Blackhawk Down

The morning came, as it always did, and the two of them grabbed a quick breakfast from the local Starbucks' drive-through on the way back east, towards Bobby's place in Sioux Falls.

"So, yesterday was a lot," said Toby, one hand on the wheel, the other holding a half-eaten croissant to his mouth. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Faith said automatically. When he shot her an incredulous look, she snorted tiredly. "Really, I am. I'm okay. It was a lot, but it's better to know something than nothing, right?"

Toby hummed in not-quite agreement, taking a deep sip of the tea he'd ordered at the drive-through. "So, this mysterious demon cult of Clive's," he began bracingly. "I think it's fair to say there's a very good possibility it's true. And if it is, then that means his theory of what happened in the barn with your mum that day is also probably true. Which then means we might have half an answer about why you're being targeted by demons."

Faith took a deep sip of her vanilla latte, watching the desert scenery fly by. "That half being the who – not the why," she said. "Maybe this Cult thing are the ones after me. But why? For what reason? Because my mother banished some of their friends to Hell?"

"You're thinking revenge?"

"Depends. Are demons known for their pettiness?"

Toby shot her a look. "She killed thirteen of them, Faith. I wouldn't call that grudge 'petty'."

"Semantics."

"There's a chance they're not doing it on their friends' behalf," said Toby, eyes on the road while he drove, still chewing his breakfast.

"Elaborate."

"Well, what if it's actually the same demons?" Faith said nothing, peering at him in question. "We know demons can escape Hell, right? I mean, how else would they get up here and cause such a ruckus?"

"Did you just unironically use the word 'ruckus'?" she asked. "You're such an old man."

Toby ignored her, trying to keep hold of his dignity – though she liked to make it difficult. "Maybe the demons your mum sent down below have managed to claw their way back up, and now they're out for vengeance."

Faith still wasn't convinced. "All this trouble for little old me?" she asked, downing another sip of her latte. "Really, why would a chaos demon waste time stalking and tormenting me? Wouldn't it be more efficient to just kill me where I stand? That's what a smart demon would do."

"Who knows how demon brains work," he countered, "but something tells me efficiency isn't one of their top priorities."

"…You may have a point there."

"We also can't disregard the message that first demon gave you."

Like a drop of ice water, a chill shuddered down the length of her spine and set her fingertips trembling. She fought valiantly to keep from remembering the details of that night (the blood – there'd been so much, and the realisation that she was alone, that Nate was gone and all she had left was a couple of old tee-shirts, a signet ring that didn't fit, and a photograph she didn't even like) and instead focused on the message written in red on the wall, a moment full of words that would stay with her until the day she died.

"The curse dies with you," she said, as though the words didn't set her teeth on edge more than any nails down a chalkboard or keys against the body of a car. Toby said nothing, and they let the words ring and fade under the rumble of the car's engine. "What I never understood was why," she said after some time had passed. "Why kill Nate, and leave me a message in his blood? If this curse – whatever it is – literally dies with me, then why not just kill me?"

"Would you rather they do that?" Toby asked, eyebrow raised in question.

"It's the fuckin' least they could do," she muttered, picking at the flaky edges of the breakfast she'd yet to finish. The paper cup holding her latte was beginning to cool, and she quickly drank what remained while it was still warm enough to enjoy.

"Can you believe how close Clive was to the truth?" Toby asked, steering the conversation down a different, less painful road, for which she was grateful.

"The guy's this close to total enlightenment, I swear," she said, holding her thumb and forefinger together in front of her. Toby chuckled and turned onto the main stretch of road that would take them north – the direction they had to drive to avoid the mountain range between the two states. From there, they'd make their way east.

"D'you think he'll ever know the truth?" Toby wondered.

She scoffed. "Some secrets are better left buried."

Toby was quiet a minute, and he didn't speak until she looked over at him in question. "Do you wish that you didn't know the truth? That the Winchesters had never been honest, and you'd been able to go on living your life in peace?"

Faith laughed again, a mean rasp of a sound. "First of all – peace? That was never a word I'd have used to describe it. And secondly, I think the supernatural was going to come knocking whether Sam and Dean told me the truth or not. At least now that they have, that they've brought me to you – I have a fighting chance at coming out the other end of this unscathed."

Toby's expression was doubtful, and she laughed again dryly.

"Okay, maybe not unscathed, but in one piece, at the very least," she amended. Toby rolled his eyes, but the smile on his lips wasn't fake and she was glad for it. "We stopping for gas any time soon?"

"You need the bathroom again?"

"The latte went straight through me."

"Unbelievable."

They could have driven through the whole day and most of the night to get back to Bobby's quicker, but they stopped for the night in a town called Blackhawk, only a few hours over the state line. The motel Toby picked was a dive – but it was cheap, and that was really all that mattered.

"Fine, but if we get murdered, it's all your fault," Faith warned as she made her way towards the reception to rent them a room. The older lady behind the counter was nice enough. She caught sight of Toby getting their things out of the car and commented on how handsome her 'lovely husband' was.

Trying not to make too much of a face, Faith kindly corrected her.

"Brother," she said sweetly, "which is why we'd love a room with two singles, please."

The lady smiled apologetically and went about slowly putting their booking into the computer system that she clearly had no idea how to use. A short age went by, but finally Faith was handed their room key. Before she could leave, however, the lady stopped her with a hand on her arm, extending a small, colourful leaflet for her to take.

"I know you've only booked for the night, but we've got something of crisis happening in town at the moment," she said as Faith took the slip of paper.

SAVE OUR CATS it read in bright green comic sans, with pixelated images of several different black cats printed on the bottom.

"Cats all over the neighbourhood are going missing – a new one every night. We're not sure if someone's taking them, or if they're hurt or scared…" She had to take a moment to dab at her watering eyes. "But anyway, maybe if you happen to see one of the cats on the leaflet, you could try and catch it? And if you can't, at least let me know you saw it?"

Blinking at the onslaught of information, Faith could only nod. "Will do," she promised the lady with a reassuring smile, then left before she could cry any more.

She tossed the room key to Toby, who caught it and handed over her duffel in one smooth move.

"What's that?" Toby asked as she shut the door to their room and set down her bag, half-heartedly scanning the leaflet the cat-lady had given her.

"Hm? Oh, just some local crisis, the lady said. Bunch of cats have gone missing over the last few days. Apparently, the town's taking it pretty hard," she said offhandedly.

Toby frowned. "Can I see?"

"Have at it," she said, passing him the leaflet before moving into the bathroom on the other side of the room. "I'm taking a shower. I'll try not to use all the hot water, but I make no promises."

When Toby didn't have anything smart to say in response, she realised something was up.

"Toby?" she asked, leaning half out of the bathroom doorway, eyebrows raised in question. He was frowning down at the cat leaflet, a deep crease between his brows. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he mumbled.

"Once more, with feeling."

He looked up, back to his usual self. "Just take a shower. You stink to high heaven."

A solid thirty minutes later, just as the sun had disappeared and left the town unpleasantly chilly, Faith traipsed from the bathroom clad in her pyjamas (a pair of plaid pants and one of Nate's old tee-shirts) to find Toby sat at the small table by the window, staring out into the darkening sky like an old lady waiting for her husband to return from the war.

"Toby," she said, and he snapped out of it with a blink. "What's going on, man? I thought you'd go get dinner."

"I was distracted," he muttered, glancing down at the leaflet that was splayed open on the table in front of him like it were one of his beloved research textbooks.

"No shit," she said, snatching up the leaflet and eyeing it in the light of the nearby lamp, trying to see whatever Toby saw that she didn't – because clearly there was something fascinating that she'd yet to discover. "What the hell's going on?"

He leaned back, still looking troubled. "This doesn't seem odd to you?"

Faith frowned. "By odd, you mean…?"

"A potential job."

She blinked, scanning the leaflet with brand new eyes. "You think this is your kind of thing?"

"Our kind of thing," he corrected as he snatched it back. The distinction made her smirk. "And almost definitely," he said, scanning the paper intently, as if he might discover something he hadn't seen the first eighty times he'd looked. "Six black cats gone missing in almost as many days? It's no coincidence."

"Maybe there's a logical explanation," Faith said weakly.

Toby looked up from the leaflet with a frown. "Why don't you want this to be a job?"

Faith didn't want to lie to him, so with a deep breath that rang with reluctance, she told the truth. "I just dunno if I'm ready for a job yet." She said it quickly enough that the words blended and twined together. It was a miracle he understood her at all.

Toby, to his credit, didn't laugh. "What makes you say that?"

"I've only got a few months of training under my belt," she said, but the argument sounded thin to even her own ears. She tried again. "I just mean that there's still so much for me to learn."

"Faith," said Toby evenly. "You've gotta jump off this ledge at some point. Why not now? You know the basics, and even after only these few months, you're already better than most of the people I've worked with before. It's kind of scary, actually."

Faith flapped a hand. "Yeah, but…"

He took a step closer and dropped his hands onto her shoulders. The weight of them helped ground her, but she still looked up at him warily, doubting herself. "You're ready, Faith. Really, you are."

And despite her own issues, despite the voices in her head whispering that she wasn't good enough and that she never would be – she believed him. It was hard not to when he said it with such confidence. Like it were an undeniable fact.

But she was still a little shit, and he was still a giant nerd, so she wrinkled her nose and said, "Who made you the authority?"

Toby rolled his eyes. "You're the one who keeps calling me your – what was it again? – Mr. Miyagi."

"You're insufferable."

"Are we doing this or what?"

Faith glanced out the window at the darkening sky. "What, now?"

"No time like the present. You'd better get dressed." He took a moment to gather his wallet, keys and usual handgun, and while he did, Faith loped back into the bathroom to reluctantly change into jeans and a black tank top. She threw on her favourite – all right, only – jacket and shoved her feet into her sneakers.

She threw her hair up into a ponytail without looking in the mirror, then left the bathroom, trying her best to look confident and telling herself that this was fine – that Toby was right, and she was ready.

"Where to?" Toby asked before she could get a word out.

"You want me to decide?" she asked, voice full of dread.

Toby looked exasperated. "I'm training you to be a hunter, Faith. Not the assistant to a hunter."

Faith chewed anxiously on her tongue, then quickly slammed her eyes shut tight. In the comforting privacy of her own mind, she ordered herself to grow a pair. Toby was absolutely right – she was supposed to be learning how to do this for herself; learning every single aspect of the job, even the ones that made her skin itch like she needed to tear it off.

She wondered – without her own permission – what Nate would say if he was there.

"You've got this, Faith," she could imagine his smooth voice saying right before he kissed her stupid – enough to make her forget what they'd even been talking about in the first place. "You're good enough. You can do this."

By the time she opened her eyes, the self-doubt and fear had melted away. There was no way it could stand against the brilliance of Nate's memory, and the way he'd always believed in her, even – especially – when she didn't believe in herself.

Faith met Toby's stare with a clear head. "Think there's a diner nearby?"

Toby looked unimpressed. "You're thinking about dinner?"

"I'm thinking that diners in small towns are exactly the sort of place to go if you want to get caught up on the local gossip."

Toby's smile started small, then began to grow, until finally he was beaming wide enough to freak her out. He shook his head, looking proud to a degree that made her want to throw a punch on instinct. To her relief, all he said was, "Good thinking," as he made for the doorway. Exhaling loudly, Faith followed.

There was a thick cover of clouds in the sky, blotting out the sun that was already well into its decent towards the horizon. A glance at her phone told Faith it was coming close to seven, and she nodded to herself. Plenty of time to mix with the locals and grab a bite to eat.

"I'll go talk with the lady at the front desk again," she told Toby. "She'll know the best place to grab a bite, and maybe she'll know more about the cats."

"Be nice," Toby warned.

The look Faith shot him was affronted. "I'm always nice."

"I mean nice, nice," he said. "It'll help if you try to relate to her. Find a way to bond, and she'll tell you everything you need to know – so long as you ask the right questions."

"And what are the right questions?"

Toby shook his head. "The best way to learn is through experience."

Faith made a face. "I hate you."

Toby didn't bother retorting, and she fixed a plastic smile onto her face as she slipped into the little office at the front of the small motel. With bright red hair and glasses that put a drag queen to shame, the lady was reading an old paperback – some cheap romance with a half-dressed Fabio on the cover. Faith hadn't noticed before, but she was wearing a badge with the name Colette written in sparkly pink gel ink.

Colette looked up in surprise when Faith slipped into the room, quickly stuffing her book beneath the desk. "Everything all right with your room, dear?" she asked in a motherly tone of voice that instantly put Faith's nerves on edge. Faith had never been great with parental figures.

All the same, she pasted on a smile, the kind she'd use as a kid when she'd wanted pity snacks from the lunch ladies at school. "My brother and I were just wondering if you could recommend somewhere for us to grab a bite to eat."

Colette brightened instantly. "Oh, there's a lovely little Italian restaurant just around the corner-"

"Actually," Faith interrupted her as politely as possible, "we were hoping for something a bit more low-key. Maybe a local diner? Somewhere with great coffee?"

To Faith's relief, she smiled understandingly. "Of course. Well, everyone goes down to Artie's if they want a good cup of joe. He also has these magnificent short stacks. You really ought to give them a try."

"We'll be sure to do that," Faith said earnestly. She turned to go but pretended to remember something at the last second and looked back to Colette with a sad smile. "My brother and I were reading over that leaflet you gave me. It's so awful – so many cats going missing in one week. The owners must all be wrecks, poor things."

Maybe she was layering it on a bit thick, but it seemed to work, nonetheless. "Oh yes, it's so awful. Mabel and Jonathon over on Burke Street? They've had their Marshmallow over fifteen years," Colette gushed. "Mabel's an absolute mess over the whole thing – put up missing posters across half the town."

"Are there any theories?" Faith asked keenly. "That many missing at once – and all black in colour – it can't be a coincidence."

And like a screen slamming into place, Colette instantly went rigid. "Oh," she said with a chuckle of forced laughter. The look in her light blue eyes turned guarded and shrewd. "Oh, well, there's the odd theory – but really, I think there's a perfectly rational explanation to this whole thing," she said, implying – of course – that she thought there was an explanation going around that was perfectly irrational.

Remembering Toby's advice, Faith arranged her features into a sad expression and slumped miserably against the front desk. "I have a little black cat back at home – Impala, is his name," she added, thinking on her feet. "If anything ever happened to him…" she trailed off, taking care to keep looking devastated.

Colette said nothing, though she seemed to be slowly lowering her guard. Diving into the well of herself, Faith did something that had always come easy but was – at least from a moral standpoint – frowned upon. Tears welled in her eyes, and one even spilled over her cheek. She pretended to laugh at herself, looking away, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," she hurried to apologise as Colette reached quickly for a box of tissues, sliding them across the counter with a sympathetic look on her face. "I'm just, I'm really sorry this is happening to your town. I've lost pets in the past – and they really do become a part of the family, y'know? It's such a heartbreak to lose them, one way or another. When I think of how I lost my little Sammy only two years ago now…"

She wiped at her eyes, hand trembling – and like magic, the wall which had fallen so abruptly into place around Colette suddenly melted into nothing, replaced by a look of the utmost sympathy. "Oh, dear, I know exactly what you mean," she said, reaching out to take Faith's trembling hand in hers. "It's so hard to lose someone you love. I bet you're eager now to get back to little Impala."

"I really am," Faith sniffled pathetically. "But I couldn't leave without knowing these poor cats are all right! Surely there must be something, some clue or, or something that might tell us what's happened to them."

Colette paused a moment, chewing on her lip as she seemed to weigh her words carefully before speaking them aloud. "Well…there are certain people in town who think…" she shook her head abruptly. "It's silly."

"I'm sure it isn't," said Faith earnestly, eyes wide and full of hopeful innocence.

Colette hesitated, but in the end seemed to buy what Faith was selling. "Well, I'm not really the right person to talk about it – never was much of a history buff myself, but this town has a certain…unpleasant legacy, shall we say."

Faith tried not to look frustrated by how long it was taking this woman to get to the point. "And what is that?"

"Well – it's a little-known fact to the rest of the country – but, back in the mid-1600's, there were…it's so silly, you know, but there were…witch trials," she whispered the words like they were dirty.

Faith's blood ran cold. "There's a history of witches in Blackhawk?"

"Well, yes, but we were no Salem," Colette chuckled awkwardly. "Anyway, I bring it up only because there are some people in town who don't think the witches ever actually went away," she laughed again, nervous as could be, like she thought a witch might just hunt her down and curse her just for saying the words. "It's just silly superstition, not worth giving thought to – but I've heard whispers that those same people believe it's the witches' doing, all these kitties disappearing. I don't put any stock in the theories, but well, not everyone in town is so quick to dismiss them."

Faith wiped the last of the tears from her face, giving herself a moment to think.

"Oh, ignore me," tittered Colette nervously. "I'm just a rambling old lady. Look at you, you don't care about the local legends – you're just passing through. I'm sorry to have troubled you, dear."

"Don't be," Faith hurried to say. "Toby – my brother," she said, nodding to the window where they could see Toby through the glass. He was leant against the concrete beam holding up the overhang just outside, frowning down at his cell phone in his usual, serious way. "He's a history professor at the University of South Dakota. I'm sure he'll be fascinated by all this. Would it be okay if he came in here to speak to you?"

Colette was shaking her head before Faith had even finished asking the question. "No, no," she hurried to say. "That's really all I know. But if you want to know more, just ask Artie to point you in the right direction when you get to the diner. He's the heart and soul of this little town. Not a thing goes on here that he doesn't know about."

Faith knew then that this was the end of the conversation. She'd get nothing more from Colette on the subject – not tonight or any other. "Thank you for talking to me," Faith said, reaching out to squeeze the older woman's hand gratefully. "I'll be praying these cats find their way back to their families."

Colette smiled, peaceful and a tad relieved. "Me too, dear. Me too."

She quickly got directions to Artie's Diner, then said goodbye to Colette and made her way back out into the summer heat.

Toby looked up from his phone as the little bell above the door jingled and opened his mouth to speak, only to pause at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes. "Well," he drawled, "I've got to praise your commitment to the job."

"'Crying on cue' is listed under 'special skills' on my résumé."

"Liar. You don't have a résumé."

"You've got me there." She began to lead him out onto the street. "Diner's only a couple streets away. Might as well walk."

Tucking his hand into his pockets, Toby loped along after her as she quickly filled him in on what she'd learned from Colette. "Witch trials?" he asked keenly. "This far west?"

"I mean, it's possible, right? There's witch lore all over the country, in one form or another. Do you think that could be the cause of this whole thing?"

Toby scratched at his stubble. "Maybe," he allowed. "But we need more information before we draw any conclusions. What's our story?"

"You're my brother. You're a history professor at the University of South Dakota. I have a cat named Impala back home."

"I can work with that."

They arrived at the diner. It was rather nondescript, with the cliché chequered floor and red pleather booths. It was almost completely full, and the way it quietened for an instant when they walked in confirmed Faith's suspicions that it was the beating heart of the local gossip mill.

Faith and Toby got seats at the counter and immediately a man with silver hair and a towel thrown over one shoulder was leaning against the other side of the bar, a welcoming smile on his face. "You folks don't look familiar," he said with the sort of ease of a bartender in a cliché movie, "and I know everyone in town."

"I'm Toby Newton, this is my sister, Faith," said Toby with the kind of smile he only ever gave under duress. "We're just passing through, on our way to visit family in Sioux Falls."

"Well, welcome, Toby and Faith. I'm Artie. What'll it be for tonight?"

Faith looked up from the menu she'd been scanning. "I'll grab the strawberry short stack."

Artie smiled even as he scribbled it down on his little pad. "It's a breakfast-for-dinner sorta day, huh?"

"It comes highly recommended," she told him. "Colette, from the motel. Said you make the best short stack in the state."

Artie laughed, bright and easy, and Faith got the feeling this was a man who thrived in his comfort zone. "Yeah, she would say that," he said fondly. "And you?"

Toby gave the menu a fleeting glance. "I'll grab a cheeseburger with fries."

"Good choice," said Artie, finishing the order with a flourish and passing the little piece of paper through the gap in the wall, a faceless man taking it with a sweep of his hand. "Can I get you something to drink with those?"

Toby said, "Two Cokes would be great."

"You've got it," Artie grinned, disappearing below the counter only to reappear a moment later with two glass bottles. He placed them on the counter with a clink and grinned again. "Give us a yell if you need anything else…" he began to turn away, but Toby kicked Faith hard in the shin and shot her a stern look that she read without words.

"Actually, Artie," she began, and Artie looked back to them with raised brows, "my brother's something of history buff – teaches it at a university and everything, the fancy bastard." She nudged him with a playful grin. Toby played up rolling his eyes and reaching for his Coke. "Colette and I were chatting about the local history, and she said something about the local witch trials that happened way back in the 1600's?"

The people closest to them went utterly silent, turning the full force of their attention to them, and Faith tried not to look too put off by the reaction. Artie, to his credit, hardly blinked. "Yeah, it's a little-known fact about the town," he said casually.

"Well, we'd love to learn more, and Colette said you were the guy to ask," she added with an innocent smile, ignoring the way the people within hearing range were staring at them with unmistakable suspicion.

"Did she, now?" asked Artie carefully. "Well, how long are you two in town for?"

Toby didn't speak, and she knew he meant for her to take the reins, even now. "We've got a few days till we have to be in Sioux Falls, so who knows? This town's been so great so far. We come from a big city, so quiet little towns are like a whole new world for us to explore."

Artie picked up a nearby dish cloth and began to wipe down the counter, seemingly as an afterthought. "But investigating the history of witch trials – it's not exactly the most enjoyable way to spend your time."

"I'm a history professor," said Toby with a sheepish grin. "To me this is like summer camp – only without all the bullies."

Artie continued to frown. He cast the nearby patrons a glance, and though they'd all turned their attention back to their own conversations, some still eyed Faith and Toby like they were unwelcome intruders in their sleepy little town. Steeling himself, Artie leant towards Faith and Toby, a serious look on his face that hadn't been there a moment ago.

"Look," he began in a sombre tone of voice, "you two are free to spend your time in Blackhawk however you'd like. But you should know that most folks around here don't like to be reminded of the past."

Faith glanced at Toby, finding his jaw set and his eyes narrowed, the face of a man in the midst of solving a puzzle. "They're offended by talk of the witch trials?" he asked, bemused. "It was centuries ago."

"You'd think they'd want to capitalise on it, like they have in Salem," said Faith. "Witch tours, museums…it seems like it would be a great draw for your local tourism…"

Artie leaned even closer, lowering his voice to the point where she had to lean towards him, too, to hear what he had to say. "It's hard to explain," he said softly, "and this is no place to discuss it. But if you really want to know more, there's a…historian on the edge of town. Izzy Hopkins – she lives on Bailey Street, only house on the righthand side, red door and bad lawn maintenance. You can't miss it. She's got the answers you're looking for."

Faith and Toby exchanged another look. "Thank you," she said gratefully.

"Just tread lightly," said the diner's owner seriously, casting another look at the nearby patrons. "As I said, it's something of a sore spot amongst the locals, and you've caused enough waves as it is by making a show of your questions in the diner."

"We meant no disrespect-" Toby hurried to say.

"I know," said Artie briskly. "Just…be cautious."

"Thank you, Artie," Faith said sincerely. Artie's only response was a wary look as he wandered down to the other end of the counter to serve a pair of young teenagers who had just walked into the building.

Faith looked at Toby, who was staring at a random point on the far wall, a furrow in his brow. She waited for him to say something, but minutes passed, and he didn't, so she took matters into her own hands.

"So, tomorrow morning we'll drop by this Hopkins woman's house and see what she has to say about the witches – although I'm still not totally convinced there's anything here at all," she said quietly. It was true – the missing black cats were certainly a red flag, but it was just as likely it was the work of a bunch of troublesome teenagers as it was that the history of witchcraft in town had anything to do with it.

Instead of replying, Toby leant far to his left and swiped an open newspaper from where it lay forgotten on the countertop. He shook out its wrinkles, spreading it out flat on the counter and staring with hard eyes at the front page.

Dread was once again like ice water down Faith's spine. "What?"

Toby just pushed the newspaper towards her. With a heavy weight in her chest, Faith reached for it, scanning the title of the front-page story grimly.

Blackhawk's Cattle Mutilations Continue; Farmers in Distress

"Still think there's nothing here?" Toby asked dryly.

Faith let out a slow breath through clenched teeth. As much as she'd like to believe this was nothing, and that they'd be on their way back to Bobby's by lunch tomorrow, she knew now, in her heart, that there was more to this than there seemed.

There was evil in this town. And they had a responsibility – a duty – to put an end to it. Because they were maybe the only ones who could. Guardian angels didn't exist, so she and Toby were the closest thing to saviours this town was ever going to get.

The next morning, they rose with the sun, its warmth piercing through a gap in the cheap motel curtains and making the room stuffy before they were even fully awake. While Faith wanted to go straight to Hopkins woman's house to talk to her, Toby managed to convince her that showing up at a stranger's house at six in the morning wasn't a good way to get them to cooperate.

Reluctantly, Faith let Toby run through whatever drills they could do in the small space of their motel room. Pushing the table and a randomly placed ottoman out of the way, they used the empty stretch of room to spar.

"You're getting better," Toby said after they'd both taken their showers, the hand of the clock inching closer to ten – a much more reasonable hour to go around asking the locals questions about witchcraft. "That right hook can really do some damage," he added, reaching up to gently press his fingertips to the faint bruise blooming on his jaw.

"Sorry, again," she mumbled, pulling on boots and shrugging into her jacket. "I thought you were going to dodge it."

"I couldn't have dodged that if I had super speed," he replied as he stuffed his feet into his own boots, swiping up his wallet and keys.

"And yet you punish me."

"Sit-ups are not a punishment, Faith," he argued. "It's part of your training. Core strength is vital to-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she muttered, brushing past him as she pulled her hair up into a sloppy ponytail. "Can we go already?"

Bailey Street seemed like it was on the low-income side of the town, with dry, brittle grass and hollowed-out cars lining the street. The sidewalks were empty, and the houses were falling apart at the seams. Faith privately thought it looked like the type of place cats came to die.

"Red door, terrible lawn maintenance," said Toby as they came to a stop outside of a particularly shabby house, with a torn awning and a door that was red only by the loosest of definitions.

"Toby," Faith began matter-of-factly, "I genuinely believe that if we go inside that house, we're gonna get murdered."

Toby rolled his eyes. "Getting maybe-murdered is your new day job. Now pull up your big-girl-pants and knock on the door."

Faith made a face but otherwise didn't argue. They were only waiting outside the sort-of-red door a few moments before it was tugged open to reveal a woman in threadbare clothing and a dark green shawl. Her silver hair hung in angry snarls around her weathered face, and her eyes were so hazel they looked nearly amber.

"Mrs. Hopkins?" Toby asked with a smile that only bordered on charming but didn't quite hit the mark.

"Ms," she corrected him sharply, her voice as weathered as her skin. "And I prefer Izzy."

"Izzy," said Faith quickly, before Toby could say anything else unwittingly offensive. "My name's Faith. This is my brother, Toby. This is going to seem a little bit random, but we were passing through town for a few days and heard about Blackhawk's hidden history. We're something of historians ourselves, and Artie at the diner told us you're the person to come to for all the gory details."

Izzy's hawklike eyes seemed to narrow into slits, assessing her critically. Faith felt strangely like she were in the underworld, having her heart weighed by Anubis. She desperately hoped to be found worthy.

Finally, after far too long to be considered socially acceptable, the crotchety-looking old woman said, "Well, come on then," and turned abruptly on her heel to stomp back into the creepy shadows of her home.

Faith looked over to Toby. "We're going to die," she mouthed exaggeratedly.

Toby rolled his eyes again and pushed her over the threshold of the old woman's house.

The inside of the house was just as shabby and derelict as the outside, with everything from dust on the floor to holes in the wooden walls. Its furniture was sparse and equally as neglected. But despite its terrible state, it smelt wonderful – like sage and lavender, with just a hint of beeswax.

Stood in the living room – filled with two threadbare couches but no TV in sight – Faith tried not to wince and reach for her knife when the front door swung shut, sealing them inside with whatever grim fate awaited them.

"Would you like some tea?" the old woman asked in that croaky voice, calling it over her shoulder as she shuffled, hunchbacked and slow, into what Faith assumed was a kitchen.

Before she could answer, Toby appeared in her line of sight, eyes wide and communicating one, screaming message.

DO NOT DRINK THE CREEPY WOMAN'S TEA!

"Chill," she whispered, even as she nodded once. "We'd love some," she called to Izzy, because something told her it would only cause offence to refuse the offer. "Do you have any herbal?"

Izzy snorted, the sound unexpected. "Honey, that's all I have."

The kitchen was stocked much better than the rest of the house, with decent-looking appliances and a pair of cheery yellow curtains that didn't even slightly match the rest of the house's aesthetic.

"Take a seat," said Izzy, gesturing with a gnarled hand at the small, round dining table in the middle of the room. There were only three chairs to begin with, and Faith took a seat at the one with her back to the rest of the house – so she could keep both eyes on the woman, who was now filling a large kettle with water from the faucet.

Toby sat on Faith's right, and they faded into silence. The only sound filling the room was the quiet pattering of Izzy making tea.

"You have a lovely home," said Toby once the silence became so thick and uncomfortable that he had no choice but to speak.

Izzy snorted again but otherwise didn't respond. Faith watched as Toby ground his teeth together, then turned his attention to her, jerking his chin at the old crone filling three mugs with boiling water. It was an order she wanted to resist, but still, Faith reluctantly cleared her throat.

"So, Izzy," she began, doing her best to keep her voice light and breezy, "what can you tell us about the witch hunts of Blackhawk?"

Izzy grunted. "There were witches; they got burned. Not much more to it."

Faith desperately wished Toby would take the reins again, but he only nodded sternly at Izzy. Faith was left taking a deep breath and doing exactly as he suggested – pulling on her big-girl-panties.

"See, thing is, folks in town seemed to be a bit touchy about the subject," she told Izzy gently. "I can't imagine it would still be such a sore topic if there wasn't more to it than a few simple burnings."

Izzy's eyes flashed, "A burning's never a simple thing." Faith watched Toby's hand subtly drop to the gun he had tucked in his waistband. "You think it was easy for those woman to be chained to a stake and burned to a crisp in front of a hundred jeering townsfolk? That it was fair their only crimes were healing their sick sons and teaching their daughters to read?"

Izzy dropped their cups of herbal tea down in front of them with such force that some of the liquid sloshed over the side. Faith reached for her cup, and at the same time made a subtle motion to Toby, who didn't relax, but didn't look quite as ready to pull free his pistol to protect them from a threat Faith wasn't even convinced was here.

"I can't imagine what those women went through," Faith said quietly. "But I have a feeling," she continued, still keeping her hands in perfect sight, "that maybe you have more of an idea than I ever will."

Izzy's eyes were haunted, and Faith tried to keep her expression neutral and sympathetic. The old crone's hawklike eyes darted between the two of them, full of careful calculation. Faith stared back, unflinching, and the old woman smiled. It was an ugly thing to behold, twisted and warped, and it sent alarm bells ringing in Faith's head.

Toby cleared his throat. "Artie said you were a historian?" he asked in his best attempt at conversation. "Where did you study?"

Izzy's gaping smile turned cruel, but only for a moment. Faith tried not to flinch back from the force of that cruelty, her own fingers twitching with the urge to reach for a weapon. "I'm only a historian in the way all women are historians – the keeper of our mother's secrets, and her mother's before her, and so on."

Faith was beginning to think this woman spoke only in riddles. A sarcastic retort sat on her tongue, but she reminded herself that this was part of the job – she couldn't just mouth off whenever she liked, just because she was annoyed. She needed information – and all signs were pointing to this woman holding the key.

"But why would Artie say you were a historian if you weren't?" Faith asked quietly.

Izzy's lip pulled back in a snarl. "Because 'historian' sounds far nicer than 'witch'," she spat the words with some strange mix between venom and pride.

Toby went rigid beside her, but Faith forced herself to stay relaxed. Surely if Izzy was planning on attacking them, she wouldn't be sitting there so calmly, openly admitting to being the very thing they were there to hunt.

"You're a witch?" she asked Izzy patiently, like a friend enquiring about her day over an innocent cup of tea.

"Faith," said Toby in warning. The wooden supports of his rickety chair groaned in protest as he leant backwards, as if subconsciously trying to get as far away from the self-proclaimed witch as possible.

Faith tried to catch Toby's eye, but he was staring resolutely at Izzy, one hand hovering over the butt of his handgun. To her credit, Izzy didn't look concerned about how ready to kill her he looked, but Faith wasn't sure whether that was a mark against her or not. Was she brave or just crazy?

Toby wasn't saying anything, so Faith got the feeling she had to pick up the slack, lest they just sit there in awkward silence until the sun set and their untouched tea went cold.

"There have been black cats going missing around town," she told Izzy, surely nothing she didn't already know. "Would I be correct in assuming you would have something to do with that?"

When Izzy laughed it sent gooseflesh prickling all along the lengths of Faith's exposed arms. She moved her hands casually to her lap and tried to look unaffected.

"What do you need the cats for?" she asked quietly, feeling an almost supernatural calm come over her. Strangely enough, she wasn't afraid.

Izzy's gap-toothed grin went from wickedly amused to menacing in an instant. "You ask a lot of questions for a pair of innocent tourists," she sneered, her long, thin fingers moving like spider legs across the table, creeping their way threateningly towards Faith.

Faith didn't move even as her own hands began to subtly inch towards where the hilt of her knife stuck out from her pants. She was beginning to get the feeling they'd made a terrible error in allowing themselves to come into this house, and that maybe her playful teasing from before wasn't quite so harmless. Maybe they really were going to die in this house.

"We're history buffs," said Faith cheerfully as she could manage. "Can't blame us for being curious."

Izzy cocked her head, her amber eyes narrowing and her snarled hair hanging limply around her pallid face. As her spindly fingers continued to creep menacingly closer, Faith realised this hadn't just been an error – it had been a humungous mistake. They were flies caught in a spider's web. And the spider was hungry for dinner.

"I don't think you're tourists," said Izzy in a sneer, seeming to almost fold herself over the rickety table, creeping ever closer despite the space between them. "I think you came looking for me. I think you're here to try and kill me," she snarled.

"We can see we've upset you," Faith said graciously, slowly standing to her feet in the desperate hope it would be enough to deescalate the situation. "So, er, we'll just get out of your hair-"

The crone flicked her wrist and the doors at either end of the small kitchen slammed shut, sealing them inside. While Faith took it as a cue to collapse back into her chair, Toby shifted in his seat, his hand smoothly disappearing beneath the table. "We meant no offence," he said, calm even as Faith watched his fingers curl around the grip of his gun from the corner of her eye.

"A wolf means no offence to a rabbit," snarled the witch.

Cool air brushed Faith's cheeks, and at first, she thought it was just a natural draught, but realised very quickly both doors had slammed shut and there were no open windows in the room. As the frigid air began to grow stronger, Faith knew it was no ordinary breeze.

Izzy was standing over them with her fingers curled in like talons, the phantom wind blowing at her loose clothes like a woman stood at the seaside, not in her closed-off kitchen. The wind grew more ferocious with every pound of Faith's heart, the breeze making her clothes flutter and her hair whip against her cheeks.

Toby didn't waste another moment waiting. He flew to his feet, aiming his gun directly between the witch's eyes and firing. The gun fired without issue, but no blood bloomed at Izzy's forehead. Instead, she grinned, a wicked, fearsome thing, and the wind grew so strong that it burned Faith's open eyes.

"Faith, get out of here!" Toby shouted at her just before firing thrice in quick succession. None of those bullets hit the witch, either. It was as if they'd disintegrated into nothing the moment they'd left the barrel of his gun. Faith could only stand, rooted to the floor, eyes narrowed against the sting of the unnatural wind. "Faith!" her partner bellowed over the wind, which had begun to roar like a hungry beast.

His shout snapped her out of her stupor, and in a movement that was born of some new, wonderful instinct, Faith pulled free the knife hidden in her boot. Gripping it tight, straining against the burn of the wind in her eyes, she had only a heartbeat to aim, account for the wind, then throw.

Unlike the bullets, the knife didn't vanish into thin air. Instead, the wind that had filled the room like a tunnel blew it with a force that no amount of math could counteract. The knife whirled off course, thrown against the peeling wallpaper where it sank into its hilt, useless.

Faith would have gaped were the furious gale not cutting off all the air supply in the room, making it almost impossible to breathe.

She had to do something, otherwise they were both going to die utterly inglorious deaths. Which was unacceptable. If she didn't go out in a blaze of glory, well then, she was just going to have to live forever.

Knowing she had to act, Faith did the first thing that came to mind. She threw herself over the table stood between her and the witch and in one, clumsy move, tackled Izzy to the floor. The witch let out a yelp of surprise, but Faith didn't hesitate. She climbed atop the crone's body, wrapping one hand around her throat and pressing the other over her mouth so she couldn't recite any spells or incantations.

The witch struggled in Faith's hold, but thankfully her concentration had been ruined and the powerful, sourceless gale filling the room began to die. Izzy scratched at the hand Faith had wrapped around her throat, but Faith ignored the sting of pain as her claw-like nails bit into her skin.

"What do you need the cats for?" Faith demanded, tightening the hand on her throat for a moment before releasing her grip just slightly – enough so the witch could speak.

The witch sucked in a sharp gulp of hair before hissing through gritted teeth, "Go to Hell."

Something hit Faith in the side of the head and stars burst across her vision. Crying out in surprise, she fell to the side, her grip on the witch's throat loosening enough for Izzy to clamour out of reach. Some part of Faith wondered where Toby was – was he okay? Why hadn't he killed the witch yet? – but mostly she was just trying to blink away the black spots in her vision, holding a hand to her head, which ached something fierce.

"Hey!" came Toby's voice, bringing her out of her fog of pain. "Answer our questions! If you mean no harm, then neither do we!"

Izzy hissed at him like a jungle cat while Faith climbed unsteadily to her feet, hands gripping either side of her throbbing head. "The people of this town will answer for their crimes," Izzy snarled.

Gone was the strange and slightly creepy old woman who had answered the door. In her place was something straight from a nightmare, a hag whose wild hair crackled with static, whose nails had become talons. Izzy took a warning step forwards and Faith stumbled out of her way.

"What crimes?" Toby demanded, hands held out as if the prove he wasn't a threat. "What did they do to you?"

Faith's head was full of a relentless clanging, too loud for her to hear whatever Izzy said in reply. Her blurry vision caught sight of her knife still embedded in the wall and an idea came to mind. When Izzy inched forwards again, she pretended to stumble clumsily, throwing herself against the wall where she slumped as if out of strength.

Izzy was speaking, but the buzzing in Faith's head was too loud to make sense of it. Toby said something, but Faith's attention was on the hilt of the knife protruding from the kitchen's cracked plaster wall. Her fingers wrapped around the knife, and then, in a movement so quick that it almost made her dizzy, Faith wrenched it from the wall, aimed with a gut instinct, and threw.

Distracted as she was by Toby, Izzy had no time to stop the blade from hitting her. The knife slid through her papery skin like it was butter, sinking deep into her chest. The witch went rigid, slowly looking down at the blade embedded in the space just above her heart.

Blood began to spill from the mortal wound, but the witch didn't cry out or snarl or shake her fist in fury. Instead, she smiled, a truly chilling thing to behold. Faith stared at her, one hand pressed to the bruise blooming on the side of her head, a feeling like ice water flooding her veins where there should have been hot blood.

The witch swayed where she stood, lifting a hand to the blood pouring from around the knife, running her hands through the red like a child playing in a sandbox. The wickedness of her smile sharpened into something dangerous, and her eyes locked onto Faith's with a predatory intent. She lifted a single, crooked, bloodied finger, aiming it at her like a promise.

"You think this dies with me?" she rasped.

An image flashed behind Faith's eyes, letters written in her dead lover's blood: THE CURSE DIES WITH YOU.

But Izzy wasn't talking about that. The connection was merely coincidental. Instead, she peered at them with smug victory. Odd, that she could look like she'd won the battle, even with a knife in her chest.

"There are others," she wheezed, wicked delight in her eyes. It was like she was imagining their death, and it brought her great pleasure in these final moments.

"What do you need the cats for?" Toby demanded, taking two large steps forwards but stopping just shy of reaching her. "And the cattle mutilations; why?"

Izzy tried to suck in a breath, but the knife had likely punctured a lung. Faith thought the only reasons she was still standing were magic and pure spite. "My sisters…will make you…suffer…" she gasped, trembling all over, eyes turning glassy. "My sisters…will avenge…me…"

And then the witch collapsed in a heap, what was left of her strength leached from her in an instant. She fell still, a puddle of oozing blood growing beneath her prone form.

Faith's ears was still ringing, and her head still ached like someone had taken to it with a bat. A glance at the kitchen floor told her it was probably the cast-iron pan which lay beside Izzy's body that had been the instrument of the blow to her head. She pressed trembling fingers against the egg growing just behind her ear, wincing as pain lanced through her body at the touch.

"Faith?" Toby wasn't there one second, and the next his face was hovering just above hers. His neatly trimmed beard couldn't even hide the tenseness of his jaw, his eyes clouded with worry. "Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked, holding up three fingers far too close to her eyes.

"Relax, Toby," said Faith, even as her head throbbed something fierce. "I'm fine."

All the same, he wrapped an arm around her waist, propping her up against him. It said a lot about how wrecked she felt that she didn't even protest. She just let him take her weight, guiding her slowly across the kitchen. The room was small, and the dead body of the witch was between them and the door. It wasn't pretty, but they had to step over her corpse to get out of the room.

Faith froze with her feet inches from the edge of the pool of blood gathering beneath the body. She stared down at the witch she'd killed and tried to sort out the feeling in her chest – the one that wasn't quite guilt, but wasn't quite triumph, either.

"It was either you or her, Faith," said Toby quietly. She said nothing. "Your first kill is never easy. I know how you're feeling. But she was dangerous, and she was probably going to hurt a lot of people. You did the right thing."

"Yeah," muttered Faith. She knew he was right. True, they didn't know for sure that Izzy was planning on hurting anyone, but she'd been willing to hurt them, and she'd also alluded to bigger plans. Plans that Faith couldn't imagine didn't involve some degree of suffering.

But at the same time, she'd just killed someone. A living, breathing person was dead because of her.

She kept staring down at the witch, waiting for the guilt, or maybe some degree of panic, to come. But none did. She didn't feel happy about it, or even proud by any definition, but rather she felt…acceptance. She'd done what needed to be done; she was a hunter, and she'd done her job.

Toby said her name delicately, as if worried anything louder might push her over some unseen edge. Faith looked up at him, her expression set like clay.

"I'm okay," she assured him, and it was even true.

She stepped over Izzy's cooling body, and they made their way out of the creepy, threadbare house. Seeing the sunshine outside was strange, like some part of Faith had thought they'd step out to a world of rain, or maybe just pitch black and stars. The warmth of the sun was nice, though, even if the light sent knives of pain into her eyes.

"I've got some pain meds back at the motel," said Toby as they made their way towards the car. "It'll help the headache, but you also might have a concussion."

"I think I'm fine," she shrugged. "I've had concussions before. This doesn't feel that bad."

Toby remained unconvinced. "Well, just let me know if you start to feel tired."

She probably wouldn't, and he knew it. But it didn't matter quite so much as the other problem looming over their heads. "She said there were more," she said, the words husky and raw. "Other witches in town. Toby – we have to find them before-"

"I know," he nodded, cracking open the passenger side door and gently guiding her inside the car. He sighed was heavy with concern. "I know."

A/N: Hey guys, sorry for being MIA, the next chapter will be up immediately as an apology. Hope you enjoy! xx