Chapter 11

“So Maggie is the one who cast the spell? That nice old lady is the witch?"

“Told you that old people could be devious.”

Sam shook his head disbelievingly and shivered as more chills wracked his body. He was huddled in the passenger's seat of the car, bundled in his brother's jacket and a blanket that they'd borrowed from Wakeen- but the cold still seemed to find him. "I should have known."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Because of all the cats. Right? They are usually a witch's familiar."

"No." Sam shrugged. "Because of the pancakes. Nobody cooks that good unless they've made a pact with the Devil."

Dean glanced at his brother with a slight shake of his head and then back to the road. "That would explain some things about Emeril."

Sam started to reply when his brother’s cell rang. Dean grabbed it and answered, “Yeah?”

“Whoo-weee, boy. Do you know how bad a body can still smell after a hundred years?”

Dean looked at Sam and rolled his eyes as he mouthed-Morry. “I take it you found our boy.”

“Well, what’s left of him. He’s not exactly in the best shape. As soon as the air hit him-well things started to fall apart.”

Dean could almost imagine the freaky Santa Clause clone holding a phalange or an ulna and looking rather guilty. “See people didn‘t use the state of the art embalming techniques that I, myself,…”

“Morry,” Dean cut the man’s speech off, “just look around and see if you see anything in there with him.”

“Like what?” Morry actually sounded kind of concerned. “You ain’t expecting any of those beetle things to come out are you-damn I hated that Mummy movie…”

Dean sighed. “Like a necklace, Morry. It would be made of beads and stone-it should have survived relatively intact.”

“Artifact hunting?” Dean cold almost imagine the excited gleam in the big mechanic’s eyes. “Always did fancy that Indiana Jones fella.”

“Yeah, well, if you can find that necklace, Junior, I’ll buy you a whip of your very own.”

Sam shot his brother an amused look, and Dean merely shrugged.

After a long moment, the mechanic‘s voice boomed on the line again. “I’ll be damned,” Morry whistled loudly and Dean winced. “Smack my ass and call me sweet baby.”

Dean tried to quickly erase the disturbing images that Morry’s words conjured. “You find it?”

“I got it. It was still around old man Monroe’s neck. Pulled it right off-head and all.”

Nice. “Good. Bring it to the Rest Inn as soon as you can.”

“No problem.”

“And Morry?”

“Yeah?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any salt and lighter fluid lying around-would you?” Dean knew his father had said that destroying the bones wouldn’t help-but what would it hurt.

The big man laughed. “I’ve got some embalming fluid.”

“Is it flammable?”

“Hell yes.”

“Then that’ll do.”

Morry’s deep laughter rumbled through the phone. “You are just a kick in the pants, Winchester.”

After instructing Morry on the finer points of corpse burning, Dean cut the connection and cast an anxious glance to his quiet brother. “How you holding up, man?”

“About the same.” Sam rested his head against the seat and raised a brow. “You know, Dean, if this thing doesn’t work out, you could take Morry on the road with you.”

Dean shook his head and tried to smile. “He does seem to take to it-huh? Bet he wouldn‘t be complaining all the time either.”

“Yeah.”

“Nah, I’ll stick with you, little brother. I have a feeling Morry isn’t exactly house trained, and the scent of grease and formaldehyde is not my favorite aroma.” Dean grinned. “Besides, he’d be wanting to stuff and mount all the big game.”

Sam smiled. “Maybe Dad could use a partner.”

At that Dean did laugh. “They do have the whole mechanic thing in common too-a match made in heaven.”

A sudden coughing fit killed the light mood and Dean reached out to squeeze his brother’s shoulder. “Hold on, Sammy. We’re almost there.”

Sam shook his head, his eyes watering from the strain. “It’s almost nine, man. We don’t have a lot of time left.” I don’t have much time left.

As if on cue, Dean’s cell rang again. He frowned and reluctantly let go of his brother to answer it, bringing his eyes back to the road. “Yeah?”

“You’re not going to believe what I found out, kid?”

“That not only is your creepy Kodak crusader a soul-sucker, but that the little old lady who runs your inn is an immortal Witch with an axe to grind? Your town has issues, dude.”

Sheriff Landry sighed loudly across the connection. “You know Maggie owns the Inn and that it use to be the apothecary shop?”

“Crack police work, Andy. But yeah-I figured it out.”

“I still don‘t know if I believe in all this or not.”

“Well, it‘s not like you’re wearing ruby slippers, dude. It doesn‘t matter if you believe it or not. It‘s real.”

“Then you want to tell me what we’re going to do about it, because I just don‘t see me getting a warrant for Maggie on the premise that she is the undead.”

Actually she‘s immortal-totally different than a zombie…but. “Where are you?”

“I’m in Phoenix. I had to come up here to find the records I needed. Seems all of our copies of the deed for the Rest Inn had mysteriously disappeared. You wouldn‘t believe the fucking strings I had to pull to get this place opened up in the middle of the night.”

“How long until you can get here?”

“About an hour or so-depending on traffic.”

That would work.

Dean glanced at Sam, who now had his eyes closed. “It may all be over before you get back, but swing by and pick up Wakeen and meet us at the Inn.” Sam will need someone.

“What the hell do you mean it will be over, Winchester? What are you going to do?”

Dean shut the phone and Sam opened his eyes and looked at him. “Bad connection,” he lied. “Landry’s going to be a little delayed.”

“Then it’s up to us.”

Dean nodded. “Captain Onehelluva Big Brother and Geek Boy ride again.”

“We’re a good team,” Sam mumbled around a heavy sigh.

The older hunter cast another worried glance at his brother, who seemed to be drifting off. “Stay awake, Sammy. I need you conscious on this one. I‘m tired of pulling your weight.”

That did the trick. Eyelashes fluttered, and Sam shoved himself straighter in the seat. “When have you ever pulled my weight, jerk?”

“Oh, just about every time we’ve ever hunted together, bitch.” Dean smiled to take away the sting.

“Funny then, that you usually end up in trouble when I’m not around.”

“Well, if I’m not rescuing you-I’ve been known to let my guard down.”

“So-I keep you sharp?”

Dean shrugged. “I guess.” Or maybe if you’re not around-I just don’t give a flying fuck.

“Well just remember I’m right beside you on this one-even if I’m not a hundred percent.” Sam stared at his brother. “No being careless or dropping your guard.”

“I’m on this one, Sammy. We’re going to take Dellacrois down.”

“And how exactly are we going to do that?”

“We’re going to reverse the spell.”

“And this miraculous dream that you had told you how to do that, too?” Sam looked skeptical. “Sense when did you put such faith in anything you couldn’t taste, touch, or kill?”

An image of their father flashed unbidden to Dean’s mind. “This dream was just different.”

“Different how?“

Dean frowned and shot his kid brother an annoyed look. Sam could pick the most inconvenient times to have poignant discussions. “Forget the dream, Sammy. We need to concentrate on Dellacrois. She’ll probably be expecting us.”

Sam nodded, thoughtfully. “Because we disturbed Monroe’s grave.”

“Technically Morry did-but I’m guessing Monroe’s not too happy about it, and has probably reported back to his pit boss by now.”

“You said there were things at the inn-witch things?”

“Yeah, besides the kitties, there was a whole mantle in the main living room. Crystals, wooden cups, a scepter and an athame.”

“Why would she keep stuff like that out in the open. Shouldn’t she have had an alter?”

“Keep up here, Geek Boy. Remember the whole in plain sight thing. The woman didn’t have anything to hide. She had no clue who we were-what we do. No one else would have recognized them. Hell-I didn’t even really notice them until Dad…” Dean stopped himself suddenly and then tried to cover his blunder, “until something Dad once said came back to me.”

“What was that?”

“Something about witches liking to keep their power objects close to them.” It was the first thing he could think of, but Sam seemed to buy it.

“So, you think Dellacrois might have actually used the same athame you saw on the mantle to kill Monroe.”

“It was her connection to him. I don’t think she’d get rid of it.”

“That’s risky.”

“Not a lot of people out trying to reverse her spell, Sammy.”

Sam nodded. “Not a lot of people willing to let someone kill them to save someone else’s life.” He suddenly glanced at his brother, as if he were slowly just putting all the pieces together. “How exactly are we going to break her spell, Dean? A counter would require an acting out of the exact original with one core difference.” Love would replace hate.

“We’ll figure that out when we get there.”

Sam swallowed back a slight rush of panic as memory of his earlier visions scratched painfully at the edges of his mind. “Remember-you already promised me that you wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m not going to do anything stupid, Sammy.”

Later, Sam would recall that he should have asked Dean to describe his definition of stupid. “How long do you think it will take Morry to get here?”

“The homestead is a lot closer to the inn than we were out at Wakeen’s. Hopefully, he won’t be far behind us.”

“Are we going to destroy the necklace?”

“No.” Dean looked at his brother. “We’re going to give it back to Geronimo. Well, actually, that will be your job. Just wait for my signal.” Everything would have to be perfectly timed.

“What? My job?” Sam’s brow furrowed. “What’s your job?”

Dean was glad that they suddenly found themselves entering New Hope because he didn’t have the answers that his brother wanted. For once, he wasn’t quite sure of anything. And that more than scared the hell out of him. He didn’t like leaving things up to chance, but the circumstances left him no choice. “We’ll take the shotguns and rock salt for Monroe.”

“And Dellacrois?” Sam couldn’t understand why his brother was dismissing the threat that the old woman represented. “She’s more than likely a crone, Dean.”

“Hey, I won’t argue with you there, little brother.”

“You know what I mean-a third stage witch. Not a maid, or a mother, but a crone-all knowledge and power.”

“Yeah-just once I wish we’d bag a maid-all naïve and sexual.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Focus-Dean. Focus.”

Dean grinned at him. “Thinking about sex keeps me focused and motivated.”

“Like humming Metallica calms you down?”

“Yeah.”

“You are warped, man.”

“I just use whatever works.”

“Yeah,” Sam mumbled, “Winchester rule number five.”

Dean had to swallow back the small lump that sprung to his throat as he turned onto the cul-de-sac that would lead them to the Rest Inn. His heart picked up speed and he cursed the sweat he could feel slicking his palms where they gripped the steering wheel of the Impala. “You ready?”

Sam did a quick mental scan of his body-not liking what he found. He’d be lucky to get out of the car without assistance-let along be of much help to his brother. But he’d do his damnest to hold on. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Dean nodded and shoved the car in park. He reached for the door handle, but stopped and looked back at Sam. “You know, Sammy…I …I want you to know…,” he stumbled over the words, cursing his inability to express something so simple. Why is it so damn hard to tell him how I feel?

Sam watched the look of complete discomfort pass over his brother’s face and he knew what he was struggling to say. Emotions could bring Dean to his knees quicker than a punch ever could. He couldn‘t stand to watch him suffer. “I know, Dean. I’m not going anywhere any time soon-you can be repressed for a while longer. It‘s okay.”

The older Winchester watched his kid brother let him off the hook once again with his attempt at humor and a flash of dimples. He inwardly winced. Sam deserved better. “Let’s go then.”

Sam was surprised that his shaky legs held him as he followed his brother around to the back of the car and was able to take the shotgun without falling over.

Dean must have been just as unsure of his ability to remain upright, because he grabbed his wrist and squeezed it. “You going to be able to stay with me?”

Sam shook his head slightly to clear the fog trying to creep over his senses like a black cloud. “I’m good.”

Dean grabbed his own gun, his cross bow and his Dad’s journal. “Yeah, we’re both good.” Just fucking peachy.

They had started for the steps when the familiar and unmistakable thunder of a Harley Davidson could be heard in the distance. The older Winchester stopped and shot his brother a slight grin. “Morry, the mortician’s, here.”

“Taxidermist,” Sam corrected, and couldn’t help but to shake his head as the big beast roared into view. Morry would not be easily forgotten.

The mechanic killed the hog and eased himself from the saddle like a cowboy who’d just caught several members of the notorious James’ gang. “Winchesters,” he slid his helmet off and grinned at the brothers as he took in the weapons and the twin looks of determination on their faces.

“Morry.” Dean nodded, and slung the shotgun over his shoulder. “You got something for us, big guy?”

Morry stuck his gloved-covered hand into his leather, fringed vest pocket and pulled out a the beaded necklace, that Sam and Dean instantly recognized as the one they had seen on the astral projection of Wakeen. “This thing magical?”

Dean took it and raised an eyebrow at the older man. “You believe in magic, Morry?”

The mechanic scratched at his silver beard, which was now braded into a long silver rope. “I didn‘t think I did-until something came screaming after me when I tried to take that thing off the property of that old homestead.“

Sam and Dean shared a look. “It let you get away?”

Morry shook his head. “Damndest thing-I swear this huge white wolf came out of no where and jumped in between me and whatever the hell it was.”

Dean snorted and shook his head. “Now, Morry, everybody knows wolves aren’t indigenous to this part of Arizona.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Are you okay, Morry?”

The old man laughed. “Yeah, wolf or not, it gave me enough of a distraction to get away. Burned asphalt and gravel like the hounds of Hell were snapping at my tail pipe. Haven’t had a rush of adrenaline like that since I got a hold of some…,” his face reddened and he quickly looked around them, “it was exciting, that’s for sure.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, we know that feeling .”

“You boys need some back up?” Morry nodded to the weapons. “I was in Nam.”

“We appreciate it, Morry, but we can handle it from here.”

The old man nodded and slung his leg back over the Harley. “I understand,” he looked severely disappointed but slid his helmet back on. “It‘s a family thing.”

“Something like that,” Sam replied.

“Good luck to you, then,” he winked at them and kicked the big bike to life. “Give’em hell, boys.”

Dean and Sam nodded and watched as the Harley kicked up dust and sand as it tore off. “We owe him a round of tequila when this is over.”

Sam sighed. “Dad would not like how many outsiders we’ve involved.”

Dean nodded, “Don’t I know it.” He turned towards Sam and before his brother could protest, slid Geronimo’s necklace over his head, letting his hand rest on the white carved wolf dangling from the end. “No matter what happens-don’t take this off until I tell you to. Got it?”

Sam frowned at him and Dean gave him a little shake. “Got it, Sammy?”

Sam nodded, and his brother slapped him lightly on the cheek. “That‘s my cupcake.”

The younger Winchester sighed. Not only was he creeped out by the idea of wearing something that Morry had just torn from a dead man’s neck, he wasn’t at all comfortable by the idea of wearing something that bound him to a dead Indian. “But Dean…,”

His brother had already turned away, and as usual wasn‘t listening to any protest. “It won’t save you from the curse,” he tossed over his shoulder, “ but I’m betting it will keep the witch away from you. It‘ll keep you safe.” Dean wasn’t sure why he knew that-but he did.

“But what about you?”

Dean grinned. “Women can’t resist my charm, Sammy. I’ll have her eating out of the palm of my hand.”

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to release some frustration and ease the dizziness threatening to bowl him over. Dean was already on the porch before he reached the second step.

Without waiting, the older hunter kicked in the front door like some bad episode of Cops and barreled headlong into the unknown. There was a loud crash and a muffled curse of pain that Sam instantly recognized.

“Damn it,” Sam swore and picked up the pace. What he found when he entered the old inn caused his heart to speed up and he sucked in another deep breath.

Dean was crumpled against the far wall, not moving- and Jebidiah Monroe had Dave pinned against the reservations desk. One of his bony hands was wrapped around the poor kid’s throat. Monroe’s other hand held a letter opener, which was precariously perched directly over Dave’s heart.

“We were expecting you, Fire.” The old man glared at Sam, his eyes glowing red with hatred and menace. His lustful gaze went to Geronimo’s necklace and he smiled- his yellow teeth gnashing together. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

Onto Chapter 12

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