Nevermore (13 page)

To add insult to injury, Aldo had sat on the other side of Dean and immediately started in on the Impala: “Where the hell’d you get a ’sixty-eight Impala in such fine shape, Sam?”

“Well, it’s Dean, and it’s a ’sixty-seven.”

“S’what I said. Anyhow, it looks fantastic.” Grinning, Dean had said, “Rebuilt it myself.” That started the ball rolling on an in-depth conversation on the subject of motors, transmissions, Nevermore

125

various and sundry fluids, and other minutiae about cars that Sam had right near the top of his list of Conversations that Bored the Holy Crap Out of Him, just before Dean’s Favorite Music and just after Dean’s Sex Life.

This wouldn’t have been so bad, except that Janine, having been stymied in her attempts to sit next to Dean, instead decided to sit next to him. In the brighter light of the Shamrock, Sam could see that her large eyes were brown, and wouldn’t have been out of place on Bambi. In fact, the name Bambi wouldn’t have been out of place on her. She proceeded to talk to him—about Dean.

“So what’s your brother do for fun?” Several uncharitable answers flew through Sam’s head.

He likes to flirt with women who look a lot like
you and pretend to be something really impressive
and sexy so he can get into bed with them.

He and I troll newspapers and the Internet looking for supernatural phenomena so we can hunt
them down and destroy them before they hurt
people.

He hustles pool and plays poker, which are the
two legal ways we make enough money to actually
survive, money that mostly goes into crappy hotels,
crappy food, Laundromats, and gas for the Impala.

He could have said any of these things. While they probably would have dampened Janine’s ardor, 126 SUPERNATURAL

they also would have had the ring of truth by virtue of actually being true.

But Sam was torn. A part of him didn’t
want
to dampen an ardor that was driving his brother crazy, and he was all about driving his brother crazy. But a part of him wanted her to shut up about Dean already.

Finally, he said lamely, “You know, you could just ask him.”

“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt! ’Sides, he’s talkin’

with Aldo about cars.
So
not my thing. All I know about cars is if you turn the key it starts and you hit the brake it stops.”

“Yeah,” Sam said with a tilt of his head, “that’s pretty much where I am.” He gulped down some more of his beer.

The Shamrock claimed to be an authentic Irish pub, but looking around at the dark furnishings, the scuffed walls, the wobbly chairs, the ragged tables, and the ethnic diversity of the clientele (to wit, not all Irish), it looked pretty much like every other bar he and Dean had been in all across the country. The only thing that made it seem in any way like an Irish pub was that it had Guinness and Killian’s on tap.

He then heard musical words: “I gotta take a dump.” It was Aldo, getting up from his chair after finishing his Coke. For whatever reason, Aldo didn’t drink—and he was the only member of Scottso who Nevermore

127

wasn’t smoking a cigarette, either. Thinking back, Sam remembered that all the band members had beers with them on stage except for Aldo, who just had ice water. Dean had singled Aldo out as the only competent person in the group, and Sam was wondering if there was a correlation there.

Janine was out of her own chair like a shot and was sitting next to Dean almost instantly. “Hey, Dean,” she said in a dreamy voice.

“Uh, hey, Janine.”

“So, you havin’ fun?”

Dean actually squirmed in his seat. Sam covered his huge grin by sipping more beer. “Uh, yeah, actually, this is a lot—lot of fun. Hey, listen, I was wondering, you know that bartender, Jennifer?”

“Yeah. She’s cool. She used to babysit me, and she still does for my brothers. Why?” Blowing out a long breath, Dean said, “Uh, nothing, really, I just—”

“So what do you like to do for fun?”

“Fun?”

Sam couldn’t help himself. “Yeah, Dean, ‘fun.’

Three-letter word meaning ‘enjoyment.’ ”

“Thank you, Ask Jeeves,” Dean muttered. “I, uh—I like listening to music.”

Another eye roll. “Well,
duh
. I mean, I fi gured
that
from you bein’ at the
Park
in Rear. You know, I got to see Tull at Carnegie Hall last year? They
rocked
.”

128 SUPERNATURAL

Dean frowned. “They’re still together?”

“
Duh
. Of
course
. They tour, like,
all
the time.

And Ian Anderson’s, like, a
thou
sand years old, but he still prances around like—” Manfred appeared out of nowhere. “Hey, Dean, is my niece buggin’ ya?”

Sam could just see the war on Dean’s face—tell the truth or be polite to the man in whose house he was sleeping?

The latter won out, but Sam could tell it was close to a photo finish. “Nah, she’s cool.” Janine’s already large doe eyes went as big as saucers, and she clasped her hands between her knees. “
Real
ly?”

Okay
, Sam thought,
this was worth sitting between her and Dean babbling about cars.

He then heard a tinny version of “China Grove” by the Doobie Brothers playing next to him. Looking over, he realized it was coming from Janine’s purse, which was still on the chair next to him.

“Uh, Janine,” he said, “I think that’s your phone.” She rolled her eyes again. “Ignore it. It’s probably Mattie.”

“Who’s Mattie?” Dean asked.

Manfred said, “Her ex.”

Letting out a dramatic breath, Janine said,

“Who won’t
stay
ex. I
so
hate guys who won’t take

‘screw off and die’ for an answer. Hey, you got a cell phone?”

Nevermore

129

Slowly, Dean said, “Uh, yeah.”

“I’m thinkin’ about gettin’ a new one. Can I see what you got?”

Shrugging, Dean said, “Okay, I guess.” He took it out. It was a pretty standard fl ip-top model, one that looked like about seventy-five percent of the phones out there. Where Sam had gotten a Treo, preferring to have the most cutting-edge and versa-tile phone he could, Dean pretty much stuck with the simplest, most common model that required the least thought on his part.

She flipped it open and started pushing buttons.

Dean leaned forward nervously. “Uh, listen—”

“Cool phone.” She closed it and handed it back to him.

“Listen,” Manfred said, “I was thinkin’ we might wanna head back to the ol’ homestead.”

“
Good
idea.” Dean almost shot to his feet as he pocketed the phone. “Janine, it was great meeting you, really.”

Also getting to her feet, Janine’s face fell into an adorable pout that Sam just knew Dean would have to struggle to resist. “Aw, you’re leaving?

C’mon, Freddie, you can stay a
lit
tle while longer, can’tcha?”

Manfred shook his head. “ ’Fraid not, kiddo.

Gotta hit the hay. Ain’t as young as I used t’be.” Dean added, “And, uh, we actually have some 130 SUPERNATURAL

stuff we gotta do tonight before we hit the hay ourselves.”

“Well, you’ll be back tomorrow night, right?” Janine asked earnestly.

This oughta be good
, Sam thought, draining his beer.

“Prob’ly not.”

“I was just kinda hopin’ we could get to know each other,” she said, moving a bit closer to Dean.

Then she brightened. “Listen, call me, okay? I put my number in your phone—call me
any
time, day
or
night.”

“No problem,” Dean said.

They all said their good- byes—Robbie, the keyboard player, promised to drop Janine off at home—and then the three of them went out to the municipal lot across the street from the bar. At this time of night the parking was free, but there were parking meters that needed to be fi lled during the day.

As soon as they got in the car, Dean said, “Just shut up, Sammy.”

“I didn’t say a word, Dean. Though if I
did
say a word, that word would be, ‘Wow, I can’t believe you fell for the

can- I-see-your-cell-phone

trick.’ ”

Dean angrily slammed the key into the ignition and turned it. “That was at least a dozen words.”

“Well, I still can’t believe you fell for it. And Nevermore

131

what’s the big deal, anyhow? She was into you, man.” He leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. “She was tuned in to Dean-TV.” Turning around to back out of the parking space, Dean said, “I will kill you with my hands.” Lowering his hands, Sam said, “Seriously, Dean, what was the big deal about her? I mean, I’ve seen you hit on girls a lot younger.”

“Yeah, but they all had taste.”

Sam muttered, “That’s arguable.”

Dean pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road right behind Manfred’s

four-by- four, and

then they followed him onto various back streets that Sam had a hard time keeping track of in the dark until they wound up on 248th and in front of the house. There weren’t any parking spaces to be found, and Manfred just pulled farther into the driveway so the Impala could fi t behind it.

Once they were parked, they shrugged out of their coats—yes, it was chilly at two-thirty in the morning in November in the Bronx, but they needed the freedom of movement—and tossed them into the backseat. Dean opened the trunk and pulled out two shotguns, one each for Sam and him. Sam took his and immediately opened it up to make sure both barrels were fi lled.

Walking down the driveway, Manfred looked at the two weapons with more than a little apprehen-sion. “Uh, fellas?”

132 SUPERNATURAL

“It’s okay,” Sam said quickly. “These have rock-salt rounds.”

“Rock salt? What, you wanna make sure the ghost don’t slip on the ice?”

Sam closed his shotgun with a snap. “Spirits are vulnerable to rock salt. It dissipates them.” Manfred frowned. “What’s that mean, ‘dissipates’?”

“Means they go away for a while.”

“I don’t want it goin’ away for a while, I want it
gone
.”

Dean closed the trunk. “Only way to do that is to find the body the spirit belonged to and salt it and burn it.”

“Again with the salt.” Manfred shook his head.

“All right, whatever, man, just get that damn thing outta my house.”

“That’s what we do. We see the ghost tonight, we blast it with the rock salt, we figure out who it is, and we salt and burn the body it belonged to.

Nothin’ to it.”

Manfred stared at them a second. “You fellas do this every day?”

“Not
every
day,” Dean said.

Sam added, “Just most of them.”

They started walking toward the front porch.

Sam put a hand on Manfred’s shoulder. “Maybe you better stay out here.”

Manfred hesitated, then said, “Yeah, prob’ly.” Nevermore

133

He chuckled. “Hell, I ain’t been stayin’ in the house when I see this broad anyhow.”

Leaving Manfred to lean against the Impala, Dean and Sam slowly worked their way toward the front door, shotguns in a low ready position.

As soon as they moved, Sam’s body went on autopi-lot, the drills Dad had worked with them so many times when they were kids coming as easily as breathing. Dean hung back while Sam moved to the porch, Dean keeping an eye on the door while he did so, then moving to the door.

Of course, the front door was locked. They’d been standing next to Manfred when he locked it.

Dean turned to Manfred and mouthed the word
Keys!

Manfred frowned, and mouthed the word
What?

Sam sighed.

“Keys,” Dean said in an intense whisper.

The lightbulb went off over Manfred’s head.

“Oh, right!” He dug into his jeans pocket, pulled out a huge key chain, and tossed it toward the porch.

It landed about a foot in front of the porch, skid-ding on the concrete path.

Dean let out a breath through his teeth and jumped down off the porch to get the keys. Sam saw that the keys were all labeled: House, Car, Garage, Locker, and so on. Given the various substances 134 SUPERNATURAL

Manfred had drunk, ingested, and smoked in his time, labeling the keys made sense.

First, Dean tried one of the ones labeled House, which didn’t fit, but the second one did. It unlocked the bottom lock. The first one he tried got the top lock that was right next to the small stained-glass window.

The door opened inward, and Dean just let it go.

It creaked, sounding distressingly like the front door in every haunted- house movie ever made.

John Winchester had been a well-trained Marine, and he taught his sons well. They moved in proper formation, Dean going in low fi rst with Sam covering him, then Sam going in ahead of him with Dean covering him, and so on through the front hall.

The house looked pretty much the same as when they had left.

Then the rattling started.

Looking around, Sam saw that the framed posters on the hallway walls were vibrating, the metal of the frames banging against the Sheetrock. Several of the items on the small table in the hall fell off.

Stealing a glance to his left, he saw that the record albums Dean had left lying on the fl oor were now dancing across the floor, and the stuff on the coffee table was also falling off. Some of the CDs fell out of their racks, the jewel cases splitting open.

Nevermore

135

Slowly, Sam moved forward toward the kitchen, shotgun still in the low ready position, Dean covering him with shotgun raised.

It occurred to Sam that they never found out from Manfred what room he had to enter before the spirit manifested itself. Now, however, wasn’t the time to go out and ask.

As they moved into the kitchen, Dean cradled the shotgun with one arm and pulled out the EMF

with the other. It was lit up like a Christmas tree.

Not that they needed the confi rmation, since the house was behaving like it was on a fault line. That was pretty much impossible, though—the house was built on solid rock. There was no basement, even—