“Six. Minus six people,” Lisa corrected him with a grin.
“Who’re you counting? Alice’s boyfriend didn’t go to Hawaii with them,” Dean said.
They continued to argue the specifics of the Brady Bunch Hawaii trip as they passed a quaint shop with bay windows filled to the brim with witchy tchotchkes and a whole bunch of other stuff that all looked to Dean like worthless crap.
“Let’s go in here,” Ben said, veering in through the front door.
Lisa and Dean followed him into the store.
As far as Dean could see in the gloom, they were the only customers. Other tourists must have been put off by the slightly odiferous shop with its cloister-like atmosphere and creaky floorboards.
Across the back wall of the store, large apothecary jars full of herbs lined the shelves. Dean noted the handwritten tags identifying the contents—many of them could be used in black magic: calamus root, mustard seed, valerian root, black pepper, licorice root chips. But a lot of them were harmless potpourri fillers too: lavender, lemongrass, sandalwood. Dean wondered if this store catered for the local witches.
The store also had a lot of other junk found everywhere in New England, including the all-pervasive Yankee candles, cheap Chinese-made cut-glass candy dishes, and black soap shaped like cats and witches’ hats.
“Hiya!”
A young girl of about twenty appeared through a door covered with a bead curtain. The strings of glass moved and clinked together as the Perky Polly jumped behind the counter.
“Welcome to ‘Connie’s Curios and Conversations,’ what can I do you for?” The girl was dressed in a long hippy-like skirt, with a couple of scarves wrapped around her waist. She wore a little charm on a black-leather bracelet around her wrist.
“Whoa Mom, can I get this?” Ben said, holding up an alligator foot.
“What on earth for?” Lisa responded.
“Hoodoo spell, brings luck, sometimes love. Wouldn’t be the dumbest thing to carry on your date tomorrow,” Dean said to Ben.
“You’re not helping!” Lisa glared at Dean. “It’s not a date, is it, Ben?”
Dean winked at Ben over Lisa’s head. Ben shook his head.
“Nope, Ma. It’s not a date. I promise,” he said with a smirk.
“Let me know if you need anything!” the girl called again. “You know your witchcraft,” she added, eyeing Dean.
“Yeah, you know. I just dabble,” he said as he looked around the store. “You’re well stocked. Got any puppy heads?”
“Dean!” Lisa swung round and looked at him.
The girl behind the counter suddenly lost her perk. Her face tightened.
“No we don’t,” she said brusquely.
“Oh okay, just wondering,” Dean said. He fingered the gris-gris bag in his pocket. If this girl was a witch or tried to mess with him, he was protected. Puppy skulls, ground puppy skulls, were used in some of the darkest spells, specifically in hoodoo, to bind demons. And by making the material into a ball, covering it in sulfur, and burying it where a person would walk over it—some believed that it could kill.
The girl held up a jade necklace with charms hanging from it.
“You know what? This would look gorgeous on you,” she said to Lisa.
Lisa appraised it. “It’s pretty, I don’t know if it’s my style though,” she said.
“You want to try it on?” the girl asked.
Dean stepped closer to the counter and leaned over toward the girl.
“It’s not really her thing,” he said. “Let’s go guys.”
Dean walked out of the store, Lisa and Ben following behind.
“What did you do that for?” Lisa asked, falling into step with Dean.
“That necklace had a black cat’s bone on it,” he said.
“Really?” Ben said. “Cool.”
“It did? What would that do?” Lisa asked.
“It would have helped her trace where you were. Sort of like a witch GPS. I should go in there and bust that shop up,” Dean growled.
“Dean, really, I think you’re mistaken. I’m sure she was just a hippy girl trying to do her job,” Lisa insisted.
“Maybe,” Dean said.
Whether the girl was a witch or not, there was something about her that Dean didn’t trust. Despite all the fru-fru stuff in the store, a real witch could stock up on some powerful stuff in there if they knew what they were doing.
Lisa, Ben, and Dean wound their way back to the inn. Dean hesitated when they got to the door.
“Hey, I’m going to continue to look around,” Dean said.
“Really?” Lisa asked
“Yeah, I’ll be back soon. Rest up.” Dean waved away her concern. “I just want to check the place out.”
“Okay, see you later,” Lisa said, and she and Ben disappeared into the inn.
Dean quickly walked across the street and popped the trunk to the CRV. His close parking job made it difficult to get it open. Dean struggled, trying not to hit the hood of the car behind it. The Impala wouldn’t have this problem.
He wanted to go back to the store and see what he could get out of the hippy chick, but something caught his attention. He looked up at the inn across the street and saw Ben in the window of their room. His eyes were as wide as saucers and he was beating on the window trying to get Dean’s attention.
Dean grabbed his duffle, which was stuffed into the wheel well of the spare tire, slammed the door shut, then ran back across the street.
SCREEECH!
A car ground to a halt, its grill a mere three inches away from Dean’s kneecaps.
Dean looked up again. Ben had disappeared from the window. He ran inside, startling Ingrid.
“Oh, Mr. Winchester, do you—” she called.
“No time, Bea Arthur,” Dean yelled over his shoulder as he took the stairs three at a time. He reached the landing and spun around, almost knocking Ben over.
“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, grabbing Ben’s arm and heading toward the door of their room.
“I don’t know. I don’t—” the boy stammered, he looked scared.
Inside, Lisa was curled on the bed, sweat dripping off her forehead. Her eyes were glassy and rolling up into their lids.
“Lis, Lis? can you hear me? Did you drink anything?” Dean shook her and frantically looked around the room. He picked up an open water bottle and smelled it. Nothing.
Lisa was shaking all over and her hands had palsied and curled up under her chin.
“What’s wrong with her?” Ben asked, his eyes watering with fear.
“Ben, I need you to search around the room. See if you find anything like this,” Dean said, taking the gris-gris bag out of his pocket. “Can you do that for me?”
“Yeah. Yeah,” Ben said.
“Look underneath everything, inside everything,” Dean directed. “Lisa, stay with me. What did you touch? Did you eat anything?”
Her body shook. Blood trickled from her mouth. She started coughing.
“Dean, what’s happening?” she sputtered.
“Just stay with me,” Dean said urgently.
“Dean?” Lisa choked. She reached into her mouth and tugged at something, a creature emerged from between her lips, wriggling in her grip. Staring at it in horror, she screamed and fainted. The lizard scampered away to the corner of the room.
“Mom!” Ben yelled.
“Okay, just stay calm. We have to find the bag,” Dean instructed.
He took out his knife and sliced straight through the butter-colored wing-back chair in the corner. He flipped it over and dug through the springs with the blade. Nothing. He pulled all the covers off the other queen-sized bed, flipped the mattress, tore through the box spring. Nothing.
In the bathroom Dean poured out every lotion, tossed every towel onto the floor. Nothing.
He stomped back to the bedroom window and pulled down the curtains, kicking through the pleats.
Still unconscious, Lisa fell from the bed and was
now writhing on the floor, but no more lizards appeared from her throat.
Then Dean saw it, a little bag sitting on the table underneath an aging, dried bouquet of magnolias. He picked it up and opened it. Inside was some dragon’s blood, a black cat’s bone, thyme, and, Dean guessed, a couple of different kinds of oil.
“What is it?” Ben asked.
“It’s a hex bag and it’s making your mom sick,” Dean said as he took out his Zippo and lit it. The felt bag went up in flames and Dean dropped it into the trash can to smolder.
They gently lifted Lisa back onto the bed, and after a few moments she opened her eyes and rubbed her throat.
“What happened?” she asked.
“We had company. How do you feel?” Dean helped her sit up on the bed, gently brushing her hair away from her clammy forehead.
“I’m okay, I think. Who did this? What’s going on?” Lisa gestured to the destroyed room.
“Don’t worry, Ben and I had to find what was making you sick, but it’s all right now. Or it will be—I’ll fix it. I got to go out for a short while. Will you be okay here?” Dean didn’t want to scare her, but he had to go and find whoever had done this. Maybe that little witch in the strange store could give him some answers.
“Where are you going?” Lisa looked at him, eyes wide and fearful.
“I won’t be long,” Dean said, leaning down and kissing her hot cheek. He then pulled his duffle onto his shoulder and looked at Ben. “Take care of your mom and stay here—okay?”
Ben nodded his head solemnly.
With a lowered voice Dean said, “Let’s not tell your mom about what just happened if she doesn’t remember. Okay?”
Ben nodded again, glancing at his mom with worried eyes. Dean reasoned he didn’t need to tip Lisa off that there was something rotten in Salem—there was no reason to make her afraid and he could fix this.
Dean closed the door behind him, then turned and came face to face with a red-faced Ingrid.
“Sorry about the noise. Charades. So much fun. I’ll pay for the damages,” Dean said, brushing past them and heading down the stairs.
Dean kicked open the inn door and headed outside. He felt the outline of his gun in his duffle bag. He wasn’t quite sure where he was going to go, but he knew one thing: There were witches in Salem.
TWELVE
“Pull over here,” Samuel instructed.
Sam had pulled off Route 95 and into the area around Salem known as Danvers. He then pulled the van into a motel with a colonial theme. They unloaded their gear and Samuel checked them in under aliases.
Being in Salem at the same time as Dean posed a couple of problems. Sam would have to stay pretty much hidden, which would be difficult. His six-foot-four frame stood out anywhere. It might also cause some awkwardness if Dean caught sight of his long-dead grandfather.
To Sam it wasn’t quite clear why they were here, but he had learned over the past couple of months to do what he was told. If Samuel had a reason to be here, so did he. If there were witches in Salem, Sam had plenty of experience with them and he knew that they were bad news.
Samuel and Sam walked side by side, lugging their gear towards their respective rooms.
“We can get a bead on Dean tomorrow,” Samuel proposed. “Shouldn’t be too hard, kid has the manners of a drunken ox.”
“Actually, I think I’m going to go look around now,” Sam said.
Samuel shrugged. “Fine. Just try to keep your big mug out of sight.”
Sam nodded. After throwing his gear into his room, he made his way back to the van.
First he drove through the parking lots of every motel in the surrounding area, but he didn’t spot Dean’s car. Next, he decided to swing by the more touristy part of town. No sign of Dean. Then, as he turned a corner onto a smaller side street, he glanced into the narrow alley behind the buildings, and caught a glimpse of his brother as he ducked into a recess at the back of an old clapboard building.
Sam swung around front and parked his van on the street in front of a shop. He hopped out and peered in through the shop windows and clocked all the herbs in jars. He figured that Dean had come to the same conclusion he had—this place screamed witchcraft.
Daylight broke through the back of the store. It looked as though someone had just kicked in the back door. Wary of breaking Samuel’s rules and encountering his brother, Sam decided to wait inside the van.
The store was closed from what Dean could see. The town seemed to be quickly closing down in the evening light. Around back he examined the door to the shop.
“No Ye Olde Alarm System?” he muttered to himself.
Dean’s foot went clear through the rotting, wooden back door. His foot hit right near the lock, tearing it off its hinges so it hung lopsided, like a tongue hanging out of a dog’s mouth.
Gun at the ready, Dean snuck into the back room of the store. Through the dim light he could see boxes and boxes of witch-themed items stacked on top of one another.
“Connie’s Curios and Crap,” Dean murmured.
He moved through to the main store. He figured that in his short time in Salem he had pissed someone off and while he, Lisa, and Ben were out, that someone had snuck into the hotel room and planted the bag. The hex put on Lisa had been strong. It took someone with a pretty potent knowledge of the black arts to put together a hex bag like that.
Dean moved through the shop, eyes peeled for anything suspicious. He poked around the counter near the register. Nothing of interest. To his right he noticed a steep staircase leading to the second floor.
Dean peeked through the narrow opening, up the twisting staircase. Hobbit sized, he thought. Ugh. Dean twisted around and pulled himself up the stairs, leading with his sawed-off. At the top was a pokey little hallway.
Floorboards creaked under Dean’s weight. He winced.
WHAACK!
Dean felt the burning sensation radiate through the back of his head and down his spine as he fell forward onto his stomach. The sawed-off skittered across the wide-planked floor and came to rest under a heating unit. Above him, the hippy girl stood, a baseball bat emblazoned with a Red Sox emblem in her hands.
“Jesus Christ, Janice Joplin, take it easy,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his head. He inspected a smudge of blood on his fingers.
“What’re you doing here? Didn’t you see the ‘Closed’ sign on the door? Or do you New York folks always just do what you want and walk in like you own the place?” she demanded.
“Whoa, hold it. First off, I’m not from New York. Secondly, I was in here an hour ago with my girlfriend—”
“That was your girlfriend? You look like her dad.”
“What?” Dean put his hands up in a placatory gesture. “Okay, you can ‘What to Wear’ me a makeover later. The door downstairs was open.”
“Open like falling open or unlocked? Because I’m pretty sure the hinges didn’t shatter by themselves.”
Dean shrugged, then pulled himself onto his feet.
“Can I finish? I’m here, then I go back to my hotel. Next thing I know my girlfriend’s coughing up the GEICO gecko.”
“Lizards? Who’d you piss off?” she asked.
“That’s why I’m here. I came to find out.”
“Not me. I don’t do that revenge spell stuff.” The girl went to sit by the small slanted windows. “That’s more Connie’s bag than mine.”
“So you’re not Connie?” Dean asked.
“No. I’m Sukie. Nice to meet you,” she said dryly.
“Like Sukie Stackhouse?”
“God, no. Go back farther. Sukie Ridgemont, Michele Pfeiffer’s character in Witches of Eastwick? I was born the same year the movie came out. Thus the name.”
“So where’s Connie?” Dean asked.
“Connie’s a strange bird. I don’t see her much. I open and close the place most days. Occasionally I find a note from her telling me to wash the windows. That’s about it. Why do you want to talk to her?”
“You have some really strong ingredients downstairs, stuff that could be used in some pretty powerful spells. Plus, you tried to sell my girlfriend a necklace with a black cat’s bone on it.”
“I did? I didn’t know that.”
“You didn’t know there was a black cat’s bone on something you sell?”
“No. I mean— Listen, I mostly do love spells, money spells, whatever. Just some herbs, a candle and a little chanting. I stay away from any hardcore stuff. Plus, Connie is the one that stocks all the shelves. Actually, she called this morning and told me to push the necklaces on anyone that came in. So I did. I really didn’t know there was a cat’s bone on it. She’s the one with... umm... She dabbles in the darker stuff, if you know what I mean.”
“Dabbles in witchcraft? How do you ‘dabble’ in witchcraft?” Dean asked.
“Okay, fine. She’s like really, really into it. I try not to get in her way. Connie’s like old school, been in town forever, way before the Skechers store and the yogurt shops started opening up.”
“So, you’re a good witch?” Dean raised an eyebrow.
“Just call me Glinda,” Sukie said.
“Right, I get it. So where can I find this Connie? If she’s pretty hooked in, I’d like to talk to her.”
“Umm. I guess I can tell you where she lives.” Sukie shrugged. “Her old family place, last name of Hennrick. Go north out of town, you can’t miss it. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” Dean said.
“Weird, ’cause you look sorta familiar. You have family in town?”
“What’s with the Who Do You Think You Are? genealogy questions?” Dean said, a little miffed.
“Wow, way to go for the Friday night TV. Were you under house arrest? No one watches that.”
“Okay, Glinda, I’m out of here. And since you beaned me with a bat, I expect you’re going to forget that your back door had an accident.”
“Like I said, I have a wealth spell. I’m not worried,” Sukie said.
Dean wanted to find Lisa’s attacker, but was beginning to get the distinct feeling that there was more to Salem than he had first thought. He left by the broken back door.
Supernatural 7 - One Year Gone Page 7