A/N: Special thanks to LilyBolt and WinchesterBabe1999 for their support and to DeansBabyBird for beta services and all around awesomeness!
A/N 2: Please read and review so that I know I should continue with this story. Also, sorry for any grammatical errors in the last chapter. I don't think it was my finest work.
Disclaimer: I disclaim because I must!
Chapter 3: Meet the Hostess
I let Baby idle in front of the dilapidated old plantation house that sits on one corner of a crossroad in the butt crack of nowhere. The street signs which, oddly, look relatively new, verify that this is the right address. They read Maple Street and Vine Avenue. Yep, this broken down place is my destination. I can even make out the house numbers, 8-1-2, although the eight has come loose from one of its nails and now hangs upside down.
I turn off the engine and study the house deciding whether or not I want to go in. The wreck before me has seen better days, I'm sure, but now it's so rundown that half of the shutters have fallen off and litter the ground around the foundation like giant misshapen confetti. The ones left, are hanging crookedly as if by a thread. The old clapboard siding was probably once white but now it's an uninviting, dingy gray. The full upper and lower porches, I note, are sad, sagging things that the elements have taken liberties with and the rest of the house seems to be suffocating under a thick curtain of climbing ivy. Even the brick walkway leading up to the house is overgrown with weeds and missing the odd brick here and there.
This is a supernatural den of iniquity? Looks more like a flop house to me and I can only imagine what kind of humans frequent this place (I don't count, I'm a hunter on a job). I decide that since I'm already here I may as well check it out. I exit my car, check to make sure I have my wallet with the two-hundred dollars for the consult and stuff my gun into the waist band of my jeans, covering it from view with my jacket. The e-mail I was sent said no weapons but I wasn't about to get caught with my pants around my ankles. I lock up my Baby and step cautiously up the broken brick sidewalk. A bird hidden in the trees calls out, an aggressive rasping sound, as if warning me away from my objective.
Up close, the porch is much worse than it looks from the street and I gingerly pick my way across what I think is the safest route. I pull the screen door open carefully since it's, literally, on it's last hinge and knock on the very solid oak door.
It swings open without so much as a squeak and a young, curvy woman with brunette hair piled high into a bun and wearing black horn-rimmed glasses (Hello, Madam Librarian!) greets me.
"Hello. How can I help you today?" she asks in a velvety voice.
Time for the Winchester charm. I lean rakishly against the door frame with my devil-may-care smile on my face.
"Yes, I have a ten o' clock appointment."
"What is this in regards to, sir?" she is unfazed, unimpressed. Professional.
Oh well, can't win 'em all. I dial back the charm a few notches because, chances are, she's some supernatural bad ass that I don't want to get involved with anyway.
"I'm here for the first annual 'Hec's Pie of the Month Club Eat Off. I'm Mr. Page." I feel stupid for the words that I just uttered (although a pie eating contest would be awesome!) but the e-mail said this sentence would be the key to my entrance.
She nods and steps aside to let me in. "Mr. Page, we've been expecting you." I mentally cringe at her words because in my experience, when someone says they're expecting you it's right before the hammer falls. Usually on my head.
I cross the thresh hold into the house, senses taut, and notice that the hot librarian chick is staring at me intently. I turn away from her, uncomfortable with her scrutiny, and examine my surroundings. I'm surprised to find that the inside of the house is in much better condition. It's tastefully decorated with glossy, dark stained wood floors and pale, lemon colored walls hung with several framed warding symbols- for what I'm not sure since all the monsters were already in the house- and what could only be a tapestry.
"Excuse me? What is the tapestry supposed to represent?" She follows the direction of my gaze.
"That is Zeus honoring Hecate with a portion of the Earth and the sea for her to rule. He thought very highly of her especially because she stood by the Olympians in their fight against the Titans."
"Oh." I reply simply. Awesome, not only was I meeting with a very powerful witch but there was a possibility that she was the aeons old Greek deity (and here I was hoping Hecate was just a stage name). Winchesters never catch a break, I muse and sigh audibly.
"This way, please." The librarian turns into a door on the left of the foyer and we enter a large parlor. It too, is sumptuously appointed in pale wood paneling- not that faux shit that Sam and I have run across in a few of the throwback motels we've stayed in- plush, burgundy colored carpet and an eclectic mix of couches, chairs, and tables that accent the room.
"Please, help yourself to some refreshments while I inform the hostess of your arrival."
"Thank you." She exits the room and I do a cursory check of my surroundings (hunting fundamentals 101) and note that there is nothing to be worried about just yet.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I only had coffee and a couple of donuts for breakfast, so I make my way over to the proffered refreshments. I peruse the plates of hors d' oeuvres and tiny sandwiches the buffet has to offer, fill a plate and pour myself another coffee. Sitting on a sturdy chair- some have matchsticks for legs and I know I'll break them with my weight- I sniff at the food trying to ascertain whether or not its been poisoned or tampered with. Nothing seems off so I dig into the finger foods while familiarizing myself with the room. On the wall opposite me, I note that it is covered top to bottom with hanging racks of pamphlets like the ones you see at roadside rest stops.
After finishing the food on my plate and draining my coffee cup, I leave the dirty dishes in my now vacated chair and traverse the room to those racks. I pull one of the forms from its holder and it reads, "Possession: It's nine tenths of the law." I hastily put it back knowing that I would never willingly entertain the idea of letting myself be possessed by a demon and pull another form from the rack. "Create Your Own Tulpa!" it exclaims. I shake my head in disbelief sliding it back into its proper space and pull several more. "Curses, and Hexes, and Potions! Oh My!" and "My Own Private Twilight", are among the titles. Witches and vampires. You really can pick your poison here, although I have to wonder if the Madam tells her prospective vampire clients that, under no circumstances, do the vampires sparkle.
"Ahhh, Mr. Page. Perusing our menu, I see." I jump, almost imperceptibly, and stuff the pamphlets back into their slots.
Menu? Yet another alarming word, one that usually ends with something large and toothy trying to eat me. I sigh inwardly, turn to greet the hostess and am stunned speechless at the regal woman standing across the room from me.
She smiles minutely at my slack-jawed stare and glides into the room, closing the doors behind her. She's wearing one of those Greek flowy toga dresses and the ivory color of it compliments her olive hued skin. Her black hair is pulled away from her face in a sort of pony tail, the curls framing her head and face perfectly. It's her eyes that really grab my attention, though. The irises are such a pale blue that they look nonexistent, giving her an ethereal look. She takes a seat and watches me gape at her.
"So, Mr. Winchester. What can Madam Hecate's Salon do for you today?"
"Uh, not sure. What do you... Wait a minute! I'm Mr. Page." I stutter. Fuck! I'm in trouble if my cover is already blown and I glance around for the quickest escape route.
"Please, Mr. Winchester." She holds up a hand to stave off my next attempt at denial. "Let's, I believe the colloquialism is, cut the crap. I know who you are and I know what you do, so let's not lie to each other, hmmm? I am your hostess, Madam Hecate. You, are Dean Winchester, hunter, monster slayer and currently on an eleven month waiting list for your one way ticket to hell. You sold your soul to a crossroads demon to resurrect your younger brother from the grave, I believe." My teeth grind together as my jaw clenches. I need to think fast to get myself out of this situation. Cue the Winchester bravado.
"Yeah, well, you're a witch! Tell me why I shouldn't just gank your ass right here and now?" Perfect. Poke the lethal beast with a stick, I think scathingly at myself but I stand my ground.
She tilts her head and tsks at me. "That would be extremely unwise, Mr. Winchester. Do you think that I have no protection in place for clients who get a little too overzealous? Besides, if you 'gank' me, you will not get your money's worth. Now, would you like to have our scheduled consultation or shall I have you removed from the premises?"
I peer at her trying to read her, find her tells, but she's unflappable.
No one is more surprised than I am when I tell her, "Ok. Monster match me." She quirks an eyebrow at me and starts to speak when I hold up my hand.
"I want some answers first, though."
Her eyebrows knit together in a frown but she nods. "Ask."
"How do you know my name, my real name? I thought your business was all about anonymity."
"This is a fair question." she concedes, " I know all of my clients true names and identities. No. Do not interrupt me. I am the only one privy to this knowledge so do not fret about your anonymity. To all and sundry, you will simply be known as Mr. Page. To answer your next question," she gives me a knowing look although I haven't asked another question, "you are known to me through the supernatural grapevine, as it were."
"There's a supernatural grapevine?" I ask skeptically.
"Of course. Is there not a 'grapevine' that hunters use?"
"We call it the telephone, lady." I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Ah. A glimpse of Winchester wit. Lucky me." Hecate shoots back sardonically. "Are your questions at an end sir, or do you seek more answers?"
"How do you know about my deal?" I inquire quietly and she glances at me in pity.
"Unfortunately, Dean Winchester, many supernatural entities despise you and when word of your deal got out, it traveled like wild fire. I knew of it within 24 hours after you made it. Even if I had not heard of it, I would have known. Selling your soul leaves a mark that certain preternatural beings can see. It is as if you've been tattooed."
"Just as long as it's not 666 across my forehead." I quip but it falls flat and she just stares at me sadly.
Damn! Now all those sons of bitches I hunt would be gunning for me even harder than before, each jockeying to send me downstairs ahead of schedule. I debate cutting my losses and just getting the hell out of there but I can't seem to make myself go.
"One more question and then we can get on with this match making thing." she nods her acquiescence, "How did I get an invitation to this place? That pop-up was an invitation, right? I'm sure the fact that I'm a hunter makes me an unusual client, so, how'd you do it?"
"I employ several different types of talent in my business, Mr. Winchester. Psychics, empaths and the like. You were found by a scout, of sorts. This employee felt your psychic pain, notified me with coordinates and I had one of my computer hackers plant my advertisement in with a bunch of other pop-ups. Do not worry, no harm was done. In fact, other than that e-mail, which you should have erased, it is like nothing was ever sent to you and there will be no record of it at all on your computer. The e-mail, too, is self-erasing after 24 hours. We take the..."
"I know. You take the anonymity of your clients very seriously. It's good to know." She sighs in exasperation at my sarcasm.
"Are you ready to begin the consult now, Mr. Winchester?" she asks, rises from her seat and moves to the Wall o' Gankables brochures.
"Yes." She plucks only one pamphlet from the wall and places it face down on the table in front of me. I reach out to turn it over but she stops me.
"A moment if you please. Let me preface this process by telling you that I have researched you a little and know a bit about your unfortunate history." I stiffen in my seat but say nothing and she continues.
"I can say with some confidence that I know what you desire, Dean Winchester." Whatever I had been expecting her to say it wasn't this and my eyes widen as I come out of emotional lock down.
"Uh, look lady, you're hot and all but..." She angrily cuts me off.
"Oh do not be ridiculous, you silly man-child! You could not possibly keep up with me!" She lurches to her feet in agitation, crosses to the buffet and pours herself a cup of tea while I just gawk.
Silly man-child? Couldn't keep up with her? I'm affronted by her slur on my masculinity. I had never had any complaints in that department before. I could probably even show her a thing or two!
"Beverage?" she barks from the buffet. I decide to work the Winchester charm on her, although why I'm flirting with a witch who could turn me into a hamster in the blink of an eye, I have no idea, but I live a very fucked up life and just roll with it.
"Thank you. Yes. Coffee, black please." I turn on my best I'm-too-sexy-for-my-clothes smile. She huffs out a little exasperated laugh as she turns to pour my coffee and I count that as a small victory. She's not dropping the toga yet but I got a smile out of her.
She carries over the drinks, sits mine on the table in front of me and I bat my eyelashes exaggeratedly at her.
"As charming as you are... NO, Mr. Winchester." yet her smile widens as I wink at her. Truthfully, I know she won't give in and I truly don't want her to but she challenged my manhood and I couldn't just let it go.
"Is it all out of your system yet, Mr. Winchester?"
"Not yet. Let me just say that, lady, I've got moves you've never seen before! Ok. Now I'm done. Match make away." Her eyebrows rise but she chuckles and now I feel better.
"Back to business then. I believe that you could do with a wish, Dean Winchester. Look at the pamphlet now." I pick it up and turn it over.
The front page is cobalt blue with several yellow shooting stars streaking across the background. The yellow type across the bottom reads, "It's Everything You Want." I start a bit at the title thinking of my "other" mom from the dream world. Opening the leaflet I see a picture of a pretty dark-blond, curly-haired woman with soft brown, almost beseeching, eyes. I start reading but stop immediately when my eyes see the word djinn.
"You want to hook me up with a genie?" I exclaim in shock but secretly I'm ecstatic. I could recreate that dream word that I so desperately wanted to go back to. I could see mom again! Forget about Carmen, I could have Lisa and Ben, even though in my real life being with them is just a shitty pipe dream. I'd told the real Lisa that her life wasn't my life and I'd meant it, (God, had that only been 5 days ago?) but now for the bargain price of two-hundred dollars they would be mine.
Maybe I could alter this dream, fix my and Sam's relationship and so many other things. I marvel at the possibilities, at the chance to escape my miserable reality and not die doing it.
"It is the best match for you. I can't imagine that you'd want to be cursed by a witch or let a vampire nibble on you." I shake my head absently still thinking of what I want my genie wish to be. "Then, yes, a genie is your match. Now, we need to discuss payment, nondisclosure agreement, and a special contract that I had drawn up just for you." I've been listening with only half an ear, still reveling at the fact that in a very short time I'll be back in that dream world again, but when Madam Hecate says the words payment and nondisclosure, I snap out of my reverie and nod cautiously.
"Ok, I owe you two-hundred dollars for the consult. Is there anything else?" I pull my wallet from my back pocket and discover that my gun is missing. I fumble surreptitiously for it behind my back hoping that it had just slipped free and was sitting on the couch. I'd forgotten all about the weapon the moment I'd walked in the doors to this place. I glance up to see if Madam Hecate has noticed me groping behind myself, and note that she is regarding me with that unfathomable stare again.
"Ah, yes. Your weapon. I do believe that we warned you in our correspondence that weapons were strictly forbidden." She calmly takes a sip from her dainty tea cup, a move which somehow seems a bit menacing. "Not to worry though, your gun is back in your car in the glove compartment where it will do no harm."
"And how did it get there?"I ask, genuinely curious.
"A spell. My young apprentice Amanda, who greeted you at the door, noted that you had a weapon concealed on your person and quietly removed the threat for me."
Ahh, so the lovely librarian was a witch. I was right not to tangle with her. No telling what kind of evil mojo she would have worked on me. I have enough problems as it is and how would I explain some random curse or hex to Sam? So far, knock on wood, nothing bad had happened to me here and I wanted to keep it that way. The less I had to lie about to Sam the better off I'd be.
I hand Madam Hecate the money, which she then takes to a desk in the corner of the room and locks in a drawer. She comes back bearing a file folder and hands it to me.
"This folder contains our standard nondisclosure contract and the special contract that I drafted just for you. Please read them over carefully. Keep in mind that both contracts are non-negotiable and must be signed with your blood."
"My blood? What do you have against regular old ink?" I try to joke but deep down, I understand. Blood is binding. I know first hand, thinking of Sammy, that there's nothing more powerful.
"Mr. Winchester, you are a hunter. These contracts are my insurance to, not only protect my way of life here, but to also protect my employees as well. As with client confidentiality, the safety and security of my employees is a top priority. Now, please read those contracts carefully and sign them or you may consider this audience to be over and take your leave." She isn't messing around. I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, wondering why I'm even contemplating doing this, but begin reading the nondisclosure agreement.
The contracts are peppered with words like "thereby" and "wherefore"(words I'm sure my brother, with his pre-law brain, would have understood in a heartbeat.) but I get the gist. I can't tell anyone the location of the Salon. Referrals are welcome as long as I send Madam Hecate to the client and not the other way around. The telling of the names of employees or what kind of entity they are is expressly forbidden. No talking about what services are offered. Basically, no talking about Madam Hecate's Salon to anyone period. If I did talk it would end in my death. This raises a question for me so I look at Madam Hecate and ask.
"Ever had anyone break the nondisclosure agreement?"
"No, it is unbreakable. Clients, for the duration of their lives, physically cannot speak of this place. When they sign the contract it casts a tongue binding spell over them ."
"So no one dies?"
"No one has died in the last four-hundred years I've been doing this." I whistle in awe at the amount of time she has been running her business and at least it sort of answers another question I have. She is either a goddess, or she's a really talented witch who has managed to magic herself immortal. Neither thought is comforting.
"I guess that's why I've never heard of this business before now, huh?" Hecate just smiles a slightly smug smile at me. "So this contract won't kill me either?"
"Oh yes, it will. I was willing to make certain exceptions in your case, you are, after all, Dean Winchester. Your reputation precedes you, so I took precautions." I just nod dumbly at her thought process.
She hands me a fountain pen and when I take hold of it I feel a vague tingling sensation in my hand. I look at the witch in question and she nods pointing to the contract. I shrug, hesitate for a brief moment wondering if this will come back to bite me in the ass, and sign. There is no pain but my name flows onto the dotted line in what is obviously my blood. One contract down, one contract to go.
I pull the second contract to the top of the pile and start reading. It states that by signing this contract I am prohibited from hunting or harming any employee of Madam Hecate's either on her property or off of it. To do so would result in my (surprise!) death.
I lean back in my chair and regard her with a grudging respect. Respect because she takes care of those who are her responsibility. She's obviously the kind of employer that every regular human being would love to work for. An employer who has her employees backs both inside or outside the "company".
"Before I sign, I have one question for you. If, by some strange twist of fate, I ever ran into one of your employees and they attacked me first, would I die automatically if I defend myself?" She regards me over the rim of her tea cup and I get the feeling that she is slightly amused with me. "Hey, I'm just curious. Stranger things have happened and as you've said, I am Dean Winchester, these kinds of things happen to me more often than not."
She sighs and places her tea cup back on its saucer. "It would never happen, Mr. Winchester, but on the off chance that it did, then no, you would not be held responsible for defending yourself. In fact, once the offending party was identified, their employment here at Madam Hecate's would be terminated, post haste." I got the feeling that when she said terminated, she meant that the offender would be removed from this plane of existence. That is, if I didn't terminate them first.
"I'd like that in writing, please." I politely hand her the contract. She purses her lips but I can tell that she's not angry. She takes the contract in both hands and closes her eyes in concentration and the paper glows blue for a brief moment. She then opens her eyes and hands me back the revised contract. I quickly read over it and take note of the amendment. Nodding in satisfaction, I hesitate momentarily as I realize that I'm signing away my right to hunt a bunch of creatures that go bump in the night but I can't find it in myself to get upset over a hand full of monsters when I'm so close to getting the very thing I want so badly. I sign that paper, unflinchingly, with my own blood and trust (maybe trust is too strong a word) that Madam Hecate will keep her side of the bargain. I slowly hand over the contract and look her in the eye.
"Lady, if you screw me over in any way I will find a way to seek revenge on you. Consider that both a threat and a promise." I growl menacingly.
"Rest easy, Mr. Winchester. I would never allow a client to be harmed. It's bad for business." She smiles tightly. "Before I allow you to go on any further I must tell you that, in addition to the money you paid for your consultation fee, your technician requires an additional payment. Are you familiar with how the djinn live?"
I nod, remembering how the djinn had been draining the blood from both me and the young girl in the abandoned warehouse.
"Blood. Geez, what is it with all the blood today? If I'm not careful you all will drain me dry before I can get out the door." I shake my head in annoyance.
Hecate chuckles, "Consider it the luck of the draw, I believe the adage goes. She will not drain you dry if that is your worry. She merely requires one pint. It is how she sustains herself."
"Ok, what else?"
"I will let her explain the process to you. I simply wanted to let you know her price for her services. She will be calling for you soon. Before we part ways, are there any other questions you have for me?"
"Um, yeah. With the anonymity thing, what do you do if two of your clients brush shoulders while coming or going?" Knowing my luck, although it would probably be a long shot, I'd run into another hunter in the hall. Someone who, like me, just wants an escape, something that our shitty lives cannot provide us with.
"Interesting how your mind works, Mr. Winchester." She chuckles once again. "There are rare instances where two clients will pass one another. When that happens we simply remove that specific memory from their minds. It is an easy and painless method to take care of a pesky problem."
I nod slowly and ask another question that presents itself. "So... Have you ever had to turn away a potential client? You know, someone you couldn't match?"
She inclines her head. "Yes. There have been three separate occasions where I could not find someone a compatible match."
"So, since you meet all clients face-to-face, when you couldn't match them, did you erase this place from their minds?"
"I'm willing to wager that you were proficient at piecing together puzzles as a boy, weren't you?" She appraises me with frank admiration while I smirk smugly at her praise. "You are correct. I could have made them sign the nondisclosure contract but it was much easier to simply remove all memory of my business."
"Probably saved yourself some trouble too." She quirks her eyebrows in question. "Wiping their memories probably stopped them from hounding you constantly about finding them matches." I state, thinking of just how persistent some people can be and I momentarily entertain the notion of erasing my deal from Sam's memory so that we can just go on until the hounds come for me. No, I can't do that. Too many people or creatures know about my deal now. Sam would just find out all over again and I dismiss the thought from my head.
"Yes. I learned the hard way with the first client I ever had that couldn't be matched. I eventually had to make a house call. It was the first and last time that ever happened."
A red light in a line of several other red lights that I hadn't taken notice of before, blinks and Madam Hecate turns to me.
"Your technician will be here in five minutes. I will introduce you as Mr. Page and that is how she will know and address you only. She is under specific instruction not to ask your first name. If you decide to tell her that is entirely your choice, although, I wouldn't recommend it. You are well known in many circles and Dean is not a common name. Is there anything else I can tell you before we part ways, Dean Winchester?"
"Actually, yes. Why does the outside of this place look like the house that time forgot and the inside looks like it's brand new?"
"Appearances, my dear Mr. Winchester. It is a spell, a glamour, or in this case, very unglamorous. I try to dissuade people who are not clients to stay away. Every once in awhile I will receive an offer to purchase the house and the property. When that happens I try to misdirect the interested parties. If that doesn't work, I make them forget this house exists. When you leave today, turn around and look at the house. Because you are now a client, you will be able to see through the spell."
She glances up as a knock sounds at the door and motions for me to rise.
"I hope you enjoy yourself, Mr. Winchester." She ushers me to the parlor doors, opens them and proceeds right into the introductions.
"Mr. Page, allow me to introduce you to Sheridan Rose, your technician. Sheridan, this is Mr. Page. She will endeavor to make the next few hours a most pleasant experience for you." Sheridan, the woman from the picture in the pamphlet, smiles at me and offers me her hand and I shake it, acknowledging, once again, that I live a very fucked up existence. Its not everyday that I shake hands with a monster.
"Mr. Page, if you'll follow me upstairs, I'll explain the procedure and we'll get started."
"Ok. Lead on." I follow Sheridan up the steps but feel Madam Hecate watch my assent until I'm out of her line of sight.