Supernatural Fresh Meat (14 page)

Sam finished writing it all down, then read over the list. “Okay. This is all going to smell pretty bad, isn’t it?”

Marta was all business. “You’ll have to make a trip to Odysseus’s Spice and Curio Shop. It’s out on the coast. You can find just about anything there.”

Sam folded up the notebook and put it back inside his jacket. “Will do. How much time will you need on your end?”

“About a day, I think.”

“We really appreciate this,” Sam told her.

She smiled. “Just don’t tell any of my kitchen staff. They think I spend my nights doing extreme LARPing.”

“We’ll be discreet,” Bobby assured her.

“I figured you would, Bobby Singer.” She grinned again, and this time Bobby held her gaze for a few seconds longer before looking away, slightly embarrassed. Bobby was amazing in a fight and knew more about arcane magic and obscure creatures than anyone Sam knew, but he could get flustered when it came to regular human stuff. Bobby didn’t do regular too well. In fact, none of them did.

Bobby walked Sam out to the van. “She an old friend of yours, Bobby?”

“Something like that,” Bobby said evasively. “You get the spices and meet me back here. I’ll get started on the spell.”

“Think we can get all those items and do the enchantment before tomorrow?”

“We’re sure as hell gonna try.”

NINETEEN

Dean fired, and the figure vanished into the brush, moving away quickly out of sight.

“Who the hell is that?” Jason shouted, bringing out his gun.

Dean searched for any sign of motion. “Did you get a good look?” Dean’s heart hammered.

Jason stared around, pointing his gun. “No!”

Dean could feel eyes boring into his back. He spun. High up on another granite outcropping stood the thin figure, staring down at them. “There!” Dean shouted, pointing his gun. The figure vanished.

Dean turned to Jason. “We need to track this thing, find out where it’s holing up.”

“The speed that thing moves, we’ll have our work cut out for us.”

Dean walked to where he’d first seen the figure close up, standing by the tree. There were two boot prints in the depressed soil.

Sudden voices in the trees attracted Dean’s attention on his left. Catching sight of a flash of color through the branches, he stepped off the trail, followed by Jason.

Jason met his eyes. “Hikers?” he mouthed.

From the cover of a huge ponderosa, Dean peered out. Sure enough, hikers. Two of them with big backcountry packs on their backs. Dean scanned the ridge above. He had to get rid of them before Speedy came back.

Jason stayed hidden while Dean moved through the trees, intercepting the hikers on the path. Flashing his F.B.I. badge, he approached them. “Special Agent Plant.”

The two hikers stopped. Both were in their late twenties, a man and a woman, holding hands and laughing. Instantly their smiles vanished. “What’s the problem?” the man asked.

“We’re cordoning off this area for a manhunt,” Dean told them.

They looked alarmed. “Are we in danger?”

“Not if you return immediately to your car. Where are you parked?”

“At the Finder Mountain Trailhead. We just got started.”

“Good. Please return to your vehicle and leave the area.”

The woman grabbed the man’s arm and turned back.

“Who are you hunting?” the man asked.

“Let’s just say that you shouldn’t stop along the way for any reason.”

That was enough for him. He took his companion’s hand and hurried back the way they’d come.

When the couple were some distance away, Jason appeared. “Smooth.”

“Thanks.”

“Should we tail them back to their car?”

“Yep.”

They followed at a distance. Dean noticed Jason’s limp had improved.

“Feeling better?”

Jason nodded. “Yeah. It’s slowly getting back to normal. Ribs still hurt a bit, though.”

Dean didn’t have the heart to tell him how much worse fighting the aswang had been than fighting the wendigo. They were going to get worked over if Sam and Bobby didn’t get back soon with the weapon.

Dean watched the couple get into their Subaru Outback at the trailhead parking lot and then slipped back into the trees. He hadn’t caught a glimpse of any other movement.

Clouds started moving in, and with them a cold wind that bit through Dean’s jacket.

Jason glanced around at the sky. “Looks like a storm might be on its way.”

Above them the clouds moved and spiraled, layers building up in dark gray.

“It’s going to be dark soon,” Dean said. “We should find a good place to make camp.”

The wind sighed in the branches above and Dean decided going without a fire might be the best course of action. It was a good defense against a wendigo, but a bright warm fire might attract the aswang. He didn’t like the thought of fighting something like this; they knew so little that he felt like he was making it up as he went along. Hell, he was.

“First I should climb to higher ground and check in with Bobby.”

“I’ll go with you to the bottom of the hill.”

Two hundred feet away rose a steep incline of granite. Dean bounded up it, keeping alert for any sign of the thin man. At the top, he turned on his cell and got a signal. He dialed Sam’s number.

His brother picked up on the third ring. “Dean.”

“Sam.”

“How’s it going out there?”

“Turned away a couple hikers. Being stalked by something skinny and fast moving. Can’t make out much more about it.”

“You okay?”

“So far. You?”

“We’ve met the hunter, and she’s already started preparing ingredients for the weapon. I’m heading out for a spice shop on the coast tonight.”

“Bobby doing okay?”

“Yeah. I think this hunter’s got a thing for him.”

“I bet that’s making him blush.”

“I’ll say.”

“Well, hurry it up. I’ll call you back in six hours.”

“Okay, Dean. Be safe.”

“Bye.”

Dean pressed ‘end’ and headed back down the steep granite to where Jason waited below.

“Everything good?” Jason asked.

Dean nodded. “Yep. Let’s find a place to hole up before it gets dark.”

Jason looked nervous. “Yeah, okay.”

Snow flurries cascaded down on the wind. Dean looked up at the darkening sky. Layer upon layer of clouds had gathered, and he smelled more snow in the air. A storm was on the way, and Dean hoped they were prepared for it.

TWENTY

As the western sky turned gold from the sunset, Sam drove out toward the coast and the little-known shop that sold spices and historical fishing equipment, Odysseus’s Spice and Curio Shop.

He entered the Point Reyes National Seashore and drove past the Bear Valley Visitor Center with its huge barn-looking building. Deer meandered in open fields, and quail scooted around in the underbrush as he drove past. The twisting road took him through forest and then past a handful of historic ranches. Cows grazed in the fields, gazing out at the wide spaces. He passed over a cattle guard into the Tule Elk Reserve. He watched them milling about, huge antlers shining white in the sunshine.

Then at last he saw the ocean. Steep cliffs descended to a wild and crashing surf. A bank of fog hovered out at sea, and the wind created white caps, flashing white on the blue. The gold of the sky reflected upon the water.

The spice shop lay almost at the end of a little beach access road. Sam drove past a small cafe that advertised the best BBQ oysters in the area, and a little touristy shop selling kites and wind socks. At the end of the tiny row of stores, he spotted Odysseus’s.

He pulled up and walked inside. The breeze coming off the ocean was chilly, and Sam wondered how Dean was doing out in the forest.

A little bell rang overhead as Sam entered the shop. The place smelled like brine and old rope, and was littered with antique anchors, barrels, and fishing nets. A long counter covered with jars ran the length of the place. More jars lined shelves on the wall behind it.

From a door at the back of the shop, a diminutive man stepped out. He looked at least ninety-five years old, with a wisp of white hair on top of his pale head. He stared at Sam through glasses so thick they distorted the eyes underneath. He slowly made his way to the counter, pausing by the cash register.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Odysseus?”

“Yes.”

“Marta told me that you could prepare some ingredients for me?”

At this, the little man moved away from the counter. He lifted a wooden board and emerged onto Sam’s side. Tottling closer, he said, “Marta said that?”

“Yes.” Sam held out his hand as the man drew closer. “I’m Sam Winchester.”

The man took his offered hand and shook it so powerfully Sam let out an involuntary grunt. “Wow. Quite a handshake you got there.”

The little man stared up at him. “I’m Johennie Odysseus, proprietor of this establishment. You’re taller ’an sasquatch. Where’d they grow you?”

“Kansas.”

“I see. I see.” He released Sam’s hand and tottered back toward the counter. “Marta phoned me to say you’d be coming by. Some of the spices she mentioned are pretty rare. Don’t have much use for ’em. They’re up there on the top shelf.” He pointed behind the counter, at a collection of jars too high up even for Sam to reach. “Got a stepladder around back. I’ll see that you get fixed up with what you need and send you on your way.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The man smiled. “Ooooh! ‘Sir.’ Don’t hear that too often these days. It’s all backtalk and twittering and talking during movies now. Movies used to be a treat. Now people act like they’re in their living room instead of in a movie house. Drives me to distraction.”

As he talked, Johennie lifted the wooden board and returned to the other side of the counter. He waved Sam toward him. “Come on through.”

Sam did so.

“Now let’s see here.” The man fumbled around in his apron for something and pulled out a list. Sam read the same herbs that were on his own list. “Let’s get started.”

In the back room of Marta’s restaurant, Bobby pored over an old leather-bound illuminated manuscript that dealt with a lot of Pacific-island creatures. “This is an incredible book.”

Marta stood at a small table, crushing some rock salt with a mortar and pestle. She looked over her shoulder at him. “It was compiled by a Spanish missionary who served in the Philippines in 1742. I came across it in the library of a hunter who was killed in the area a few years ago. He had no will and everything went into probate. His entire estate was auctioned off, and I got a few of the books.”

Bobby flipped to a disturbing drawing of an aswang. “Wouldn’t want to meet this sucker on a lonely banana plantation at night.” He carefully turned a few more pages. “This is the book with the incantation for the weapon?”

She nodded. “I marked it for you.”

Bobby saw a long blue ribbon hanging out of the pages and turned to it. Another rendering of an aswang stared up at him. A sharp proboscis stood out from a cruel, angular face. Eyes, wide and insectile, peered out from a slanted brow. Leathery wings opened wide, and clawed feet and hands flexed, ready to kill. “This matches the description Sam and Dean gave.”

“I thought so, too, when you described it to me on the phone.”

Bobby stared at the image for a few moments. “A Spanish missionary. That’s interesting.”

She raised her eyebrows. “How so?”

“Well, it might explain how this thing got here. The Spanish frequently traveled the Pacific Ocean then. This thing could have stowed away on a missionary ship and come to California.”

“They don’t like crowds. Maybe it was looking for a brand new world? Somewhere it could continue to kill unnoticed?”

Bobby nodded. “So it came to the New World. Only the New World was growing, expanding. It could have started out on the coast, then kept moving inland as more and more settlers took up residence in San Francisco. Maybe it’s been moving east, trying to stay in remote areas. A place gets too populated, it moves on.”

“And now it’s hit upon the wilds of the Sierra Nevadas. That’s good hunting ground there.”

“Skiers, hikers, boaters, gamblers in the casinos. There’s a constant influx of transient people.”