The First Presbyterian Church was an elegant structure of blond and white, with a pointed steeple and white columns at the front. Inside was simple white and dark stained wood and few ornaments, typical of the tradition. A tall,thin man was standing at the altar, muttering to himself.
He turned when he heard the squeak of Sam's shoes.
"Can I help you?" the man asked. Dean flashed his badge and nudged Sam to do the same. The man stiffened. "If this is about Pastor Blayze, I have nothing further to say."
"No, no," Sam soothed. 'This is about Terry Wood." Mollified, the man held out his hand.
"Pastor Quirke. I was sent up from Harrisburg after the Blayze...unpleasantness. I'm not sure I can tell you very much."
"Anything you can say might help us," Sam said gently. Pastor Quirke's face took on a pinched expression.
"Terry was a good man. Very committed to his ideals. You heard he was a vegan? It just doesn't make any sense." Sam gave him a sympathetic look.
"And Mike Waters was a worshipper here too?" he asked. Pastor Quirke sighed.
"Yes. Not a regular church-goer outside of the festivals but a good man. I believe we are being tested, but why now I couldn't say. I will say this. I complained about the fortune teller at the county fair this year. I am a tolerant man but I do not see that we should have to stand for the practice of witchcraft in our midst." Dean straightened and exchanged a look with Sam.
"Witchcraft?" he asked. Quirke gave him a withering look.
"No doubt the FBI doesn't believe in witches."
"Oh, you'd be surprised what we believe," Dean said wryly. Sam suppressed a grin.
"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm not sure many in the church even believe in witches these days. But mark my words, I know a witch when I see one."
"I don't suppose you have a name?" Sam asked. "For this witch, I mean."
"Lady Eighty," Quirke replied. Sam looked puzzled.
"That's a strange name," he observed. Quirke sneered.
"Well, it was something like that. She was foreign, with a thick accent. It sounded like Eighty to me."
Sam tossed the end of his pizza crust back into the box and tapped idly at his computer. Dean sucked on his beer and leaned back in his chair.
"Find anything?" he asked. Sam frowned.
"Not really. Lady Eighty is apparently either a Danish singer or a pedigree racehorse." he said morosely.
"Well, I think we can rule out the horse at least!" Dean laughed. Sam couldn't help but laugh with him.
"We'd better start at the fair then." Sam concluded. Dean rolled his eyes. Local county fairs. Awesome. He looked at his watch and yawned.
"Alright, first thing tomorrow, we check out the fair." He flopped down on the bed and reached out to switch out his light.
Sam checked his email but there was nothing of interest. He closed the lid of his laptop and settled down on the bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment. Then he rolled over and switched off his light.
Sam was in a field on the edge of a thick forest, a sinuous mist curling between the trunks and bare branches. He breathed out and shivered as his breath formed heavy on the chilly air. It was perhaps no more than a few minutes after dawn at a guess. Silence wrapped itself around him, and the stillness began to make him feel uneasy. The flap of wings broke the peace into shards and Sam looked around to find the source. A raven sat on a high branch, looking down at him with golden eyes. It cawed at him, a raucous sound in all this quiet.
"Hey, bird," Sam said, feeling faintly ridiculous. "What's up?" The raven turned it's head on one side and then lifted one foot. Sam could see something wrapped around the raven's leg, a metal ring of some kind although he was too far away to make out any details. The raven hopped along the branch and then spread it's wings and drifted down to Sam, landing on his shoulder. It nuzzled its beak into his neck like an affectionate greeting, then hopped down his arm. Sam took the opportunity to inspect the ring. It was inscribed with some kind of runes or symbols. Enochian? Sam dug in his pocket for his phone so he could take some pictures and send them to Cas but to his dismay his phone was missing. He eyed the raven, who he was sure was laughing at him.
"Go ahead," Sam told it. "Laugh if you must, but I have… no… idea…" he broke off. As he gazed at the raven, he was getting the strangest feeling. Like something was about to happen.
A warning? He wasn't sure. The raven rubbed its head against his arm and then took to the air. Sam followed it down to a river bank where a woman was sat, hunched over. He approached her cautiously and gasped as she looked up. She was quite old, but what shocked Sam was that her eyes were missing, empty sockets gaped at him and his gorge rose. Then her head dropped again and Sam's gaze was drawn to the pile of clothes in her lap. He recognized his shirt and one of Dean's. They were soaked in blood. The woman was scrubbing at them with an old-fashioned washboard. As she lifted Sam's shirt, red liquid dripped into the water. The woman lifted her head once more and even without eyes, Sam felt like she was glaring at him.
Sam started awake, and cast a look at Dean still sleeping soundly. It was still dark, sunrise was clearly still hours away. He frowned, thinking about his strange dream. Although his psychic abilities had mostly faded with the death of Azazel and his victory over his demon blood addiction, he still had dreams sometimes. Mostly they were very confusing and made little sense until after the event, which rendered them pretty useless as warnings. This one had been more coherent than most, if still utterly baffling. He pulled out his dream journal and headed into the bathroom.
Once in the bathroom, he turned on the light and jotted down the details he could remember. Staring at his reflection, he jumped when a shadow out of the corner of his eye seemed to shift suddenly. Now fully alert, he turned to where he'd seen the movement, but there was nothing there. That didn't mean he was alone, as Sam knew all too well. He dug into his washbag for anything that could help, but unless his deodorant had magical properties he was unaware of, he was out of luck. There was no more evidence that anyone was there and Sam wondered if he'd let the spooky dream get to him. He grabbed the journal, flicked off the light and climbed back into bed.
The fair was relatively busy and was much like any other county fair that he had seen, but Sam appreciated the amount of locally grown organic produce and artisan wares. Dean looked miserable. Sam nudged him with his elbow.
"Look, I know you're bored but can you please not look like a bulldog chewing a wasp?" he asked his brother. Dean plastered on the fakest smile imaginable.
"This better?" he snarled. Sam gave up.
After passing several stalls selling various foods and crafts, they found themselves outside a purple tent with a sign that read "Mysteries Revealed $10". Sam laughed and nudged Dean again.
"Think this could be the place?" he asked. Dean shrugged. It was worth a shot.
"Let me talk to her," Sam said. "They normally don't let more than one person in at a time."
"OK," Dean said. "Just don't believe anything she says." Sam rolled his eyes and entered the tent.
Inside was like every TV show psychic and carnival fortune teller stereotype Sam had ever encountered. Purple velvet covered everything and there were crystal balls, tarot cards, pentagrams, spellbooks Sam knew to be garbage, and the whole place reeked of incense. Sam tried to suppress the urge to sneeze. The woman who appeared from behind a curtain, was nothing like Sam expected. She had pale, washed-out blonde hair, and was quite tiny, at least two feet shorter than Sam and she made him feel like a giant. Her eyes were gray and her features unremarkable. Sam thought she was 40 or so, perhaps a little older.
"Welcome," she said in a soft voice. Sam gave her as innocent a smile as he could muster.
"Hi. Uh, I guess I want my fortune read. Or whatever." He stammered, trying his best to seem like the perfect mark.
"Sam Winchester," she said with a smile. "How nice to meet you." He stared at her.
"No, uh, you've made a mistake," he lied. "My name's-" She made a curt gesture and he found himself unable to speak.
"Do not insult my intelligence. I know who you are. I know you're here with your brother, Dean. I know many things about you, Sam." Shit. Now what. "You're here because of the recent spate of misfortune to hit the clergy and congregation at First Presbyterian."
"Uh, yeah. I guess I am," Sam admitted. She smiled at him in a strangely familiar manner.
"I am not the cause of their woes. At least, not most of them. Pastor Blayze, yes that was me. Disgusting man. He successfully concealed his crimes for years, becoming more and more brazen. I made sure that justice was served. But the others, the strange man who ate only vegetables, the foolish man who believes in a world without violence, no. This was not my doing."
"I only have your word for that," Sam said hesitantly. "It's a strange coincidence, you and someone else targeting the same small community in rural Pennsylvania." She smiled at him.
"Of course. But that's why I am so glad you came to see me. I have a bargain for you." Sam pursed his lips.
"I don't make deals," he told her firmly. She twinkled at him.
"You're going to want to make this one," she told him. "I guarantee it."
Dean was bored. Sam had been inside the tent forever. Well, ten minutes at least. But he could hardly go barging in there and find him in the middle of a seance or whatever. No reason to let the chick know the gig was up just yet. He paced restlessly and only came to a stop when a pretty brunette in a very fetching tavern wench get-up sashayed up to him.
"Hi," she said, smiling broadly. He gave her his very best, most charming smile.
"Hi, yourself," he replied. "You working, or is this how you dress on your day off?" Ugh! Was that the best he could do? He might as well have asked if she was a hooker. Her smile dimmed a little.
"I'm working the mead stall over there," she pointed. "You wanna check it out?" Dean frowned.
"Mead?" She nodded enthusiastically.
"It's a kind of wine, made from honey. It's pretty sweet but it's so good," she enthused.
"OK, yeah. I could give it a go," Dean told her. "But I'm waiting for my brother, he's getting his fortune read."
"Well, once he's done, bring him over. I bet he's just as delicious as you are." She handed him a wooden token. "Take this, you might need it one day." she said with a wink as she sauntered away.
Sam stared at the woman, perplexed.
"Are you Lady Eighty?" he asked.
"No. But she is who you seek," she told him. "I am… an interested party."
"What can you tell me about her? Is she a witch?"
"Até is a Greek Goddess, her aspects are mischief, ruin, delusion and folly."
"A Greek Goddess? Wow. What's she doing in the middle of nowhere?"
"Well, that's the question, isn't it? I don't know the answer to that. I can tell you one thing. She can only be killed by the spear of Diomedes."
"That's been lost for centuries," Sam objected. She smiled at him.
"It has been found and it's here in Pennsylvania. That spear can kill Até, for sure, but it's very dangerous. When you kill her, the spear will absorb her power. You will need to find a way to discharge it safely. I can do that for you. Bring me the spear, once Até is dead, and I will make sure the power she wielded cannot be used for such evil again. As payment for such as service I will give you something you have lost."
"It's a bit vague." Sam told her. She smiled at him, impishly.
"If you don't do this, Até's power will be unleashed upon this community. Many could die, hundreds, maybe even thousands. So you really don't have much choice." Sam thought about it. If he agreed, he could always change his mind later.
"Not so fast," she grinned. Shit, did she just read his mind? "If you break the deal, the consequences will be severe. A curse, a fate worse than death." She shuddered. "Please, don't think of double crossing us."
"Us?" Sam blinked. "I thought this deal was just between you and me. Not that I even know who you are."
"Who I am is not important, but since you are curious, my name is Astrid. I have a patron. He is watching," she explained. Sam narrowed his eyes at her.
"But you won't tell me who your patron is?" She shook her head.
"He has his reasons for keeping his identity a secret for now. But he is a friend, I swear," Sam thought Dean might kick his ass for making such a deal, but he was inclined to accept anyway.
For some reason he trusted her.
"OK. What do we have to do to seal the deal?" he asked. Astrid produced a length of woven rope that she used to bind their hands together at the wrist. She began to chant in a sing-song tone.
Sam didn't recognize the language, but thought it might be something Germanic.
When Sam left the tent, Dean was pacing back and forth.
"Well?" he demanded. Sam related his conversation with Astrid.
"Lemme call Cas, see what he knows." he said, pulling out his phone.
"Hello, Dean," the angel greeted him warmly. Dean suppressed a shiver at the way the angel's voice vibrated in his ear.
"Hey, Cas. I thought I might run something by you. We're on the trail of this Greek Goddess by the name of Lady Eighty, does that mean anything to you?" He blinked at the sharp inhale of breath at the end of the phone.
"Do you mean Até?" the angel asked.
"Uh, what's the difference? We hear we need some old spear to gank her." Dean replied.
"That would be the spear of Diomedes, lost since antiquity," the angel informed him.
"Oh, right. Well, that shouldn't be too hard to find," Dean said sarcastically.
"You asked me how to kill her," Cas said, sounding hurt. "That's the only way I know of." Dean cursed under his breath.
"Sorry, man. Didn't mean to sound ungrateful."
"You're in luck. There was an archaeological dig in Argos last year. It's a city in Greece and it's one of the places Diomedes was rumored to have died. They found a tomb, but it had been robbed centuries ago. There were a few artifacts though, and one was a spear. There were some strange stories around the dig and the spear. Rumors of a curse, stories about a ghostly figure who would move around the site at night and frighten the graduate students. The spear ended up in Philadelphia, at the University of Pennsylvania. Dr George Maniatis, a world expert in ancient Greek history is analyzing it."
"OK, I guess Sam and I will try and find this guy." He hung up, grinning.
"What's got you so happy?" Sam asked.
"I just spoke to Cas," Dean told him. "He told me how we find the spear."