Of all the costumes she's worn since becoming a hunter, the blue-gray jumpsuit of the local alarm company is by far the comfiest. She'd wear it every day if she could. Dean, on the other hand, isn't so happy about it. "You know, Dad and I got along just fine without these goofy costumes. I feel like a high school drama dork."
"Careful what you say about drama dorks," Elizabeth says. "I was one."
"You did it for one year because you thought the guy playing Romeo was hot."
"He was very hot."
"Agreed, but my point still stands. Sammy's the only one out of the three of us that did a play because it looked fun." Elizabeth nudges Sam with her shoulder, grinning up at him.
"You did good, Sammy."
"I know I did," Sam agrees. "I played the hell out of that table." He's grinning too as they step into the lobby of the apartment building, the manager looking up from a Stephen King novel. It's kind of morbid to read about vampires when your tenant just had her insides spread across her apartment, but Elizabeth isn't judging. "Hi, we're with PF Alarms, we're here to check why Miss McDonell's alarm never went off the other night."
"You heard about that, huh," the manager asks. She's a short black woman, dressed in a sensible cardigan and khakis, her hair pulled off her face in a chignon. "It was a damn shame. Meredith was a good girl and always paid her rent on time. Come on, I'll show you the apartment." She grabs a ring of keys off the desk, sets the novel aside, and leads the way to the stairs.
"No elevator," Dean asks.
"Elevator's broken just like the cameras are. I've been fighting to get them fixed, but I don't have the money saved up yet."
"Tell me about it." Meredith's apartment in on the second floor, the manager unlocking the door and leading the way inside. Someone's cut the security chain, but no clean-up crew has been by to scrub up the blood splattered over the floor of the living room.
"No offense, but your alarm is about as useful as boobs on a man." Elizabeth is barely able to bite back her laugh, turning to look out the window so the manager doesn't see the effort.
"Well, hopefully we can find out what went wrong and stop this from happening again." Meredith is the second person in the past two months to die like this. Elizabeth isn't saying a human murderer isn't possible, but she'd like to meet the guy dosed up on PCP that's capable of tearing someone apart like they're made of tissue paper without being seen by anyone else or triggering the alarm. On second thought, she probably doesn't.
"I was the one to find her, you know." Elizabeth looks over her shoulder to give the woman a sympathetic frown, and then turns back to see if the window's locked. She tests it, finds it locked, and no scratches to show someone had come in from the fire escape. "Her jobs called a few days after she was killed and said she hadn't shown up, so I came to check on her."
"Were you the one that cut the security chain," Elizabeth asks, moving into the living room. Aside from the blood, the place is clean and organized. It looks better than Elizabeth's living room.
"Yeah. I smelled something awful and she wasn't answering, so I cut through it. It's the damnedest thing."
"What is?" The manager pauses and purses her lips, glancing towards the center of the room where blood has soaked into the white rug. There are random splotches over it where it's puddles in the rest of the room, almost deliberate.
"I could have sworn there was someone in here when I came to check on her. I thought I saw someone moving towards the bedroom from the center of the living room. I told the cops, but they said the person would have left footprints so I must have just imagined it. Maybe they're right. Hell, I wasn't in here long and I'd tracked blood back downstairs to my office to call the police."
"And you didn't notice any overturned furniture or broken glass," Sam checks, looking over at her.
"Only thing out of the ordinary were the pieces of Meredith strewn all over the apartment. I'd better get downstairs, you three take all the time you need to figure out that alarm."
"Thank you." They wait for the woman to leave before breaking out the equipment, Dean tossing Elizabeth a digital camera. "Checking for orbs?"
"Got any better ideas," Dean asks. "The killer got in without triggering the alarm, breaking a window or leaving any prints. Ghost sounds likely to me."
"Except that other guy was murdered in the same way and he lived on the other side of town," Elizabeth points out. She starts taking pictures anyway, but it's mostly just dust motes that she captures. The EMF lights up with a whine, Dean raising his brows. "Or maybe it's a ghost." He smirks at her, a smug expression that usually only shows up when he wins at Uno or makes her brain turn to mush after a particularly amazing orgasm.
"Well, I talked to the cops yesterday night, and by cops I mean a really perky woman named Amy." Elizabeth remembers Amy and the officer's love of tequila, they'd shared three drinks, a few shots, and then they'd both woken up spooning against Dean. There are a few scattered memories, but all of them had been too drunk to remember much else after the drinks were served. "She said that both victims are missing their hearts."
"Can't be werewolves," Sam says, frowning. "The lunar cycle isn't right. What else takes hearts from living people?"
"Only a few super rare things," Elizabeth says. "I mean, these things are so rare that Bobby and Caleb aren't sure a few of them even exist anymore." She scratches the back of her neck with her free hand, letting the camera dangle by its strap and bump against her leg. "Maybe it really is a vengeful spirit."
"Or maybe it's something else," Dean says. He's staring down at the blood splatter on the white rug, head cocked to the side. "One of y'all hand me some electrical tape out of the toolbox." Sam digs it out and hands it over, watching as Dean kneels on the floor and begins connecting the stains on the carpet.
"What are you doing?"
"There's a pattern here." When he's done there's a symbol depicted in black tape, an oval with two spindly arms coming away from it and curving to the side at sharp angles. "Anyone know what that's supposed to be?" Elizabeth pulls out the little memo pad she keeps on her at all times, flipping through the pages of demon lore until she finds a crude drawing that matches the symbol.
"It's a Zoroastrian." She holds the pad up for the guys to see Uncle B's handwriting a little cramped on the small lines. "It's used to summon a daeva."
"What the hell is a daeva?"
"One of those rare things I told you about earlier. I'll have to call Caleb to get more details. The ones in my book are pretty vague." She puts the pad back in her pocket, worrying at her lip. "This doesn't bode well for us."
"When does it ever," Sam mutters. "Alright, let's go get some grub and you can call Caleb."
They end up at the bar Meredith worked at before her murder, Dean wandering over to the bar to chat up the cute bartender. Elizabeth is tempted to join him, but then she sees an empty table and drifts over to claim it before anyone else can. Let Dean flirt, she doesn't care as long as he's smart enough to bring her a drink and food when he's done. Sam joins her a few minutes later, pulling out a couple of newspaper clippings to study. They're still crisp and clean, freshly clipped from the newspaper he'd stolen yesterday morning.
"Why do you guys flirt and sleep with other people when you're dating each other," he asks, frowning at her.
"We have an open relationship," Elizabeth shrugs. "We love each other, but we also like the adrenaline rush that comes from sleeping with complete strangers."
"Last time you did that, the guy tried to strangle you."
"No, last time I did that was last night and the cop used her handcuffs on me." He makes a face, so she makes one in return. "Don't give me that look, Sammy. I know for a fact that Jess used handcuffs on you more than once."
"She handcuffed me to my desk to force me to study and not procrastinate by cleaning my dorm room. If I remember correctly, you gave her that idea."
"Well, it worked in high school." Elizabeth will stand by her choices, one of which is not telling Sam the handcuffs she used on him in high school had also been used on her ex-boyfriend with a humiliation fetish. It's for his own good, really. "Dean's coming."
"Get anything good?" Dean sits down across from Sam, sliding a napkin with a number on it over to Elizabeth. "I mean aside from the bartender's phone number, dude."
"Not really," Dean says. "Meredith waited tables and was a totally normal college student. Nothing weird to be found aside from her missing heart. How about you two, find anything?"
"The first victim was named Ben Swardstrom, he was found mutilated in his town house last month. Doors and windows were locked, alarm was on, no sign of a break-in and no connection to Meredith. Liza, did you get ahold of Caleb?"
"Yes, actually," she nods. "He says daevas are demons of darkness. They're these savage beasts that are rarely summoned because they're so hard to control. They like eating their summoners which is why they haven't been seen in a couple millennia."
"So whoever's controlling it must be powerful."
"That's my guess. This isn't some witch in a gingerbread house, this is more like another demon."
"Yeah, but demons don't come topside very often."
"Which means they're a powerful demon that's controlling an even more powerful demon. On the other hand, it could just be a highly trained human that knows a few strong binding spells." She shrugs, plucking a fry out of the basket Dean had brought to the table. "We gotta do some more digging." But Sam isn't paying attention to her anymore, gaze straying to something over her head. "What? What is it?"
"It's a girl," Dean says, surprised. Elizabeth turns to follow their gaze, spotting a pretty blonde woman a few tables away. Her hair's cut short and her outfit is layered but tight enough to show off her assets, her smile charming.
"Excuse me," Sam says. He gets up and strides across the bar, Dean and Elizabeth scrambling after him. The woman looks surprised when Sam taps her shoulder, but it's the pleasant sort as she stands up to hug him. The weirdest part of the whole exchange is that Sam welcomes the hug.
"Sam," she greets," it's great to see you again! What are you doing here?"
"Just visiting some friends in town." The woman looks around, gazing right past the other two as they fight the crowd. Elizabeth throws an elbow to make a jock get out of her way, slipping past right as the guy turns around to glare at where she'd been. "I thought you were headed to California."
"I did. It was hot, the food wasn't bad and I met some famous dude in a bar. Can't remember his name, but he paid my tab so I'm not complaining. Anyway, I got bored and moved to here."
"Are you from here?"
"I'm from Andover, Massachusetts. I'm a traveler at heart so I can never stay in one place for long. I still have to send postcards to my little sister every other month to let her know I haven't been ax-murdered and shoved in some hillbilly's freezer." Sam snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. "Gosh, I'm so glad to see you again."
"I'm glad to see you too." Behind them, Dean clears his throat and the woman turns to give him an unimpressed frown.
"Cover your mouth, dude. No one here wants your germs." Elizabeth can't quiet hold back her snort of laughter, giving her boyfriend a consoling pat on the shoulder.
"Oh right, this is Dean and Elizabeth. Guys, this is Meg." Elizabeth remembers being told about a Meg, a hitchhiker that caught a ride with a creepy van dude and then ran off on a bus. She's prettier than Sam had let on.
"Oh, this is Dean?"
"You've heard of me, huh," Dean asks, looking too smug for words. Men never seem to realize when women are about to verbally eviscerate them, it's almost pitiable. Elizabeth doesn't stop the incoming rant, just readies herself in case she needs to start throwing punches.
"Oh yeah. You treat your brother like luggage." And the first volley is launched, knocking the smug grin off Dean's face better than any slap. "Why don't you let your brother do what he wants? Stop dragging him over God's green earth to find your alcoholic dad."
"Ouch," Elizabeth mutters, rubbing his back. "She got you good, didn't she?"
"And you," Meg starts again, shifting her gaze to Elizabeth. "Maybe shut up about your sex life every now and then so Sam doesn't have to suffer. He doesn't care about the things Dean does to you, or any other guy for that matter. And maybe stop announcing when your underwear matches. Nobody gives a shit." Elizabeth takes a step forward only to be stopped by Sam's outstretched arm. Dean grabs the back of her shirt when she tries to duck under Sam's arm, dragging her backwards against him. "What's wrong? Truth hurt?"
"Spend more than a few hours in a bus stop with Sam before you develop your opinions, sweetie," Elizabeth says in a warning tone. "I don't talk about my sex life that often to him because I know it makes him uncomfortable. You know what makes me uncomfortable? Sam complaining about his life to a total stranger without mentioning that times Dean has stuck up for him or the times I've comforted him. I spent two goddamn weeks talking him down from anxiety attacks while my own grades suffered."
"Liza, it's okay," Sam tries, but she rounds on him next.
"The next time you complain about how hard your life is, I'd like you to remember who's been there for you. Dean's never once abused you in his life and he damn sure didn't force you to come on this road trip. If you want to stop looking for your asshole of a father so badly, then be a man and do it. Don't bitch and moan about it." She shoulders past him on her way out of the bar, Dean chasing after her.
"Hey," he calls, catching up to her when she reaches the Impala. "Hey, you okay?"
"Hell no I'm not okay. I'm fucking pissed." She rakes her fingers through her hair, demolishing the messy braid she'd put it in that morning. "It's not right that he unloaded himself to complete stranger and forgot to mention that we aren't complete dicks."
"I know, honey. You know how he gets when he's mad." She lets out a sharp breath, letting him pull her close until her head is against his chest. She can hear the stammering beat of his heart, letting her know he's just as angry as she is. He's better at hiding his emotions, taught from a young age that they're a weakness. It's one of the reasons she'd love to kick John's ass.
"I want a bath." Sam comes out a few minutes later, his smile wiped off his face as he joins them beside the car. "You're a dick, Sam."
"I know," he says, holding out his arms. "I unloaded after that huge fight in Indiana with Dean and I regretted everything I said the second it left my mouth. I love you two idiots." She frowns, reluctantly moving away from Dean to give Sam a forgiveness hug. "I really am sorry, guys."
"You should be."
"Apologize by going on a date. That Meg chick is an ass, but you two obviously like each other."
"I don't know," Sam says. "I get weird vibes from her. Didn't you two?"
"Not really."
"Liza?"
"I don't know yet," she says, pulling away from him. "Let me enjoy a bubble bath and a good book, then I'll get back to you." The three of them pile into the car and head off for the motel room they'd booked, the place cleaner than some of the other ones they've stayed in.
Elizabeth grabs her book and some clean clothes before booking it to the bathroom, getting the water running and the bubble bath poured in. She undresses slowly and even lights a cupcake-scented candle before sinking down into the warm water. There's muffled conversation beyond the bathroom and then the motel door is opening and closing again.
"Did he go spy on Meg," Elizabeth calls.
"Yep!"
"What a doofus." No matter, she's got Inkspell in her hands and nothing to do for the rest of the night. She even gets ten minutes of peace before Dean is coming in and collapsing next to the tub.
"He is stalking that poor girl because he had bad vibes when she tore into us. Tell me he's just being protective and not creepy." Elizabeth hums, reaching out with her free hand to run her fingers through his short hair. "I feel like we're missing something."
"What are we missing?"
"Something to do with the victims. They can't just be random, they have to have something in common. Mind if I give Amy a visit?"
"Wear a condom."
"Always do." He stands up again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before walking out. The door opens and shuts as Dean leaves and then the motel room falls into silence. She smiles a little as she relaxes, letting herself get lost in the familiar words of her book. She can hear Brendan Fraser's voice in her head whenever Mo speaks in the book and it's a soothing sound.
"Isn't it odd how much fatter a book gets when you've read it several times? As if something were left between the pages every time you read it. Feelings, thoughts, sounds, smells...and then, when you look at the book again many years later, you find yourself there, too, a slightly younger self, slightly different, as if the book had preserved you like a pressed flower...both strange and familiar."
The quote at the end is from Inkspell by Cornelia Funke.