FORTY-ONE
Xochi woke up in the back seat of the Rover with her face pressed into Dean’s armpit. She looked up at him and saw that he was not sleeping. He was looking down at her with his stubbled mouth twisted into a smirk.
“How’s my deodorant holding up?” Dean asked.
“Not so good,” she said, sitting up and sliding away from him.
“Admit it,” Dean said. “You kinda like my man stink, don’t you?”
She could feel her cheeks flush hot. She would rather die than admit it to him, but she did. The raw, natural scent of men’s bodies had always played a major yet not entirely conscious part in her decision to have sex with them. It didn’t matter how good-looking they were, if she didn’t like their scent, it wasn’t going to happen. And if she did, well, then they were a lot harder to ignore.
“Where are we?” she asked Sam, pushing a few stray strands of hair out of her eyes and peering out through the window.
They were no longer in the middle of nowhere. The road was lined with tire shops and garages, bars and warehouses and storefront churches. Still mostly closed. There was the slightest flush of dawn on the edge of the eastern sky.
“Just outside Guanajuato,” he replied. “We’ll be there before the sun comes up.”
“I think we should...” she began.
Claudia cut her off with a sharp gasp, suddenly sitting bolt upright in the passenger seat.
“What is it?”
“They’re coming,” she whispered.
A Nagual woman leapt up onto the hood of the Rover, fist smashing through the driver’s side of the windshield and shifting from a human hand to a broad panther paw.
Sam swerved, fighting to keep control of the big, unresponsive Rover on the rough road. The Nagual swiped at him with her claws, slashing his shirt. To Xochi’s surprise, Claudia reacted quickly and efficiently by drawing the snub-nosed .38 and firing through the hole in the glass. She hit the Nagual in the chest and the creature shrieked and rolled off the hood.
There was a brief, almost comical moment where Xochi and Dean both drew their guns and tried simultaneously to push each other protectively back and out of harm’s way. It took less than a full second for them to focus in on the danger and start working together to get Claudia out of the front seat. The front passenger side window shattered as Dean reached around the seat and hit the lever that dropped it straight back, while Xochi grabbed Claudia and hauled her backward, into the back seat between them.
Five or six huge crows swooped and dove around the roof of the car while another panther-woman ran beside the smashed passenger window, human from the waist up and holding a thin black reed to her lips.
“Are you hit?” Dean asked.
“I don’t think...” Claudia began.
One of the crows dive-bombed the windshield, shattering the already cracked glass and shifting swiftly into a man with long black hair, crouching on the front seat and reaching for Claudia with black clawed hands still hooked and bird-like.
Dean let the Nagual have it with the shotgun at point-blank range. The thunderous sound was deafening inside the car and the crow man’s entire upper half disintegrated into a spray of glowing cinders and feathers. Xochi could see but not hear Dean let out an exuberant cowboy whoop. She pushed Claudia’s head down and took aim at another crow circling the car. The first shot missed but the second hit, sending the bird spiraling and shifting until it hit the ground fully human.
Xochi saw Dean grab Sam’s shoulder, mouth making the shape of his brother’s name, probably yelling, though she still couldn’t hear. She saw that Sam was driving with one hand, the other on the side of his neck. A thin, feathered dart was sticking out from between his fingers. He swerved to avoid an oncoming truck and then slumped over the wheel, laying on the horn as the Rover left the road and slammed into the flimsy wall of a neighboring warehouse.
The back door on the driver’s side flew open, throwing Xochi and Claudia out onto the oily concrete floor while the Rover plowed into a large stack of boxes filled with plastic flip-flop sandals.
Xochi rolled into a crouch and tried to stand, but the damaged structure of the building was giving way, heavy beams crashing down all around her. She ducked and weaved through the chaos, trying to make her way to Claudia, when something hit her in the back of the head, making the world go red.
She staggered and fell to her knees, palms on the concrete. She didn’t seem to have her gun. Her hearing was starting to come back and she thought she heard Claudia screaming her name but her vision was blurred and eclipsed with spangles. She felt around her on the floor until her fingers found the handle of the .45.
“Dean,” she called. “Dean, protect Claudia!”
She shook her head to clear it and struggled to her feet, forcing her eyes to focus. Sam was still slumped behind the wheel. Dean had just shoved the other back door open and was crawling out, shotgun in one hand and ammo bag in the other, squinting against the blood that flowed from a cut just below his hairline.
Claudia was nowhere to be seen.
Xochi ran to the massive hole the Rover had torn in the warehouse wall. She was just in time to see a trio of crows carrying Claudia away, one clutching each shoulder of her shirt, the other the waistband of her jeans. She hung ragdoll loose in their grip. Not struggling, probably not conscious. Maybe not even alive. Xochi didn’t dare fire at the Nagual, for fear they would drop Claudia to her death. If she wasn’t dead already.
Xochi sank to her knees in the street, gun falling from her numb fingers.
FORTY-TWO
When Dean crawled free of the wrecked Rover, he couldn’t see Xochi or Claudia anywhere, but all he could think about was Sam. The first thing he did when he got himself up on his feet was to run to the driver’s door and pull Sam out from behind the wheel. Sam was limp, a dead weight lolling against Dean’s chest as he half dragged, half carried his brother away from the leaking wreck.
“Sammy,” Dean said. “Come on, don’t do this to me, man. If you’re dead again, I swear I’m gonna frickin’ kill you.”
Dean’s legs felt weak as he got Sam out of the collapsing building and laid him out on the side of the road. A small crowd of curious spectators had gathered, advising Dean in Spanish and waving their arms. He ignored them, concentrating on his brother.
He pressed his ear to Sam’s lips listening for breath. Nothing. He pulled the dart out of Sam’s neck and then felt around for a pulse. It was there, but barely, weak and slow.
“Okay,” Dean said. “Okay, stay with me Sammy. You hear me? Stay with me.”
This hunt had been a bad idea from the beginning. This wasn’t just some entertaining little side bet, this was a nightmare that kept on getting worse with every turn. He should have never agreed to do this, he should have kept on pushing to try and find a way to get Sam’s soul back. Because as furious as he may have been when Sam let him get turned by that vamp, as much as it hurt him that this new version of Sam didn’t care if Dean lived or died, he just couldn’t bring himself to give up on the kid. He’d come close, more than once, but in the end, blood was blood, and Sam was all he had left.
Kneeling there in the dust with his brother’s barely breathing body in his arms, Dean realized suddenly that he didn’t have a clue what would happen to Sam’s soul if his body died. Would it stay trapped in that cage for eternity? There was no way Dean was going to let that happen. They were so deep into this now that the only way out was through.
He thought he heard the word policia more than once from the onlookers and turned toward the crowd.
“No policia!” he said, waving his arms in a broad negative pantomime. “Por favor, no policia!”
That’s when Xochi appeared out of the crowd, shouting in Spanish and running to Dean.
“Is he...?” she asked.
“Alive,” Dean said. “Barely.”
Xochi picked up the discarded dart and sniffed at the tip, then bent down and sniffed at Sam’s slack, o
pen lips.
“I think this is a sleep drug,” Xochi said. “This dart was probably meant for Claudia.”
“How can you be sure?” Dean asked.
“Because if it was traditional Nagual poison,” she said, “he would be having convulsions and there would be an acidic yellow foam around his mouth.”
“Where is Claudia?”
Xochi shook her head, expression grim.
“They’ve got her.”
Dean clenched his fist.
“Dead?”
“I hope not,” she said.
A burly young man with long, curly hair and a Cannibal Corpse T-shirt pulled up in a battered, primer black El Camino, honking and hollering for people to get out of his way. He leaned out the driver’s window and called out to Dean, motioning at the open truck bed.
“Come on,” Xochi said, grabbing Sam’s ankles. “Let’s get him into the back.”
Dean grabbed Sam under the arms and the two of them lifted him into the bed of the El Camino. Dean climbed in back with Sam and Xochi got up front. The driver pulled out into traffic before Xochi could close the passenger door. There was no tailgate, so Dean had to hang on to Sam with one arm and wrap a hank of knotted rope around the other to anchor himself to the body of the truck so the two of them didn’t slide out the back every time the driver hit the gas.
The El Camino took them down into the twisted, cobbled streets of Guanajuato. There didn’t seem to be any logic at all to the haphazard intersections, winding alleys, and damp, dripping tunnels. If there were any traffic lights or signs, they were more like casual suggestions that everyone ignored. Getting from one place to the other in this town seemed to be more like improvisational theater than actual driving. It was really a beautiful little town, full of gorgeous buildings, churches and theaters, but Dean was watching Sam, willing him to wake up.
The driver pulled up in front a little row of shops, none of which looked open. Xochi got out and came around back to give Dean a hand with Sam. Once they got him down out of the truck bed, Xochi called out to the driver and waved. The driver stuck an arm out the window in salute and then drove away.
“Who was that?” Dean asked, adjusting his grip on Sam.
“I don’t know,” Xochi said. “He said his name was Alejandro.”
“Why did he help us?” Dean asked, watching the El Camino drive away.
“He liked my ass.”
Dean laughed, adjusting Sam’s weight again.
“I won’t argue with that,” he said. “Where are we taking Sam?”
“Here,” she said, gesturing with her chin to an unmarked door.
She knocked on the door and it was answered by a person who looked to be in their early sixties. Dean couldn’t tell if they were a man or a woman. The features were rough and heavy, mannish and free of make-up, but the fluffy white hair was long, elaborately coiffed and curled. The clothes were plain, loose-fitting, and black, except for a bright purple, sparkly scarf with a beaded fringe. Jeweled rings on every thick finger but nails trimmed short and unpainted. Purple cowboy boots.
Xochi introduced herself and Dean. The person said their name was Lulo and exchanged a few Spanish words with Xochi, before motioning for them to enter. Lulo’s voice did nothing to clear up Dean’s confusion. It was low in pitch but distinctly feminine in tone.
They were led into a small cluttered room that looked like it had been decorated by the Native American Liberace in 1971. There was a full-sized mannequin suspended from the ceiling as if flying, dressed in an outfit that might have been selected by a drag-queen playing Pocahontas in a Las Vegas show. There were tons of kitschy tomahawks and feather headdresses and other “Indian” knickknacks, all embellished with various glittery, homemade touches. One whole corner was taken up with an elaborate altar covered in candles, incense, coins and small, greenish oranges. Above the altar was a painting of a shirtless guy with a coyote head and a red flute. Dean assumed it was an image of Huehuecoyotl. Lulo motioned for Dean to bring Sam over to a pink-velvet couch covered in thick, clear-plastic slipcovers.
Lulo looked Sam over, touching his wrists and forehead, smelling his breath and pushing his hair back from his face.
Dean wasn’t thrilled about the idea of this weird stranger messing with his brother, but he trusted Xochi. He didn’t want to and certainly hadn’t planned to, but he did. He had to. He looked over at her and she gave him a slight, reassuring nod.
Lulo said something to Xochi in Spanish and left the room.
“Okay,” Dean said. “First of all, is that Lulo person a guy or a woman?”
“Lulo is a two-spirit shaman,” Xochi answered, as if that explained everything.
“I don’t get it.” Dean frowned. “I mean, everybody’s gotta be one or the other, right?”
“Lulo doesn’t.”
Dean had no idea what to make of that.
“Well,” Dean said, shrugging. “If I’m not gonna date her... him... whatever, then I guess it doesn’t matter to me. All that matters right now is whether or not this person can help Sam.”
“Sam will be okay without help,” Xochi said. “Lulo confirmed that he is only sleeping. But we can’t do anything if we have to carry him around like this. We need him awake and able to help us, so Lulo has agreed to mix up a tonic to reverse the effect of the drug.”
“And what about Claudia? We gotta find her.”
“My guess is that the Nagual have drugged her like they drugged Sam. They will want to keep her hidden until she wakes. Once that happens, they will question her.”
“Question her,” Dean echoed. He knew exactly what that meant.
“They will make her tell them where Elvia is. Then they will kill her.”
“Any idea where they might have taken her?” Dean asked.
Xochi shook her head. “But you know who will know where she is?”
“Who? Lulo?”
“Elvia.”
Lulo returned with a small pink cordial glass filled with dark liquid, motioning to Dean to lift Sam’s head. Dean put his arm around his brother and cupped the back of his head. Lulo held the glass to Sam’s lips. Some of the murky tonic dribbled down Sam’s chin, but the rest went down his throat. Sam’s reaction was immediate and violent, as if he’d received an adrenalin shot to the heart.
He sat bolt upright, gasping, eyes flashing wide and white around the edges like a frightened horse. He knocked the glass out of Lulo’s hand and might have actually taken a swing at the shaman if Dean hadn’t been right there to grab his brother’s arm.
“Hey, whoa,” Dean said. “Take it easy, Sammy.”
“What the hell happened?” Sam asked. He looked around the room. “Where’s Claudia?”
Dean filled him in while Lulo gathered up the broken pink glass off the sparkly linoleum.
“All right then,” Sam said. “We’d better go find Elvia.”
“I don’t know,” Dean said. “You really think she’s gonna listen to us after we tried to kill her?”
“If you’ve got a better idea, I’d love to hear it,” Sam said.
“If you convinced the Alpha to help us,” Xochi said, “you can convince Elvia.”
“How did this hunt become all about me sweet-talking chick monsters?” Dean asked.
“It’s only because you are so good at it,” Xochi said.
“Yeah, but the Alpha was...” Dean struggled for the right way to say this. “Well not exactly normal, but normal for what she is. Elvia, not so much. She’s obviously been driven dangerously insane by everything she went through. I don’t think she can be reasoned with.”
“Come on, Dean,” Sam said. “You’ve had plenty of crazy broads in your life. Remember Niki Drummond?”
“You mean the facehugger?” Dean shuddered. “How could I forget? I thought I was gonna have to chew my own leg off to get away from her.”
“You can do this, Dean,” Xochi said.
“But I don’t think Elvia even understands English,” Dean said.
“I will translate,” Xochi said. “We are wasting valuable time with this argument. Whatever we are going to do, we need to do it now. Right away.”
“She’s right,” Sam said, getting to his feet. He pulled out that huge Magnum and checked it over. “Did you get the ammo?”
Dean nodded, hefted the bag.
“Okay then,” Sam said. “Are we doing this or are we doing this?”
Lulo came over to Sam and took his hand, saying something Dean didn’t understand.
“Lulo wants to bless you,” Xochi said.
“Bless me?” Sam frowned.
“Lulo says that you also have two spirits,” Xochi said, translating as Lulo spoke. “Not male and female, but good and evil, intertwined like connected twins who can never be separated. All your life, gods, demons, and men have been trying to push you one way or the other. But Lulo wants you to know that you will always have these two spirits inside you. That you must learn to accept and embrace that duality and find your own balance between the two. To be your own man, on your own terms. Lulo wants to bless your... your vessel while it is empty, so that when your twin spirits are freed from their imprisonment, the wounded halves will... integrate together more harmoniously.”
Dean looked at Sam and could see that his brother wasn’t buying any of this mumbo-jumbo. Twin spirits or not, Dean wondered if Sam was still just as dead set against getting his soul back as he was the last time they’d talked about it. They’d been way too busy to get into it again and Dean certainly wasn’t gonna be the one to bring it up, but he wondered. And although Dean wasn’t really sure if he was buying this mumbo-jumbo either, he did find it interesting that Lulo had said when Sam’s soul is freed, not if.
“Fine,” Sam said. “Whatever. Just make it quick.”
Supernatural: Coyote's Kiss Page 21