Witch's Canyon (2 page)

The thing was, he was headed toward Mrs. Izzi’s 4 SUPERNATURAL

back door, and no one lived with Mrs. Izzi. That much Mike did know about her.

The other thing—and this made him let out a little gasp, against his will, because so far he didn’t think the soldier had seen him—was that the guy was there one instant and then he kind of flickered, like when Becky messed with the rabbit ears during one of his programs. Then he was there again, and then he vanished into the shadows behind Mrs. Izzi’s house.

Should I go to the front door and tell her there’s
someone in her backyard?
he wondered.
Should I
call the sheriff?

Cops never listened to kids, though. Mike had been growing his hair out over the summer, and the last time he’d seen Sheriff Tait, at the swimming pool, the sheriff told him to get a haircut or wear a bathing cap. He’d laughed when he said it, but Mike could tell he meant it.

He decided to run home and let Mom make the call. He started to sprint, but he was barely across the street when he heard the first scream from Mrs.

Izzi’s.

Mike Taylor didn’t know it, but what some would come to call the “forty-year” had already begun.

Again . . .

ONE

Cedar Wells, Arizona

December 4, 2006

“That’s a big hole.”

“A big hole,” Sam repeated.

“That’s what I said. It’s a big freakin’ hole. And somehow that river got stuck inside it.” Sam shook his head sadly. His brother leaned casually on a railing, peering into the canyon. Across the way, the lowering sun’s rays slanted in from the west, dripping gold paint across horizontal layers of pale rose, buff, and salmon strata of shale, limestone, and sandstone. Sometimes Sam had to wonder if Dad had destroyed Dean’s soul altogether. “Dean, nature worked miracles for millions of years to create the Grand Canyon—the Colorado River’s the reason it’s there.”

Dean turned slowly, fixing Sam with a steady 6 SUPERNATURAL

glare. From the way his mouth curled into a mischie-vous grin, Sam knew he’d been had. “Just because I didn’t go to Stanford doesn’t mean I’m an idiot, college boy,” Dean said.

“I didn’t say . . .” Sam paused, stuck. Dean loved to give him crap about having attended Stanford—

and almost graduating prelaw—while Dean carried on the family business.

“Look, Sam, I know what made the Grand Canyon. I know about erosion. I even get why you wanted to stop here while we—”

“We were just passing so close.”

“What did I just say? Dude, are you even listening to me?”

When Dean got in this kind of mood, there was no winning. After his years at college, away from his big brother, Sam had to learn Dean’s habits and quirks all over again. These last months, riding around the country in Dean’s precious Impala, he believed he had reacquainted himself with most of those traits, good and bad.

Didn’t stop him from stepping right into it from time to time.

“It is pretty spectacular,” Sam said, hoping to change the subject. Another glance at the opposite wall showed that in just minutes shifting light and shadow had altered the view as surely as if the Winchester brothers had moved to a different vantage point. Hints of pine and sage tickled Sam’s nose on a whispered breeze from below; the same wind
shushed
through the branches of the firs and the Witch’s

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gnarled junipers surrounding the overlook. “I’m glad we made the side trip.”

“Me too,” Dean said. He scratched his head, mussing his short brown hair. His leather jacket was zipped against the cold; the snow around his boots was hard-packed, a week old or more. “It’s kinda cool.”

“For a big hole.”

“Am I wrong?”

“More like . . . incomplete,” Sam said.

“You can give me detention. Oh, wait, that’s right

. . . you aren’t the boss of me. So I guess you can just bite me.”

“That’s not happening,” Sam said. “Maybe we should get on into town.” Even as he said it, he recognized that Dean might take it as giving orders again. That was something he and Dean struggled with. Dean was older, and had stayed on the road with their dad while Sam turned his back on the family—at least, that was Dean’s take on it. Sam’s was that, having announced his intention to go to college, Dad had thrown him out, essentially dis-owning him. Dad’s words, “Don’t come back,” had seemed plenty specifi c.

But now that Sam had rejoined the family business—

and the brothers were left to run it themselves since their father’s death—there had been friction between the two of them. Dean loved his little brother, and vice versa. But he didn’t like being dictated to, and he had made that abundantly clear.

Which didn’t mean it was easy for Sam to knock it 8 SUPERNATURAL

off. He had been on his own for a long time, and he was used to doing things his own way. Dean, having worked with Dad longer, was used to taking orders.

More than that, he seemed to thrive on it, as if Dad had crushed the independent spirit he’d been born with. What was left behind was a Dean who Sam bossed around whether he meant to or not. Maybe it wasn’t the natural order of things, but sometimes it felt that way to him.

Dean shot him a dark glance but didn’t say anything. He pushed off the railing. “Let’s hit it.” When they arrived, one other car had been parked on the gravel semicircle at the trailhead, but they hadn’t seen its occupant anywhere. As they hiked back toward the parking area, not talking, Sam thought he heard something out of place. He stopped short, put a hand out to halt Dean. “Shh!”

“What?” Dean whispered.

“Listen.” Not just wind through the pine needles, Sam was certain. “Someone’s crying.”

“Let’s get out of here, then,” Dean said. “That’s not going to be any of our business.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Yes we do,” Dean argued. “We came here to go to Cedar Wells and stop people from getting killed.

There aren’t many things in life I am
more
positive about. I’m sorry for whoever’s crying, but it’s not what we’re here for.”

“What if it’s a kid? Someone who got lost? How long can it take to check out?” Dean rolled his eyes. In that instant, Sam could Witch’s

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still see Dean as he’d been at twelve, when that had been his response to almost every situation. He hadn’t caught up to his older brother in height then—that hadn’t come until Sam’s sixteenth year—but he’d been closing in even then. Still, he had looked up to Dean, practically worshipping him, and Dean could cut him deep with one of those eye rolls. “Famous last words.”

Without comment, Dean pointed at the please stay on path sign that Sam had stepped over. The crying was full-throated sobs now, as if the person—

a woman,
Sam thought,
no child weeps like that—

had stopped trying to hold back and decided to let it all go. It was coming from through the trees, not on the path, and Sam was only following the sound.

A couple of minutes later he stepped around a bushy fir and saw her. She sat on a flat rock in a small clearing—only her tracks showing on the snow-covered floor—her face buried in her hands, her back and slender shoulders hitching with every sob. Long dark hair cascaded in thick curls past her hands, falling like heavy smoke. She wore a red parka, jeans, and furry Ugg boots. Behind her, the sun’s last rays streaked the far canyon wall.

“Miss?” Sam said, suddenly not at all sure this had been a good idea. The woman was an adult. She didn’t look like a lost hiker. She just looked sad. “Are you okay?”

For a moment he wasn’t sure she had heard. He was about to suggest to Dean that they turn around and head back to the car—his brother, a couple of 10 SUPERNATURAL

paces back, hadn’t even broken through to the clearing yet—when she lowered her hands, slowly, and tilted her face toward him.

Her eyes were huge and brown, ringed with red; her strong nose was equally red; and she sat with her lips slightly parted, breathing through her mouth.

Her face made a triangle, wide at the eyes, tapering to a chin with a bit of a point. “Sorry,” she said, and she fished a tissue from the cuff of her left sleeve and used it to blow her nose loudly. “I . . . yes, thank you.

I didn’t realize how loud I was.”

“That’s no problem,” Dean said, shouldering ahead of Sam. Sam didn’t blame him—she looked like she’d be pretty when she wasn’t weeping incon-solably. “We just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt or lost or something.”

“I . . .” Sam thought she was debating how much she wanted to tell two strangers who had just come at her out of the woods. “This used to be my husband’s favorite spot,” she said. Apparently, the Winchester brothers looked trustworthy. She waved a hand toward the view, which had mostly disappeared into darkness. The shadowy bulk of a condor passed, black slipping through the indigo sky, silent as oil through water. “He loved it here, and we used to come here to . . . well, never mind.” A slight redden-ing of her cheeks told Sam all he needed to know about what they did in this secluded spot. “Anyway, when Ross died, I scattered his ashes from here—did you know they want you to pay to do that? Now I Witch’s

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come here on his birthday. This is the second one since he passed, and I—” Her breath caught and she shook her head, casting her gaze toward the ground.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Dean said.

Sam had been worried—you never really knew what might come out of Dean’s mouth, and he might as easily have told her that they were undercover park rangers, out to bust people who illicitly scattered ashes.

“Thank you.”

“I’m Dean,” his brother went on. No last name, but at least he didn’t lie or use an alias, which was rare for him. Maybe the fact that she was a widow had given Dean hope. Not for a relationship, Dean didn’t tend to do those, but at least for a fl ing. “This is my brother Sam. Little brother,” he added.

“I’m Juliet,” the woman said. She dabbed at her cheeks and nose with the tissue and offered a tentative smile. “Juliet Monroe.”

“Pleased to meet you, Juliet,” Sam said.

“We’re on our way to Cedar Wells,” Dean said.

“Do you live in the area?”

Juliet nodded. “Not far from there, really. We have a little ranch, just outside of town. Or I do, I guess. It was really Ross’s dream, but I bought into it too. It’s so beautiful around here. I was always a city girl, but Ross convinced me that it was a good move for us.

Now I’m trying to sell the place—it’s too lonely out there by myself—but I’m not getting a lot of offers.” She tried on a surer smile, and it looked like it be-12 SUPERNATURAL

longed on her face, brightening her eyes, swelling her cheeks. “You guys wouldn’t be in the market, would you? I’ll throw in the livestock for free.”

“Us?” Dean tossed a private smirk at Sam. “No, no, we’re kind of . . . we’re on the road. A lot.”

“I didn’t really think you were the types,” she said.

“A ranch can really tie you down.”

“I’m sure,” Sam said. “Anyway, we’d better get back on the road, before all the good hotel rooms in Cedar Wells are taken.”

Juliet laughed at that.

“What?” Sam asked.

“It’s just . . .
good
hotel rooms in Cedar Wells is a funny concept. Kind of like saying you want to rustle up some good road kill before dinner.”

“Not the most happening burg?” Dean asked.

“Not even close. Unless your idea of happening is Friday night bingo at the church and the occasional loose bull on Main Street.”

“By which you mean a real bull,” Sam guessed.

“And not the kind of loose bull you fi nd around politicians and actors.”

“Or actors who become politicians,” Juliet said.

“But yes, the bull around here is the real kind, so watch where you step when you go looking for those hotel rooms.”

“Is there anyplace to stay in town?” Dean asked.

“Sure,” Juliet replied. “It was just your choice of adjectives I was commenting on. There’s the Bide-A-Wee Motel—”

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“Sounds adorable,” Sam said.

“Some of the roaches there are bigger than my cattle,” she said. “Or that’s what I’ve heard.”

“Anyplace else?”

“I’d probably stay at the Trail’s End, if I had to stay somewhere.”

“Trail’s End. We’ll look for it.”

“You can’t miss it,” she assured them. “You can’t miss anything in Cedar Wells, unless you blink. It’s all on Main, and Main isn’t that long.”

“There really is a Main Street?” Sam asked.

“You bet. And Grand Avenue too. It’s paved for three blocks, then dirt.”

“And this place isn’t paradise on Earth for you?

I’m shocked.”

“Like I said, I’m a city girl. It was fi ne when I had Ross—he loved it all so much, I enjoyed just seeing it through his eyes. But when you have to drive into Flagstaff for a decent half-caf mochaccino or a conversation that doesn’t begin and end with the weather . . .” She sighed. “It gets a little old.”