Chapter 10
Crowley was waiting for us outside the property when we pulled up to the end of the cul-de-sac and got out of the Impala. From the sidewalk, all we could see was a rusty, dilapidated wrought iron fence, waist-high grass and weeds, and the beginning of an overgrown stone driveway. We walked up the drive and found an equally overrun path leading to the front door.
We stopped in front of the porch steps to take a good look at the exterior of the house. It was a story and a half tall, with the foundation and half the first story faced in grey stone, the rest in pale green stucco, and a line of bricks separating the two. The low-pitched gable roof featured overhanging eaves, elaborate wooden braces, and exposed rafter ends. A wide porch extended across most of the front, its roof supported by tapering wooden columns standing on tall brick and stone bases. Signs of neglect were noticeable—dirty stone, crumbling mortar, peeling paint, cracked stucco, weathered wood, and broken panes in the six-over-one double-hung windows.
I glanced at Dean and Bobby, who were studying the damage, and asked, "How bad do you think it is?"
"From what I can tell right now, it actually ain't as bad as it looks," Dean replied. "There's a lotta work, but most of it seems superficial. The majority of this shit can be repaired, with only a few spots that hafta be replaced. 'Course, we still hafta inspect the other sides too."
"You're fortunate that Warner used the best materials he could to build this place and took excellent care of it for a long time. Take this, for example." Bobby pointed up at the greenish roof tiles. "That's a slate roof. If the tiles ain't broke, that'll last you another century easily. With quality workmanship like this, this place can recover from a few years of mistreatment—just needs some love and elbow grease."
"Shall we go inside? I took the liberty of contacting the realtor to get the key. Bloody woman nearly had an apoplexy when she figured out which house I meant." Crowley rolled his eyes as he unlocked the door.
My husband gave the cheap security door the stink eye as he went through. "That piece of shit has gotta go! If the original ain't here somewhere, we'll hafta check architectural salvage places in Eugene or Portland or online stores that do reproduction work."
Inside, a small foyer opened up to the dining room and family room on one side and study on the other. The study was lined in bookshelves and had space in the center for a large desk. A hallway behind the study led to a small full bathroom and simple guest bedroom. The dining room had a coffered ceiling, built-in hutches in the corners, a Mission-style chandelier, and low walls with built-in shelves and square columns on the ends bracketing the wide entrances to the foyer and family room. The family room was spacious, with a stone fireplace flanked by shelves on one side and an open kitchen on the other. At the far end of the wall with the fireplace was a doorway leading to the hallway for the guest room and stairs heading up. On the back wall was a set of French doors leading to the rear porch. The kitchen featured a long island and ample cabinet and counter space. Opening off it was a butler's pantry and utility room, which in turn led to a side porch connected to the driveway.
On the other side of the kitchen was the entrance to the master bedroom, which appeared to be a somewhat later addition to the house and had a vaulted ceiling and window seat. Off the bedroom was a decent-sized bathroom and large walk-in closet. Upstairs was an open bonus room and the third bedroom and bathroom, as well as several unfinished storage spaces under the eaves. Behind a door in the foyer were stairs down to the basement, which had a large central area sealed with waterproof paint and a couple sections framed out as potential separate rooms. Hardwood floors were run throughout the finished portions of the house, and tall ceilings gave an added sense of space.
Disrepair was as evident inside as outside the house, however. The floors and much of the woodwork needed refinishing, the walls were riddled with cracks, holes, and even graffiti in a couple places, and many of the original fixtures were damaged or missing. Some of the previous owners' attempts at changing the house were evident in partially removed wallpaper, cheap cabinets and fixtures in the kitchen and bathrooms, and rolls of carpeting and padding piled haphazardly in the bonus room upstairs. And the backyard was even more overgrown than the front, with the patio coming off the covered rear porch, pond, and gazebo barely visible beneath the heavy undergrowth and unkempt trees.
Despite all this, neither Dean nor Bobby seemed very concerned. After we'd made a thorough circuit of the house and grounds, Bobby said, "Didn't see any significant issues with the major systems. Plumbing looks good, and the wiring musta been updated sometime before the old man died. Radiators are solid, and the boiler probably has a few years left. No sign of water damage, termites, or asbestos as far I can tell."
My brother nodded in agreement. "This place has awesome bones, man. Most of the damage in here ain't too bad, except for the modern fixtures that got added later. But that stuff's crap anyways, so it ain't a big deal to scrap 'em. The original shit Warner put in can mostly be fixed, and we can hunt down matching substitutes for the rest. We're still gonna need a home inspector to come in and make sure me and Bobby didn't miss anything. From what we can see right now though, fixing this place up is totally doable, and it'll be fucking gorgeous when we're done. Whaddya think, Sam?"
"I really like it. The rooms are all a good size, and there's plenty of storage space with all these built-ins, plus the attic and the basement. We should be able to put in everything we want in this place." I glanced over at Crowley. "You picked a good one, man. Thanks!"
The demon smiled. "You're quite welcome. Any signs of Casper the unfriendly ghost?"
"I've been getting EMF readings all through the house," I said. "There doesn't appear to be any one spot where they're localized. I didn't notice any cold spots or other signs of undead activity, but we apparently haven't said or done anything yet to draw its attention. Given how little significant damage the house has suffered, I wonder if the poltergeist has somehow been protecting the building from most of the normal effects of abandonment."
"So, are we going to deal with your unwanted resident now then?" Crowley asked.
"We might as well, since we're already here. Most of the neighbors should be at work or school by now, so hopefully no one will notice if things get loud." I looked at the others. "Crowley, can you deal with any objects the poltergeist throws at us? Dean, do you remember the sigils we need to draw?"
"Yeah, I got 'em. Bobby's gonna be on salt duty, right?"
"Yes, and I'll concentrate on drawing away its power. Once it's been weakened and trapped by the symbols, we can try to talk to it," I said. "If this doesn't work, we'll try the more traditional methods of banishment."
Dean and Bobby went out to the car and returned with supplies. The older hunter began loading shotguns with salt shells, while Dean studied some notes and looked around the family room to determine the best placement for the symbols. Crowley sat down on the stairs to wait, while I erected shields around everyone else from the center of the room.
Dean walked over to one of the walls with a piece of chalk, but before he started to draw, he called out, "Hello? Ghost dude? I dunno if you're listening right now, but . . . we really like your home, and we wanna fix it up. So we'd appreciate it if you don't try to gank us, okay?"
Despite his conciliatory words, the temperature plummeted as soon as he began to inscribe the runes. All around the room, windows and doors on the various cabinets and built-ins rattled, and debris and discarded belongings whirled around violently. Most of the projectiles burst into flame and burnt to ash before they approached anyone, and the rest were disrupted by blasts of rock salt. Dean moved around the room and continued to draw.
While all this was going on, I reached for my "other" vision and studied the energy being thrown about for a moment. I started gathering in the various threads of power the poltergeist was manifesting, and the violence around us slowly lessened. Rather than dissipating or absorbing the energy, I anchored it into the house itself, figuring it would come in handy later.
Once Dean finished the last symbol, the transparent figure of an old man snapped into view in front of the fireplace. His face was contorted in rage, but he lacked the strength to do more than shake impotently.
"Jonah Warner, it's time to go to your rest. You don't need to protect your home any longer. My brother and I plan to buy and restore it, so it will be our job to take care of this house," I said. "We'd prefer if you move on of your own free will, but we can't allow you to hurt anyone else."
The spirit shouted, "Liars! You interlopers all come in here looking to destroy what I've built! Nothing but Philistines and grave-robbers! I'll not let you bastards damage my home!" The energy around him flared, but I shunted it aside and sunk it into the house before it could do any harm.
"You're the one damaging this place, old man! Look around you! Thanks to your damn haunting, this house has been neglected for years, and there's the fallout from your fucking tantrums. If you don't stop, eventually no one's gonna be able to fix this," Dean retorted.
Then his expression softened. "Listen, I understand how much you love this home. My Baby is a sixty-seven Chevy Impala, and I've been looking after her since I was a teenager. I know how I'd feel if some asshole tried to rip out her parts and replace 'em with junk. But what you're doing now is hurting your baby! It's time to let go, dude."
The ghost stopped in confusion at that. He gazed around the room, and his expression became dismayed. He then looked back at us, his eyes clear of madness. I'd continued to draw away the poltergeist's power as my husband spoke, and presumably this in turn drained off the force of his anger as well.
"I . . . God, what have I done here? Lily loved this house so much, and I wanted to protect it in her memory. I never wanted . . ." Warner looked around again sadly. "But how can I leave? I can't trust . . . Ever since Tony died, none of them have loved this place. They just want to change everything . . ."
I cautiously touched the spirit's thoughts. You can trust us, Jonah. We're looking for a beautiful house like this because we want a home with character, with heart. We know that newer doesn't always mean better. You should see what my brother has done restoring older cars, and then you'd know he'll do something equally wonderful with your property. We'll treat it with the respect and love it deserves. As I spoke, I showed him snippets of the thoughts and emotions we'd put into searching for the perfect home.
If you give this over to Sam and me, we ain't gonna leave here anytime soon. 'Cause we ain't just looking for a house—we want a home, man, Dean added. You can tell we ain't human, so we're gonna be here to take care of this place for a long time. And if we ever hafta go, we'll make sure to leave this place in the right hands before we do.
Warner studied us both for a long moment, and then his form dissolved into a bright glowing whirl. Most of the light abruptly flowed down the lines I'd established into the house, leaving behind a luminous mist. This in turn swirled straight up and disappeared.
Bobby blew out a held breath. "Damn! Well, that certainly was different! Is he gone for good?"
I pulled out my EMF meter again and got only low-level readings. I also extended my senses throughout the house. "Most of the poltergeist's power is still here, woven into the fabric of the house itself now, but there's no consciousness left. Warner's gone, and the energy left behind can be used to protect this home later."
Crowley stood and fastidiously brushed off his suit. "So what's next?"
"I wanna check out the auto shop, and maybe see if they got any openings. And we wanna drive around the town to get a feel for it and see what's around. Then we're going to head into Eugene so Sam can scope out the university and talk to people there. Assuming that all works out, I guess the last stop 'fore we go back to South Dakota will be the realtor. Right, Sam?" My brother looked at me for confirmation.
"Yeah. Unless we find something really fucked up out there, I think we might be ready to put in an offer," I said in agreement.
"Right then, it sounds like I'm done for the time being. Before you sign anything, however, call me to review the papers first. No one knows more about contracts, after all." The demon disappeared.
As I'd predicted, the owner of Halliwell's Classic Restoration barely looked at the resume Dean handed him. Instead, moments after we'd come to a stop in front of the garage, Atkinson and a couple of his employees had the Impala's hood up and were happily car-geeking away with Dean and Bobby. I sighed, found a chair near the office, and opened my laptop to wait out the gearhead love fest. By the time we left over an hour later, my husband was beaming and had a firm offer of a job if we decided to move to Veneta.
The town itself was quiet and well-maintained. It had all the staples—a hardware store, liquor store, discount retailer, and small library, a couple of banks, gas stations, grocery stores, and other auto shops, several coffee shops, grills, and restaurants, and various other businesses, mostly centered around the two main highways cutting through the town. There were a couple of apartment complexes and trailer parks and several relatively new housing developments scattered throughout the residential areas. Veneta had a community pool, sports complex, and skate park, and Fern Ridge Reservoir and the parks surrounding it could be seen from the northern end of town.
We then drove into downtown Eugene to visit the University of Oregon. We walked around the campus, and I met with an admissions officer and with advisors from the folklore master's program. While I was occupied with meetings, Dean and Bobby explored the city, particularly the area around the university and towards Veneta. I left the school with all the information and documentation I'd need to apply for classes and a teaching or research position.
Dinner was at the single steakhouse in Veneta, which had a casual, bar-like atmosphere. Our waitress and the other local patrons were quite friendly when they learned we were planning to buy a house there (though we didn't mention which one) and willing to answer questions and share stories about living in the area. Dean and I showed off at the pool table but didn't try to hustle anyone—we'd learned from past experience to never fleece people anyplace that we intended to return to frequently. Afterwards, we went back to the rooms we'd booked at the town's only motel.
"Working at that garage is gonna be awesome, man!" Dean exclaimed as we entered our room. "I barely had to explain anything 'bout sometimes needing to leave suddenly—just dropped the words 'deployed' and 'classified' in the conversation, and Collin got the gist."
I sighed. "Did he start humming the theme song?"
"Nah, but he did ask if I'd be disavowed if I talked too much 'bout it," he replied with a grin.
"If it turns out his favorite foods are bacon cheeseburgers and pie, we have to investigate if you two were separated at birth," I told him, shaking my head ruefully. "I hate to admit it, but this dumbass idea of yours is coming in handier than I thought. I was able to convince the university to make an exception and fast-track my application to be able to attend the winter semester, since all the deadlines have long passed. I have to submit everything right away though."
My brother's idea had been to imply when necessary that we were involved in some kind of covert military work. He argued that this would not only explain absences with short to no notice and unknown duration but also any injuries we couldn't heal right away or any weapons that might be discovered. He also pointed out that it could be used to cover the gap between Stanford and now. As preposterous as the notion was, I really couldn't think of a better plan. So Frank set us up with military IDs and enough background information to suggest that we could be spooks. And Dean spent the entire day humming the Mission: Impossible theme after I agreed.
"My idea kicks ass, and you know it, dude!" he declared as he undressed. "You should be able to finish the application when we get back to Bobby's house. Frank's sent us all the shit for our new fake identities, and Bobby got Dr. Visyak to agree to provide references that you did research and translation work for her. You'll be a shoe-in, baby boy. The name on the transcripts might be different, but you earned those grades and test scores." He gave me a quick kiss before going into the bathroom.
While he showered, I unpacked what we'd need for the night and the next morning and stripped myself. I was tempted to join my husband but realized the shower was far too tiny when I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Instead I settled down on the bed and found something mindless on the television as I waited.
After Dean emerged from the bathroom and lay down beside me, I asked, Are we really ready to make an offer? Should we look around more first?
No, we don't need to keep searching. This is the one, and we both know it, kiddo, he said firmly. The house has the space for everything we want, and it's gonna look fucking epic when we're done with it. The jobs at the auto shop and university are practically tailor-made for us. The town is nice, and we got Eugene next door. Your intuition thing's been sending you good vibes 'bout all this shit too. 'Bout the only thing that kinda sucks is how far we're gonna be from Bobby, but we knew that when we picked this area.
I know you're right. I guess I still find all this hard to believe sometimes. Most of our lives have been so hard, between Lucifer and Azazel and their goons trying to yank us one way, and Michael and Zachariah and their flunkies dragging us the other. But everything's been going so well lately that it feels too good to be true at times, I explained.
I get what you're saying, Sammy. Past few months do feel like something outta a djinn wish-dream or crossroad deal. But the bastards who've been fucking with our lives are all dead or locked up or back to minding their own goddamn business, so we're finally free to do things our way. And none of the shit they pulled could get in the way of how we feel 'bout each other, which is what really brought us here. It's gonna take time, but one day we'll both figure out that we deserve a taste of the apple-pie life just as much as anyone. Now enough talking! He leaned over and planted a kiss on my lips.
I returned his kiss and ran a hand down his side, while his hand roamed over my chest. We kissed and caressed each other for several minutes, and then my lover slid his hand down and began stroking my cock. I groaned in appreciation at the feel of his callused fingers moving on the soft skin of my member, and I wrapped my fingers around his shaft to reciprocate. He gasped and pressed closer to me as I slipped my other hand between his thighs and pushed two fingers into his slick, tight channel.
We continued to jerk each other off rapidly, and he moaned as I rubbed my fingertips over his prostate. As our pleasure tangled together, my brother's love and hope and assurance enveloped me and helped to dampen my concerns. He soon stiffened and came all over my abdomen, his passage tightening around my fingers. He kept jacking my cock through his orgasm, and it wasn't long before I too climaxed, my seed joining his on my belly. We lay there panting for a while, our hands still curled around the other's shafts.
Dean eventually got up and staggered into the bathroom, returning with a damp towel. After cleaning me off and tossing the towel back into the bathroom, he flopped back onto the bed. I maneuvered myself around so I could rest my head over his heart.
Feeling better now, baby? he asked, combing his fingers through my hair.
Thanks, Dee. I guess I'm simply having the Winchester version of first-time home-buying jitters. But deep down I know this is the right thing for us, I replied. We've overcome everything that Hell and Heaven's thrown at us, so how bad can owning a house be?
That's right, Sammy! There ain't anything we can't handle together!