Supernatural Fresh Meat - By Alice Henderson Page 0,46
might be walking himself right into the aswang’s lair.
He pulled out his cell phone again, hoping that the warmth of his pocket might have revived the battery. He pressed the power button, but nothing happened. By now Bobby and Sam would be worried he hadn’t checked in.
Dean stared ahead at the blood trail, which was quickly vanishing beneath the falling snow. Going forward might mean a trap, but if it was Jason being dragged on by something, he could still be alive. Dean had to reach him. He’d stay low, keep to the trees for cover, and see where the blood trail led.
TWENTY-SIX
Sam sat in Marta’s office, feeling bleary-eyed. They had worked through the night to finish the incantation. For the fifth time, he pulled out his cell and dialed Dean, but it went straight to voicemail. “Dean still isn’t answering. It’s been more than twelve hours.”
Bobby glanced up from the preparation for the incantation. “That’s not good.”
“How much longer will this take?”
Bobby looked to Marta, who started grinding spices and adding them to a mixture in the mortar.
She glanced around, judging their progress. “I think we’re just about ready to start the incantation.”
“Could be his battery died,” Bobby suggested.
“I hope that’s all it is.”
Marta sorted things into different piles. “Okay. This looks good. We just need to coat the whip with the right spices and cast the spell to enchant the whip.”
Between finding all the ingredients in the maze of the shop, fighting the vampires, and preparing the incantation, they’d spent far more time there than they had intended. It was costing them precious time while Dean was out there without them, and Sam was anxious to get back. “What can I do to help?”
Marta laid out some cinnamon, cardamom, vinegar, and salt, along with the ajowan, galangal, screw pine, tamarind, wattle seed, kokum, kaffir lime, and lovage that Sam had brought. She told Sam to roll the whip in it until it was absorbed. Then she fashioned the stingray barb to the whip while Bobby finished the preparations for the incantation.
Sam drew symbols on the floor of her back room and lit candles at the cardinal points. When the whip was ready, they placed it in a large brass bowl in the center of the symbol. Marta stepped before it and began the incantation, reading Latin out of the old book compiled by the eighteenth-century missionary. When she was finished, she threw some powder into the brass pot and flames engulfed the whip. It simmered and blackened, releasing a fragrant mix of spices into the air. When the flames died down, Marta reached into the brass bowl and extracted the whip. “It’s ready.”
Sam took the weapon from her. “Great! Thank you so much.”
Bobby stood up, grabbing his jean jacket off the back of his chair. “We hate to do magic and run…”
Marta waved him off. “I understand. Get back out there.”
She walked over to Bobby, hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. Then she hugged Sam. “You two be careful.”
“Always are,” Bobby lied, smiling at her.
“And let me know what happens, if the whip works.”
He nodded to her, touching the rim of his well-used baseball hat, and met Sam at the door. “Really sorry about your place.”
She waved him off dismissively. “Been meaning to update the kitchen there, anyway.”
“We really do appreciate this,” Sam said, feeling a little rude for rushing out as soon as they got what they wanted, especially after her place had been set on fire. But they had to leave.
“Wait!” she said, hurrying to her desk. She pulled out a manila folder stuffed with papers and returned, handing it to Bobby. “When you first called, I did some research. I made copies for you, from the old book, from some history books, and a few newspaper and crime reports I dug up.”
Bobby took it. “Thank you.”
They said goodbye again and headed out to Bobby’s van. Sam looked at the clock on his phone. It was now too many hours since Dean was supposed to check in. He didn’t like this. Even if Dean’s phone had died, he could have hiked out to the car and charged up his phone with the power converter. It certainly wouldn’t have taken him five hours to do that. Either he was hot on the trail of something, or he was in trouble.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Dean continued on, following the blood trail and keeping watch for the skinny figure on the ridgeline. Snow continued to fall, now reaching above his knees.