, smiling.

The woman smiled gratefully and sank into the seat. As he listened to her give her order of a strawberry daiquiri to the bartender, Dean began to think maybe tonight wouldn't be such a total waste, after all.