For notes and disclaimer, see part one.
Then...
Dean rests up at the morgue, before going home with Darcy, who confesses that it's easy sometimes to read his thoughts. She learns that he understands her loneliness. That makes him both a comfort, while he's there, but a lingering pain, as she knows he won't stay for long. In the meantime, in California, John makes a drastic decision that will change the Winchesters' lives forever.
Now...
Dean slept heavily on the couch. That was one of the greatest abilities he had: ease of sleeping anywhere, anytime, on nearly anything. Darcy, on the other hand, dealt with her plaguing gift, even in the nighttime hours. To try to keep the constant noise at bay, in order to try to get some sleep, she slept with a radio on.
He wound up waking before she did. He guessed it was since he had been able to catch some sleep in the morgue, while she was working the night before. Heading into her kitchen, he attempted to make coffee. Normally, his quest for morning caffeine ended at a gas station or diner. He wasn't used to having a home, to having all the creature comforts at his fingertips.
His thoughts landed briefly on his childhood home. He was so young when they left. When they had to leave. After all, how could they remain in the home where his mother had perished a horrendous death?
Shaking his head, he cleared his mind of those thoughts. He didn't figure that would be a pleasant way to wake a telepath. Thoughts of burning flesh.
Instead, he focused again on the task of making coffee. He guessed at the number of scoops required, and filled the carafe with water. Trying to find where to put the water was another adventure, one that made Dean realize he would be a horrible husband if ever he were to settle down, and that, he knew, wasn't likely now or ever.
With the coffee made, more or less, and only a few scattered coffee grounds on the counter, he opened the fridge, to see what might be available for breakfast. Scrambled eggs, he could do. Hell, maybe even an omelet if he got really industrious, he thought, spying some peppers, onions and ham. Eh, too much effort. Closing the refrigerator door, he poked through the cabinets, locating cereal, and, aha, the piece de resistance: Pop-Tarts.
Grinning, he grabbed the box from the cupboard, pulling out a foil-wrapped pair, and popping it into the toaster. "Breakfast of champions," he said, leaning against her counter. Cautiously, he glanced at the coffee pot, where it seemed to be brewing a dark liquid. Surely it would be somewhat drinkable.
"It will be, if you put three scoops of grounds in there," said Darcy sleepily, stumbling into the kitchen in her pajamas, her dark hair softly messy around her face.
"Hey," he said, turning to look at her. He smiled a little, taking in her ensemble. "I think maybe there's four..."
"Well, that's okay. You and the coffee can wrestle. That'll be fun for me," she said, grabbing a clean plate from the dish strainer by the sink.
"I don't think it'd be too fun for me."
She shrugged as the breakfast pastries jumped from the toaster before snatching them quickly for her plate.
"Hey!"
She smiled, taking a bite.
Dean rolled his eyes, opening another package. "What are we, twelve? Eating Pop-Tarts for breakfast?"
"I wouldn't have minded an omelet."
"Was I thinking that too loudly? Did that wake you?"
She looked up at him, shaking her head. The thought that had pulled her from her sleep was that of a four year old boy carrying an infant out of a burning house. What was probably his most vivid memory yanked her from her slumber, but he didn't have to know that.
"So, this professor. How do you know him?"
"Well, like I said, I had his class but dropped out of school... The first couple lectures were about voodoo. I guess to keep the undergrads interested, y'know."
"Makes sense. He'd probably have my attention." His breakfast popped from the toaster. "So, when are we meeting him?"
She checked the clock on the stove. "We should get moving, actually," she said, grabbing two thermal to-go mugs. "Fill 'em up. I'll put on real clothes."
"If you feel you have to..."
"You're very funny," she said, padding back through the living room.
It wasn't too long before Dean followed Darcy into the humanities building at LSU, and towards Dr. Yates's office. His door was open, and inside were a few bookshelves and a cluttered desk. It was just as Darcy had remembered.
"I'll be," Dr. Yates said with a warm, gregarious smile as Darcy stood in the doorway. "I was shocked to get your e-mail. I really didn't expect to see you again."
"I hope it's not a bother," she said.
Dean, having spoken to his fair share of various people in his many years of hunting, could tell that there was something in Darcy's voice, something that was uneasy.
"Of course not! Come in, please." He smiled, watching as Darcy entered, before fully noticing that Dean was with her. "Who's, uh..." His smile faltered slightly. "Who's your friend?"
"A friend of mine from home," Darcy said, lying easily. "He's visiting for the week. Wanted a crash course on 'Nawlins' history. I told him you were the guy to talk to about voodoo."
"Well, any friend of Darcy's is a friend of mine. What would you like to know?" he asked.
"We've passed like a dozen voodoo shops on one street alone... Just how real a practice is it?" Dean asked, helping himself to a seat.
Dr. Yates shook his head. "Total bunk."
Darcy's eyebrows drifted up her forehead.
"Really?" asked Dean.
"Completely," he confirmed. "Let me give you something..." He started poking through a stack of things on his desk. "Technically I'm still editing, finishing it up, but you're more than welcome to have this copy. Mostly just little grammar issues, misplaced commas, what have you. Aha..." He pulled out a manuscript bound by a plastic cover. "Here you are," he said, handing it over to Darcy.
Dean noticed the way she was holding her mouth. She looked like she was definitely on edge.
"So, you only tell undergrads that it's possible anymore?" Darcy asked.
Dr. Yates leaned back in his chair. "Tenure depends upon strong academic facts. The evidence is overwhelming that it's just... hooey. And a lot of my kids, they're not from here. They're curious. Like your, uh, friend, here," he said, glancing over at Dean.
"Well, let's talk theoretically, Prof," Dean said, jumping in. "Say someone was able to pull off a voodoo curse. How do you break it?"
"It's not real, son. There are no such things as curses. People believe what they want to. That's why we have so many voodoo places. It's a commentary on our belief system right now. Pretty sad, really. To think some nonsense incantation and a potion of moth antennae and rat fur can solve their problems."
"I said theoretically. Surely there's something in the lore, somewhere..."
"You can believe in the bunk all you want, son, but it's still not true." He looked at Darcy. "I would love to spend more time catching up, but I have a class in a few minutes."
"I'm so glad you took the time out of your obviously busy schedule to meet with us," Darcy told him, trying hard to keep the disdain out of her voice, watching as he stood.
Dean got to his feet and placed his hand on Darcy's lower back slightly, comfortingly as he heard the tense tone. "Thanks anyway, Prof."
"Any time," he said, walking out into the corridor with them. "I really am honored, Darcy, that you would come to me with your questions." He looked up, spotting a distracted looking girl further down the hall. "If you'll excuse me..."
Dean watched as Dr. Yates crossed towards a young co-ed and placed a protective arm around her shoulders. "Well, looks like somebody's teacher's pet."
Darcy was quiet, watching the girl with the honey blonde hair and preppy attire. It looked as though she had a scarf tied around her wrist, like a bracelet. Darcy wondered, briefly, if that was the new style. She frowned. "She... She's thinking about... her dad."
Dean looked at her slowly. "That's important because...?"
"Because, her dad," she began, looking back up at him, "was Alain Martin."
He immediately turned back to the girl. "Huh... What else you reading?"
"Just... grief," she said, shaking her head.
"Normal stuff?"
"Yeah."
"Well, let's get out of here, look at this book, see if it makes any sense," he said, guiding her towards the exit of the building.
"He was lying, too," she told him quietly.
"What about?"
"He believes in it. He told my class that he was a true believer. And he was. It was the truth," she said, looking up at him.
"So, why would he lie?"
"I don't know," she admitted as they emerged into the morning sunshine.
He frowned. "You can't tell motive?"
She shook her head. "If he's not thinking about his motives, I'm not getting it. If you don't think about an experience, I don't know it happened."
"So, we could've met the killer already, and you would have no idea?"
"Not if he wasn't thinking about the murder at the time I passed him, no."
He sighed. "Well, that sucks."
"Well, I'm sorry I don't have a more magical gift," she shot back.
He looked down at her. "Sarcasm doesn't really become you. And neither does whatever the hell it was between you and Yates."
"Did you ever go to college, at all?"
"I've been a little busy," he admitted.
"Any college you go to, you'll start to hear rumors... Certain teachers are into things they ought not, and here at LSU, they have their fair share."
"What, Dr. Yates likes students?"
"Much to, what I imagine would be, the horror of Mrs. Yates."
"So, he made a pass at you or something?"
She eased down onto a bench in the quad. "Let's just say his thoughts started making me really uncomfortable, and I dropped before there were any official propositions."
Dean dropped beside her. "So why even bother coming back and seeing him if he's such an ass?"
"Because, he's the go-to guy for voodoo here. Or, at least, he used to be, before he started coming up with his latest book," she said, holding up the bound manuscript.
"So, Dr. Yates is thinkin' about little miss rich girl. You think there's something there?"
She shrugged as she thumbed through the pages. "Didn't get a very good chance to read on his thoughts. Hers were pretty strong."
"Little girl Martin?" Off her nod, he continued. "Is that normal?"
"I've heard lots of really... loud... thoughts at the morgue, when people come to ID a body. Thoughts that are connected to particularly intense emotions tend to be louder... I mean, people scream in their minds, y'know? So, it's like they're screaming in my ear, though they don't necessarily say anything out loud."
Dean looked at her for a long moment. "Man, I would love to get you around a demon."
She looked up at him, amused. "What?"
"Just to see what a demon thinks."
"What makes you think I can read a demon's mind? You'd think it would have a firewall protection or something..."
"Either way, I think it would make for an interesting experiment. I'm hoping Dad'll contact me, so I can see if he knows anything extra about voodoo. He knows so much about so many of these creatures." He paused briefly. "I think my dad would like you."
She smiled a little. "If he's anything like you, I'm sure I'd like him, too."
"So," Dean said, helping himself to the manuscript. "Where to next?"
Darcy sighed. "Well, if that's all Yates' crap... We might as well go check out another expert witness."
"And who might that be?"
"Just... keep an open mind, yeah?"
"I believe in ghosts that walk the earth. How much more of an open mind do you want me to have?"
"C'mon," she said, standing, and holding her hand out to him.
He looked at her open palm for a moment before placing his hand in hers, and standing. It wasn't long before he was then being pulled along, through campus, towards a building a few blocks away.
It was a small building with dingy vinyl siding and glass window panes coated in colors of purple, red, and blue. A stylized Egyptian eye was painted on the door. At least a half dozen wind chimes hung from the eaves, creating a harmonic deluge of sound. Dean's eyes landed on the sign by the door, and he stopped dead in his tracks.
"Priestess Adaria, Voodoo Spirit Guide," he read.
Darcy looked back at him. "Do you have any other bright ideas?"
Exhaling, he followed Darcy to the front door, where she knocked politely before entering. The ghost hunter was careful not to leave her side. He wasn't sure he trusted some random Voodoo priestess. She might even be the one they were looking for! The heavy scent of patchouli surrounded them, making Dean wave at the air in front of him. "Seriously, somebody needs to lay off the incense," he muttered.
Darcy shook her head as she looked around, hoping to find where this Priestess was hiding. She didn't have to look long. A short woman rounded the corner. She wore a brightly colored dress that swirled round her legs as she walked. Her hair was hidden beneath a silky handkerchief. Her skin was the color of rich mocha, and her eyes a piercing baby blue. "I am Priestess Adaria. What can I do for you?"
Darcy glanced at Dean, who took over. "We're students at LSU. Dr. Yates' class. We want to do a research paper on the history of certain voodoo curses. We were wondering if you could help us out?"
That Dean was one smart cookie, Darcy realized, and was very quick on his feet.
"What kinds of things do you wish to know?" the priestess asked, lowering herself onto a plush wingback chair.
"Is it possible to kill with voodoo?" Dean asked. "With a voodoo doll or whatever?"
"Not a doll, no. Killing takes a special kind of black voodoo magic. It is not a skill in which I specialize," she admitted.
Darcy jumped in: "Do you know of anyone in town who might specialize in it?"
She shook her head. "Not recently. I believe, nowadays, that the police might call that 'an accessory to murder...' Not something a priestess wants to go to prison for."
Before Dean continued, he thought as loudly as he could: Is she telling the truth? He was relived to see Darcy incline her head. "What about legends of old voodoo practitioners?"
"Oh, of course. Back ages ago, when everyone believed in the voodoo, certain priestesses and priests were especially talented with the darkest of arts. But, it was a very, very dangerous practice. Often deadly," she warned.
"For the voodoo practitioner?" Dean continued.
Adaria shook her head. "The one askin' for the curse, askin' for the dark magic to do its bidding and kill another. It was said that a little of your soul went away with the deceased. That was normally too high a price for most folk to pay, but some... some just couldn't resist the temptation, the thought of 'getting away' with murder because the voodoo did it."
"When they did perform these rituals, what normally happened?" Darcy asked, Adaria having her rapt attention.
"A high monetary price was paid. A contract was entered into. In very ancient times, blood of the purchaser was necessary. The priest or priestess worked up the ritual. It took some time. Murder, after all, is a very difficult request, even under normal circumstances."
Dean frowned. "Are there any famous ones? Any really famous voodoo people who spawned legends, followings? I mean, I know about Marie Laveau, the way people leave stuff at her grave, but what about voodoo assassins who could kill?"
"It is said that all voodoo priests and priestesses live on forever, for those who truly believe. The ones who worked the black magic spent more time studying, learning, practicing than some others and are often the ones granted the most favor in the next life."
"So, it's possible that one of these voodoo high priests, having earned so much favor, having become so great with his skill, that he could come back? Now? And work his black magic?"
"With voodoo, child, anything is possible," she told him.
"How does one go about killing an undead voodoo high priest?"
She shook her head. "You don't."
"There has to be some way," Dean pressed.
"You don't, because it can't exist."
Darcy frowned. "I take it you're not looking to be one of the eternal voodoo priestesses?"
Smiling, Adaria chuckled, but said nothing further.
"Just, for the sake of argument, say you could," said Dean. "I don't imagine they're like you're average, ordinary, run of the mill monsters, right? No silver bullet, no stake through the heart?"
"Legends say nothing of the killing of voodoo priests or priestesses. While we live, we are all flesh and bone. In death... in death can be a tricky thing, if one were to cast spells on oneself," she said knowingly.
Darcy held her gaze on Adaria as Dean took a step back from the priestess, rubbing his forehead. "All right," he said, trying not to sound defeatist. "Thank you for your time."
"My pleasure, child," she said, smiling.
Dean was halfway to the door before he realized his sidekick wasn't beside him. Glancing back, he saw her, still by Adaria's chair, a look of concentration on her face. He didn't want to interrupt whatever it was she was doing, but he had pretty much ended their visit and she wasn't moving. He started to take a step back to her, when Darcy smiled at Adaria, and skidded over to Dean quickly.
Opening the door, Dean led the way back towards campus. "Something you want to share?"
"She's scared."
"Of what?" he asked, glancing back at her.
"The High Priestess of the Bayou."
"What priestess? What bayou?"
"The only one that Priestess Adaria thinks can transcend death. And I don't know what bayou. We probably need to hit the history records, find out about the death of an old voodoo lady, cross-reference terrain around New Orleans…"
"What she said about the process, the high cost price, the blood of the purchaser..."
Darcy nodded. "All true. And I'd imagine so in death, at least that's what she was thinking," she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder towards Adaria's place.
"So, we're looking for someone with a little money who wanted Martin dead," Dean said.
"We should see if we can check the ex-wife's bank records. See if she came into any money... And then cashed a portion out."
Dean nodded slightly. "And check back with Collette at the law firm. You'd have to have money to hire one of them for your attorney. And, I'd imagine, lawyers make plenty of enemies throughout the year, right?"
"So, where do we start?"
He shrugged. "Lunch?"
She laughed slightly, shaking her head.
"What?"
"Just... here we are, talking about voodoo high priestesses, potential murders, and you want lunch?"
"Now, now. One of us, and I won't say which, works at a morgue, y'know, so death and lunch should go hand in hand."
"All right," she said, waving him off. "Would you do me one favor though?"
"Sure."
"Next time you want to ask me something in a thought..." She looked up at him. "Please don't treat me like you're trying to ask where the bathroom is in some foreign country with someone who doesn't speak English. Thinking totally normal thoughts will get the point across clearly."
"Gotcha."
The Road Ahead...
All she could hear, all that started to ring in her ears, at first very low and soft, but then building in intensity and volume, was the chanting. She covered her ears with her hands, letting go of the door. She started to crumple, as though the strength from her legs simply gave way.