Creative Imperative

TITLE: Cry Wolf (Part Seven)
SERIES: Cry Wolf can be considered a sequel to my SPN fic Family Values but it's not necessary to read that first.
RATING: Adults Only
FANDOM: The Sentinel/Supernatural Crossover
CATEGORY: Crossover, Horror...see story notes.
PAIRINGS: Jim/Blair, Dean/Sam, Dean/OFC

Previous Chapters: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

Just for the record: in making a reference to a "reaver" in this chapter I'm not deliberately ripping off Firefly, though the description is, I admit, similar. It's like this: way back when I first saw FF, I went searching on the web for what might have inspired the Reavers, as it felt to me like a reference to something real. I found what purported to be a nineteenth century legend about "wild men" in the unpopulated wilderness of NW Canada/Alaska; the story being that the loneliness out there drove men mad. That's where the reference in this chapter comes from. That said, I haven't been able to track down that story again, so at this point I'm guessing it's fictional, maybe part of a role-play or something and I didn't realise back then. Or maybe not. It doesn't really matter, except to say that in using it for this fic I was trying to use something with a hint of reality.

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Cry Wolf

Part Seven

Dean hadn't asked how Jim got hold of crime scene photographs when he wasn't a cop any longer. The photographs were spread out across Jim's desk in the study. Some were copies of copies, indistinct and grainy. Others were very clear. Jim watched Dean as he looked at the pictures. Dean studied each one briefly, his face carefully expressionless. He didn't ask dumb questions, and he wasn't shocked by what he saw.

Finally Dean laid down the last of the pictures. "You said there wouldn't be a death this full moon. How do you know that for sure?"

"As far as I've been able to tell, it's never killed two months in a row," Jim answered. "It's possible I've missed something, but I don't think so."

"And you've never seen this thing?"

Jim shook his head. "Only the results. Blair thinks he's seen it..." He broke off, looking toward the door as Sam opened it.

Sam looked flustered, his too-long hair tousled as if he'd just got out of bed. "Dude, I need to talk to you. Now." Sam glanced at Jim. "In private," he added.

Dean turned toward him at once. "Okay, but if this is about Blair, I already got the memo."

"No. It's about...something else."

Dean shrugged and headed toward the door.

Blair was waiting outside; he came into the room as Sam and Dean left. He smiled at Jim, a little nervously. "Everything okay, man?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah, I think so. For now." He held out a hand toward Blair. "You?"

Blair came toward him. "Sam's okay with it." He moved into Jim's arms and Jim held him close. He had some idea how tough this was for his partner. Blair hugged him back. "I...uh...I kinda made a deal with Sam. I hope you'll agree with it."

"What kind of deal?"

Blair drew back a little, looking up at Jim. "I think you'd best hear the full story from Sam and Dean. It has to do with those fires." He took a deep breath. "For now, the four of us are going to get together and make sure Jeanie is the last person to die an unnatural death in Panther Creek."

Since Jim had been thinking along the same lines, he had no problem with that. But he grinned at Blair. "Been working on that speech for long, Chief?" he teased.

Blair smiled back. "I know you don't like Dean much, man, and..."

Jim cut him off. "Chief, it's okay. I was just showing him the case file." He gestured to the photographs spread across his desk.

"Seriously?" Blair looked up at Jim, wide-eyed. "What the hell did you two talk about?"

That was a loaded question, Jim thought, but he answered, "Cars, mostly. And guns."

"Yeah?" There was just the faintest edge of suspicion in Blair's voice. He knew Jim too well.

"Yeah," Jim confirmed. He was silent for a moment, extending his senses to hear the brothers' conversation. "I was wrong about Dean," he admitted, and it was true. He'd underestimated the man badly. That streetwise front concealed a very dangerous man. But that, Jim didn't say aloud. "I think we have an understanding," he told Blair.

*****

"Jim told you Blair's a werewolf?" Sam sounded surprised.

"No, that part I figured out for myself." Dean followed Sam toward their room.

"And...?" Sam prompted.

"And what?"

Sam gave him a look.

"Dude, you know the rules as well as I do," Dean told him. "But..." he closed the double doors behind them as they walked into the guest wing, "...I told Jim I'll let it pass long enough to finish this hunt."

It was a big concession for Dean, but Sam rounded on him as if he'd said something terrible. "Are you telling me that you believe he didn't kill anyone and you still think we should..."

Dean spread his hands wide. "What part of 'werewolf' are you missing? Give me one good reason to bail on this." Damn it, but you just don't leave the monsters behind you. Sam knew that.

Sam shook his head like he couldn't believe what Dean was saying. "How about because his partner is a cop and Washington is a death penalty state."

"Wouldn't stop Dad," Dean answered stubbornly, and he knew it was true.

Sam shoved Dean back against the door, hard. Anger sparked in his eyes but that was just the surface. Beneath the anger, Dean saw the real emotion Sam was trying so hard to mask: grief. Grief, as harsh and raw as it was back in Palo Alto. This wasn't about some guy they hardly knew, no matter how much Sam liked him. It couldn't be.

Sam's fists balled in Dean's shirt, pushing against his chest. He towered over Dean, forcing Dean to look up if he wanted to meet his brother's eyes. "I don't know what's in your head, Dean. As of now, I officially don't care. I'm not talking about a hunt, okay? I'm talking about the hunt. The thing that killed Jess. And Mom."

Dean had no idea what Sam was talking about. He wouldn't answer the anger in Sam's voice because the only way to do that was take a swing at him and that wouldn't solve anything. And he couldn't answer the grief. There were no words for that. So he just looked up at Sam, knowing his confusion showed in his face.

Finally, Sam released him, turning away.

Dean drew in a shaky breath. "Sam...what does any of this have to do with the thing Dad's hunting?"

Sam sighed, running both hands through his hair. "It killed a woman three weeks ago, in Ohio. It's the case Jim was consulting on. Blair says there are others. Different states."

"How do you know it's the Demon?" Shit, no wonder Sam was upset.

Sam turned back to look at him. The anger was all gone. "A fire that burned impossibly hot, no identifiable cause. What little was left of the woman's body was on the ceiling of her kids' nursery. And Jim found sulphur." He shook his head. "Jim doesn't know what it is, dude, he still thinks he's looking for a human killer. But he's following the same trail as Dad."

Dean felt his stomach turn over. He swallowed, hard. Cleared his throat. "Okay...I'm sorry." He moved toward Sam. "What do you want to do?"

"I want you to swear to me you're not going to hunt Blair. I need to know what they know, Dean. I mean, that's what this is all about, isn't it?"

Their whole lives have been about this hunt. Dean nodded. "Alright. Alright, Sammy." He found himself crossing his fingers, like a kid telling a lie. "I swear," he said. Just as long as Jim told me the truth. If he lied...I'm gonna end this, Sammy. I've got to.

*****

It was late morning by the time they all came together for breakfast, so Blair suggested a good brunch that they could eat while they talked. He laid out a huge spread: home baked bread, cheese, several kinds of cold meat, a hastily thrown together salad, eggs, fruit, plus fresh coffee, juice or "whatever" and an offer of "help yourself to the 'fridge if you see something that's not on the table."

They each grabbed a plate and helped themselves. The ordinary activity provided an interlude, a chance for all of them to gather their thoughts. Jim thought they all needed it. Blair had never told anyone his secret before; Jim couldn't help wondering what it was about this Sam that he trusted...or was it simply that he needed to tell someone and Sam came along at the right time?

Jim himself was reeling from the little Blair told him about the brothers' connection to his murder case. He had wondered if there might be a paranormal element to the case; Jim always stuck to the usual cop methods that didn't include looking for a what instead of a who, but he'd learned to keep an open mind. He examined the scene of a fire that had burned so intensely there was nothing but charcoal left of the victim's limbs, yet the fire department found no trace of the kinds of accelerant that would be needed to create that level of heat. Pyrokinesis seemed, at the very least, a possibility to consider.

But a demonic serial killer was stretching Jim's open-mindedness just a little bit far. Sam mentioned a journal that could tell him more, but Jim, figuring he needed time to process this one, suggested that could wait. They should focus on what was happening in Panther Creek first.

Dean sat down at the table with a plate piled high with food. "One part of your story doesn't add up," he announced, looking at Blair.

Blair shrugged. "Probably more than one part, man. I know I can't prove most of what I told Sam."

"I talked to a local woman who witnessed one of the attacks last summer. What she described sounded a hell of a lot like a werewolf to me. If you weren't there, and there's no other werewolf in the neighbourhood..."

"How did she see me?" Blair finished for him. "I don't know. Maybe she did see me. But I didn't attack anyone."

Jim took a seat beside Blair. "Dean, one of the most important rules in police work is witnesses get it wrong. Even the most cooperative eye-witness, unless it's a person trained to observe, will report a mixture of what they really saw, what they couldn't possibly have seen, and what they think happened. It becomes a genuine memory and the witness believes every word they're telling you, but only about thirty per cent of it is accurate."

"So you're saying what? This girl just coincidentally hit on a perfect description of a werewolf?"

"It's possible she saw Blair in wolf form at some other time and her mind just meshed that image into her memory of seeing a man killed."

"Could be," Dean agreed, though his tone said he didn't accept it. "Let's talk about the latest victim. What exactly happened that night? And..." he gave a sarcastic smile, "I'll remember it's only thirty per cent accurate."

"I've been a ranger and a cop and I am a sentinel. I'm a bit more reliable than the average witness, Dean." Jim met Blair's eyes across the table, then went on. "It was a full moon night, so Blair was in wolf form, out in the hills. I was alone here, watching television. I don't sleep when Blair's out there. Around midnight I heard Jeanie come past our gate."

"You heard?" Dean interjected.

Blair had explained Jim's abilities to both of them, but Jim wasn't surprised Dean had trouble accepting it. He smiled. "Yes, I heard." He didn't offer proof. "She used to sing as she walked."

"Sarah McLaughlan, right?" Sam said suddenly.

Jim looked at Blair. "You told him?"

Blair shook his head. "No, man. You never told me what Jean sang that night."

"Then how...?"

Sam looked uncomfortable. "I...I dreamed about it." He shrugged. "Sometimes I dream true things. It's no big deal."

For a moment there was silence around the table. Finally, Blair shrugged and picked up the story. "I have to take Jim's word about the time Jean passed the farm. It would mean she was killed some time between midnight and quarter-past. I was miles away, in wolf form. It happened so close to our place that Jim should have heard something. He didn't, so we think she didn't have time to struggle or scream. Just before dawn I was on my way home and I smelled the blood. That's when I found Jean."

Blair pushed his plate to one side. "You two need to understand, in wolf form it's not easy to think or react like a man. The wolf in me only saw her as carrion. I didn't...touch her, but I did get too close, sniffed around her body. Then I ran home to Change and when I did I told Jim what happened. He thought it would be better if he 'found' the body. So that's how it happened."

Jim explained: "I run every morning when I'm at home and our neighbours know that. So I put on my jogging gear and headed up the track. It allowed me to examine the scene ahead of the local cops."

"And?"

"She was lying face down in the snow. Something had slashed her neck, left-to-right, severing the carotid artery. The blood spatter pattern in the snow indicated she fell after receiving that fatal wound. There's one other thing, though. She had three deep parallel slashes across her back. Whatever did it went right through her clothing to the skin. It was a pre-mortem wound."

Dean was frowning. "Can you, uh, demonstrate those slashes? Show me exactly what you saw?"

Jim stood up. "Sure. Blair?"

Blair stood up and turned his back to Jim. Jim formed his hand into a claw-shape and drew a line diagonally across Blair's back from shoulder-blade to his spine just above the waist. He said, "The cuts had to have been made in one blow – they were absolutely uniform. It was a slashing motion – deepest at the top, shallower here at the end of the arc."

"Nightmare on Elm Street," Sam said.

Jim smiled at him. "That's exactly what I thought when I saw Jean's body. But I'm assuming that's just a movie."

"Well..." Dean began.

Jim nearly choked on his coffee.

Sam shot Dean an annoyed look. "You dick!" To Jim he explained, "A lot of horror films use elements of urban legends with their roots in things that are real. The idea that something terrible in a person's dreams can cause death is an old legend. But as far as I know, Freddy is pure fiction."

Blair took a deep breath. "Thank god for that, at least!"

"Neither of you saw what killed Jean Marsden?" Dean pressed.

"Not that night," Jim answered, "but..." He looked at Blair.

Blair nodded. "I told you we've been hunting this thing for six years. I've gotten close a couple of times. It's humanoid. I mean, it stands upright and has two legs, two arms and a head. But it's not human. In wolf form my sense of smell is as good as Jim's, maybe even better. It doesn't smell human."

"What does it smell like?" Sam asked him.

"I don't know!" Blair burst out, and Jim felt his frustration. They'd had this conversation before. "I can't describe it. Not human. Not animal."

The brothers looked at each other.

Sam spoke first. "It can't be a wendigo. They don't leave bodies behind. Could be a reaver?"

Dean seemed to think about that. Jim was about to ask what in god's name a reaver was when Dean shook his head decisively. "No. Reavers are technically human. Blair would have noticed. And reavers ain't subtle. They don't kill, they slaughter. You'd be looking at murder scenes with body parts spread all over, and probably a much higher kill count." He looked at Jim, silently asking for confirmation.

Jim answered the unspoken question. "No, nothing like that. This thing just kills."

Sam leaned forward over the table. "The local press and the cops have all of these deaths listed as animal attacks. Have any of the victims been eaten?"

"Jean wasn't. I have limited access to local police records so I can't say for certain. All of the murder scenes have the superficial appearance of animal attacks. Victims mostly died from blood loss, wounds to the neck and abdomen. One was bled out from the femoral artery – a single puncture wound. There were signs of predation on a few of the victims, but as far as I remember they were all bodies that had lain out in the open for a few days. Predation would be expected."

Sam bit his lip, looking over to his brother. "Anything animal, feral, kills to eat."

Dean nodded. "Maybe this can't. It's a spirit of some sort. There have been cases of ghosts that took animal form to kill." He looked at Sam. "Remember?"

Sam nodded. "The thing in the Rockies, yeah." He turned to Jim and Blair and started to explain. "It was the spirit of..."

Jim interrupted. "No, this isn't a ghost. It's real. Physical."

Sam met his eyes. "I'm not certain you should trust your senses about this. A lot of the things Dean and I have dealt with sure seem physical."

Jim nodded. "You two are the experts, I can see that. But you don't have my senses. I've seen ghosts, Sam. Trust me, I know the difference."

Dean said, "A spirit isn't always a ghost, but there would be the same signs." He listed them: a spirit might move oddly or appear and disappear like a mirage. There would be a smell of ozone. There might be a local legend that could be linked to the deaths in some way, or perhaps a triggering event that woke something much older.

Jim glanced at Blair. None of it rang a bell, except maybe the last part. Would Blair make the same connection?

Blair met his eyes and nodded. "This might be nothing, but just after we came to this area there was a cave in at an old mine a few miles away. Some kids were trapped and the rescue team took a few days to dig them out. No one died."

"What kind of mine?" Dean asked.

"Does it matter?" Blair muttered.

"Probably not. But it might."

Jim answered, "Iron. It was an iron mine. It's been sealed up tight since the cave in."

"And these deaths," Sam said thoughtfully. "You said the pattern changed after you both came into the area. Was the first death after this cave-in?"

"What's running up your flagpole, college boy?"

Sam turned to Dean, narrowing his eyes a little at the college boy comment. He knew Dean meant it affectionately, but the teasing got annoying at times. "It's corporeal, but neither human nor animal. What does that tell you, dude?"

Dean's eyes widened as he got the point. "Faery."

"Fairy?" Jim repeated. "Cute girls with butterfly wings?"

Sam shook his head. "Not exactly. Faery is a generic term for creatures that exist in most world cultures. In the British Isles they're the sidhe, in Eastern Europe they're often called witches, in the Mediterranean they're nymphs and dryads. On this continent they were called spirits by the indigenous people."

"You mean nature spirits," Blair guessed.

"Often. But they're not spirits. They're corporeal creatures. Sometimes they're shape shifters. Many can impersonate humans. It's called glamour."

"But Native American spirits are benevolent," Blair objected. "They don't prey on people."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. This'll be an import. These things move around, just like people." He looked at Sam. "There aren't a lot of faeries in Dad's journal, though."

"No, we'll need to do some research. See if we can figure out what kind of faery we're dealing with. And how to stop it."

Dean grinned. "So...can I leave the research to you two college boys?"

Sam frowned. Dean wasn't a fan of research, but he usually didn't try to avoid it. Then he saw the look in his brother's eyes and the penny dropped. "Oh, man. You want to go chase that girl."

Dean's grin got wider.

Sam sighed theatrically. "Fine. Go get your hormones cooled off."

Jim laughed suddenly. "Remind you of anyone, Chief?"

Blair smiled at him affectionately. "A little." To Dean he said, "I'll be happy to help Sam with the research. Just one thing, though."

"Yeah?"

"If you're going into town, don't pack a gun. Our local sheriff takes that kinda seriously."

Dean nodded, already heading for the door. "Sure thing, dude."

*****

In Blair's study, Sam unpacked the laptop. While he waited for it to boot up he took out his father's journal, hesitating before handing it to Blair. "Like Dean said, there's not much in here about faeries. But I know you'll find it interesting."

Blair took the journal, handling it as if it were some precious artefact. "If we can identify this faery, will we have a way to kill it?"

"Fae are hard to kill. Salt can disrupt their magic or glamour, but it doesn't harm them. Iron, especially cold iron, can hurt them, kills some, binds others. So I'm sure we'll find a way to stop it." Sam was repeating himself, and stopped. He'd already told them this.

Sam thought the faery had been bound in that old iron mine and had been freed somehow after the cave-in. Jim had gone to check out that theory. If Sam was right, they should be able to re-bind it.

Sam turned to the laptop. "You pull up your records of the victims. Look for something they've got in common. Anything. Any kind of a pattern."

"There's nothing..." Blair objected, but he did sit down at his computer. "There are some common threads, but nothing that applies to all of them. Most of the victims are men, but not all of them. Most of the deaths are in fall and winter, but not all of them. Sam, I've been over this data a thousand times. There's nothing that applies to all of the victims."

"There'll be something. Maybe not the sort of stuff cops look for. You'll have to dig deeper. But this thing is choosing its victims somehow. I'm gonna surf some websites, see if I can narrow down the type of faery we're dealing with. If we're lucky, we'll sort of meet in the middle."

Blair laughed. "If we're lucky?"

Sam couldn't help laughing with him. "It usually works out."

Blair turned to his computer and started work. Sam did the same.

"Tell me something," Blair said over his shoulder.

"What's that?"

"Who's this girl Dean is so keen on?"

Sam chuckled. "Her name's Erin. We ran into her the other day when we took a walk by the forest."

"What was that name?"

"Erin. You must know her. Uh...about my age, pretty, redhead. She said she lives on the hill above the waterfall."

Blair shrugged. "Doesn't sound familiar. Maybe she's not local."

*****

The old iron mine had been sealed up for fifty years or more, ever since the last owners went bust. In the summer of 1999, the summer Jim and Blair moved to Panther Creek, a group of kids from town broke into the mine. There were seven kids, ages ranging from eight years old to thirteen. For most of June and July they played in the mine, turning it into a kind of secret hideout. No one else knew about it until the day the main tunnel in the mine collapsed, trapping four of the children inside.

In a small town like Panther Creek, a disaster involving children was bound to provoke a big response. Every able bodied man in town, including Jim and Blair, volunteered to help with the rescue efforts. It took almost a week to dig the children out but in the end all four were found: weak and scared, but alive, with only minor injuries. The local newspaper called it a miracle. The mayor made sure the mine was permanently re-sealed.

Jim tied his horse's bridle to the prominent warning sign. It read DANGER! DO NOT ENTER in big red letters. Jim stroked the mare's neck, told her he'd be back in a while, and walked on toward the mine entrance. The heavy steel door was still sealed up tight. Jim took a set of tools from the inner pocket of his thick winter coat and went to work on the lock. After a few minutes, he felt the tumblers drop into place and the lock clicked open. The door was heavy and the hinges badly rusted but Jim was strong enough to open it. Inside the air smelled stale and musty.

Jim was not inexperienced at caving and he knew going into the mine alone was foolish at best. But Blair knew where he was, and he wasn't going in unprepared. Jim had a length of coiled rope, a flashlight, and a small backpack with some other supplies he thought he might need. It was the best he could manage on short notice.

The air smelled of iron and damp. Jim turned on the flashlight and waited a few moments while his eyes adjusted. With the flashlight and his sentinel vision, the mine wasn't dark to him at all. It was like a well-lit room. Jim made his way into the tunnel. The first part of it was familiar from the rescue six years earlier and he could still see the evidence of the operation: soda cans discarded by the diggers, footprints, tool marks on the rock. They'd shored up the tunnel here; Jim laid a hand against one of the new supports, testing it. It was solid. He walked onward with more confidence.

When he reached the place where the tunnel collapsed Jim had to strip off his thick winter coat or he would never fit through the gap. He kept his phone in his pocket just in case (though it was a thin hope; if the tunnel collapsed there wasn't much chance of getting a cell signal down here) and shoved the backpack through ahead of him. The rough stone cut into his hands as he crawled through the small gap. Had this become worse since the rescue, or had Jim put on weight? He didn't remember it being this difficult before.

It took a long time for Jim to crawl through. Every time he heard or felt the stone shift he froze, knowing that the mine was still unstable and he would need as much warning as possible. It took perhaps an hour for him to get through the collapsed section. On the other side, he stood up, relieved just to be able to stand, and took a deep breath, collecting himself.

The air was pretty thin. He couldn't risk staying for too long.

Only a little further in, Jim found the place those kids used as their secret clubhouse. There was a cache of toy guns and water pistols. He found the remains of comic books and magazines, cigarette packets and candy. He couldn't help smiling to himself. They must have had so much fun here that summer...before it all went bad.

He passed through the kids' den and headed further into the mine. The tunnel forked a little way past the den. Jim pondered for a moment then chose the tunnel that seemed to slope most sharply downward. He pulled an aerosol paint can out of his backpack and marked the route he was taking...just in case.

And it was there, about five hundred metres into the tunnel, that Jim found it. He was beginning to get a headache by then and that was a sign of oxygen deprivation so he didn't dare stay too long. But Sam was going to need to see this...the walls of the tunnel were covered with what looked like very old paint. Some of it was symbols, a kind of writing Jim didn't recognise, and there were pictures, too: animals and plants. It reminded him vaguely of Neolithic cave paintings...and that thought made him think of Blair, because it was the kind of comparison he would make. There was a circle of white on the floor of the tunnel and within it stood a large iron cage. The cage stood open, but there was no sign of how it was unlocked, if it had been.

Jim pulled out his phone and used its built-in camera to photograph as much as possible. He wasn't certain any of it would be useful with only the flashlight for light, but it was the best he could do. He turned to go.

Just behind him, on the floor of the tunnel, almost invisible even to Jim's sight, was a small screwed-up candy wrapper.

Jim picked it up. I'll be damned. The kids let it out.

*****

The Coffee Bean aka Beanies was a real wannabe Starbucks, right down to the pair of overstuffed couches near the window. Only the coffee menu, which was much less varied than a city coffee-shop, detracted from the impression. Dean ordered a black coffee and chose a table from which he could watch the street. He had a local newspaper to flip through while he drank, but he didn't pay much attention to the content.

He stretched the first coffee as long as he could, then paid for a second. The music was getting annoying, but he'd wait another half hour. He was hoping Erin would pass by. So far, no luck.

It was weird. Dean never went to this much trouble for a girl: hanging out like a lovesick teenager in hopes of catching a glimpse of her. But if he wanted to see Erin again - and he did - there wasn't much else he could do. Erin had no cell phone and she hadn't given him her address. She was also the best thing he'd seen in this backwater town; she was worth the wait...if he didn't have to wait too much longer.

"Just a milk, please." Erin's voice from the counter made Dean turn so fast he almost gave himself a whiplash. He hadn't seen her come in!

Dean folded the newspaper and abandoned it on the table. "Hi, there," he said as he reached her side.

"To go," Erin said to the barista as he reached for a glass. She turned her brilliant smile to Dean.

Dean wasn't sure whether he should be encouraged or disappointed. "You're not staying?"

"I need to get back home. Walk with me?"

"Sure," Dean agreed eagerly. The barista handed Erin her milk and Dean paid for it, wondering who the hell drinks milk in a coffee shop. She smiled her thanks and they headed out. Her little terrier was tied up outside.

Erin knelt down, pouring a little milk into her hand to share with the dog. "Your brother not with you today?"

"I'm all yours, sweetheart," Dean grinned. He thought of Sam and the hunt they were going to have to do later. "For a couple of hours, anyway," he amended.

Erin let her dog run free ahead of them, sipping her milk as Dean took her free hand in his. He was happy just being with her. He took out his cell phone; Sam hadn't called yet. So Dean was free to have fun for a while.

"Are you waiting for a call?" Erin asked.

"No, just checking."

They were near the end of the street. Erin finished her cup of milk and crushed the paper cup in her hand. "Would you like to come back to my place?" she offered.

"Oh, yeah!"

Erin stopped walking and looked at Dean. For a moment he thought he'd been too enthusiastic. But then she stepped close to him, still holding his hand. She smiled, that dazzling smile that hooked him the first time they met. "I like that you're...eager," she said quietly.

Erin was taller than Dean and he had to look up to meet her eyes. That wasn't usually a turn on for him, but everything about this girl was turning him on. Which was a little strange, come to think of it...

She kissed his cheek. "You're the best thing to show up in this town all winter." She kissed his mouth, just a light touch of her lips. Not enough. Dean raised his hands to her face and kissed her deeply. Her skin was cool to the touch but her kiss was warm, responsive. Her tongue met his and she moaned into his mouth.

"Let's hurry," Erin whispered.

*****

Sam punched buttons on his phone and waited tensely for Dean to answer. He met Blair's worried eyes across the room. "Come on, come on," Sam muttered, as if Dean could hear him.

Dean answered on the sixth ring. He sounded pissed. "Sammy, your timing sucks!"

Thank god! Sam thought with relief, then Dean's irritation got through to him. "Oh, god, Dean. Tell me you're not with Erin right now."

"What do you think?"

Shit. "I need to talk to you, dude. Get out of earshot."

There was a pause. Sam heard a rustling sound through the phone and then Dean's voice. "Okay. Make it fast."

He did, speaking rapidly because he wanted Dean to believe him, fast. "It's a Leannan Sidhe, Dean. A kind of faery vampire or succubus. She feeds primarily on sexual energy, life energy, capturing one man at a time, but when she can't find a man to enslave she'll feed on blood. Human life. That's why most of the deaths are in winter."

"Great, dude, that's great, but I'm a little busy right now..."

"Dean, will you listen? This thing is a sidhe. It can cover itself in glamour and look completely human. Dude, I mentioned Erin to Blair and he's never seen her. Neither has Jim. They don't know who she is."

Silence.

"Dean?"

"Oh, man..." Dean sounded terribly pained. "Don't tell me..."

It sounded like Dean understood. Sam asked seriously, "Dude, are you armed?"

"No."

"Do you have anything on you that's iron?"

Dean hesitated, then said firmly, "It's not her, Sammy. It can't be."

She already had him. Sam remembered what he'd read and felt cold with fear. She seeks the love of mortal man...once embraced by the Leannan Sidhe, her lover is forever in her thrall...the only escape is to find another man to take his place...she is a passionate lover but the man pays dearly for his pleasure...drains the life from her lover over nights or weeks...

No. Not Dean. If he'd fucked her already, it was too late.

"Think about it, Dean. What happened the night after we first ran into her, dude..." Sam broke off abruptly, conscious of Blair listening to his every word. What happened between them started because Dean misinterpreted Sam's touch. If Sam was right about Erin, it was her influence at work that night. She'd chosen Dean, primed him to react that way. She just hadn't counted on their uniquely fucked up family history, so it was Sam who Dean so suddenly lusted after.

If Sam was right about Erin. And he was, he was sure. He tried again, "Dean, she said it herself. In a small town like this, everyone knows everyone. She told us she lives around here. Why don't Jim and Blair know her?"

"But...Oh, hell, Sam!"

"Dean, you have to get out of there, now!"

And Sam's blood froze in his veins as Erin's voice came instead of his brother's. "He'll call you back, Sammy."

The line went dead.

Part Eight