Supernatural: One Year Gone (9 page)

“What’s wrong with this place?” Dean said, even though he knew full well the rooms inside were most likely witch-themed, dirty, and smelled of old cigarettes.

“Dean, please. It’s our
vacation.
I wanted to stay somewhere nice.” Lisa turned her mouth into a little pout. She hated resorting to female trickery—but she wasn’t going to stay in a flea-bag hotel.

Dean shrugged. “How can I say no to that face?”

In the back seat Ben rolled his eyes and slumped further down.

“Gross,” he mumbled.

Dean did as he was told and followed the directions into Salem proper. The town was a nice old colonial village with tree-lined streets and lots of federal-style brick houses with flat fronts, colonnade porches, and small windows. But commercialism and chains had grown like weeds and it was clear that the town didn’t shy away from its dark past; in fact it did everything it could to capitalize on it.

They found the bed and breakfast easily enough, across the street from a big grassy expanse called Salem Common.

“Is that where they hanged the witches?” Ben asked, putting aside his video player and looking out of the window.

“No, actually they hanged the witches on a hill on the southwest side of town,” Dean replied. “A place called Gallows Hill, though they’re not sure of the exact location. Of course, none of the people they hanged actually were witches.” Dean’s voice betrayed a slight hint of having too much relish in the topic. Lisa shot him a look.

“That’s cool. Can we go see it?” Ben asked.

“Of course. Do you know anything about the Salem witch trials?” Dean asked as he parallel parked the CRV into a too-tight space.

“Not much, a little in school.”

“Well then, I have lots to show you,” Dean said.

They piled out of the car and Dean grabbed most of the bags. He wasn’t used to actual luggage, he and Sam always traveled light, one duffle bag a piece at the very most. Now Dean really did feel and look like Chevy Chase.

The inside of the inn was tastefully decorated in a display-everything-your-grandma-likes kind of way. But Lisa didn’t seem to mind.

“Hello, hello. You must be the Winchesters. I’m Ingrid,” the tall middle-aged proprietor chimed from behind the inn’s counter.

“Yes, we are. I made a reservation for two adjoining rooms,” Lisa said.

“Aww, I can stay in a room by myself,” Ben grumbled.

“Sure you can, buddy,” Dean said, looking at Lisa. Dean and Sam had stayed in hotel rooms by themselves since they were seven. Ben was twelve, he could handle that.

“No, he can’t,” Lisa said.

Ben mumbled under his breath, then crossed the foyer to sit in a high-backed chair near the door.

“Two adjoining rooms will be fine,” Lisa said, turning back to Ingrid with a smile.

“Great. Would you also like to schedule one of our ghost tours? We offer a full paranormal tour of our inn. We’re the only inn on the East Coast with our own ghosts!”

“Your own ghosts?” Dean said, eyebrow raised.

Lisa paled. “Oh Dean, I didn’t know!”

“We’re the most popular inn on the square,” Ingrid continued proudly. “People come from all over to take our spooky ghost tour and meet our otherworldly residents. There is Sally, the little girl who lost her bonnet. And Captain Chancy, who fell asleep and never woke up. He still thinks it’s 1697 and he’s sailing the high seas!”

“Great,” Dean said flatly. It was so not great.

“We can go somewhere else,” Lisa murmured quietly to Dean.

“No, it’s fine,” Dean said. The spooks sounded harmless enough—if they even existed at all.

“Real ghosts?” Ben jumped up in anticipation. “Dean, you can teach me how to kill ’em!”

Ingrid looked at Dean questioningly.

“He means I can... um... kill ’em with teaching him the rich history of your beautiful inn,” Dean said through clenched teeth. He shot a look at Ben. “Adjoining rooms sound great, the spookier the better,” he added with a forced grin.

“Lovely. Here are your keys.” Ingrid handed Lisa a set of keys with a clipper ship key ring hanging off them. “Go up the stairs and to your right. Your rooms are the third and fourth doors on the left, overlooking the historic Salem Common.”

“Thank you so much,” Lisa said. They picked up their bags and trudged up the wide wooden staircase to the inn’s second-floor rooms. Lisa opened the highly polished wooden door with brass numbers on it. She smiled gamely at Dean and walked into the room ahead of him.

“I think this is pretty. Don’t you?” she asked, throwing open the blue-and-yellow-flowered curtains.

Dean surveyed the large garish floral bedspread and the ruffled pillow shams. This in fact wasn’t his idea of comfortable, he felt like he was back in Ypsilanti, Michigan, in the Carrigan’s house. They had been pagan gods of the Winter Solstice, and their design aesthetic was similar to the room: like someone just vomited up a quilting bee.

Dean smiled. If this was what made Lisa happy that he would cope. Besides, he wasn’t here to relax, he wanted to get started searching for a witch as soon as possible. But Lisa had other plans.

“I’m starving, let’s go get some fried clams and French fries,” she said with a smile. “It’s a gorgeous day. I don’t want to spend a minute inside.”

What was Dean going to say? As much as he wanted to start his mission, he knew that he had to spend at least a little time with Lisa and Ben.

“Okay then,” he said.

Outside the sun was shining. As they made their way through the narrow streets, tourists crammed the brick sidewalks. Dean wondered at all the people enjoying their lives—oblivious to how much Sam and Dean had sacrificed so that they could continue on as normal. Would they even appreciate it if they knew? Dean doubted it. He didn’t get a chance to walk among the masses very often and he was pretty sure he hadn’t missed much as he watched tourists munching ice cream cones and shoving their bratty kids in front of buildings and statues to be photographed. For a moment he wondered why he even cared about saving all these schlubs’ lives. It made him itch to get Sam back all the more.

“How about here?” Lisa asked.

“I’m starved,” Ben added.

They tramped into a fish and chip shop called “Old Clappy’s Clam Shacky.” A wooden sign hung above the doorway: a drunken-looking cartoon sailor and a clam clung to one another in what looked like mid-song.

At the back of the restaurant a creaky covered porch hung out over the water. The bay was blue and still. They placed their order and then sat down at a brown-paper-covered picnic table. To their right, a couple of old clipper ships bobbed next to an ancient blackened pier.

“Are those pirate ships?” Ben asked, looking out over the water. “I totally want to go on a pirate ship.”

Dean smiled smugly at Lisa as if to say, “I told you so.”

“Sure are. You and your mom can take a tour of them this afternoon if you want,” Dean said.

“What about you?” Lisa asked.

“I thought I’d... you know, look around town and find fun things to do. Plan the rest of our trip,” Dean said casually.

Minutes later, toasty piles of fish, clams, and chips heaped in paper baskets were placed in front of them by a young girl who looked to be a little older than Ben.

“My name’s Perry. Just let me know if you need anything else,” she said with a smile directed at Ben. Ben blushed.

“Thanks,” Lisa said with an edge.

Perry bobbed a little curtsey and returned to her place behind the ordering counter, Ben’s eyes followed her.

“Don’t even think about it,” Lisa said gently as she squeezed ketchup onto a plate and dragged a fry though it. “She’s five years older than you.”

“She’s not five years older. She’s like fifteen,” Ben said.

“How do you know?” Lisa asked.

“I’m twelve, Mom. I know,” Ben retorted. “Besides, she was just being nice. You’re always saying it takes a special person to make a lot of friends. Right?”

“Kid has a point. I’ve heard you say that,” Dean said, grinning at Lisa as he teased her.

“Whose side are you on?” Lisa asked, poking Dean light-heartedly in the ribs.

Dean dug into more of the food and enjoyed the moment. He liked looking out across the water. He and Sam had never spent much time on the coast.

Ben polished off his food in minutes.

“I’m still hungry,” he declared. “Can I have five bucks to get some more?”

“Oh, now you want more clams?” Dean smiled, reaching into his pocket and handing Ben a five. “I can see why. She’s cute.”

Ben blushed again.

“Naw, I just want some more fries. What’s the big deal?”

“Just act casual. Like you haven’t even noticed that she’s good-looking,” Dean confided.

“Really?” Ben asked.

“Absolutely. Pretty girls hate when people fawn over them. Just act natural. Like you couldn’t care less about her.”

Ben nodded earnestly and went up to the counter.

“Are you teaching my son to be a player?” Lisa asked half smiling, half serious.

“Kid has to know how to flirt. I’m just teaching him the basics. We haven’t even begun the master class.”

“Master class, huh?”

Ben came back with a large smile plastered across his face.

“We’re going to the movies,” he said proudly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear a question in there,” Lisa said.

“Can I go to the movies?” Ben rephrased, rolling his eyes.

“Wow, that girl sure moves fast,” Dean said, impressed.

Ben and Lisa went back and forth about whether it was a good idea for him to go to the movies in a strange town with a strange girl. Ben accused his mother of once again being overprotective.

Dean decided to sit this discussion out. Instead he watched the girl as she chatted affably with other customers. The teen kept stealing glances at him, like she was appraising something. She gave off a much more sophisticated air than a regular teenager. In that respect Lisa was right, Dean thought. But he figured Perry was a savvy, towny chick who regularly asked boys out in order to get a free movie and some popcorn. No harm in that.

They left Old Clappy’s Clam Shacky and wandered around the square before following the throngs of people down one of the touristy little street, crammed with gift shops and cafés.

“Witch museum? We gotta go there.” Ben pointed out a tall, large, stone-faced building towering above them, with a stream of people queuing out the door and around the corner.

“Looks popular. Yeah, you guys should definitely do that,” Dean said.

“Dean, I thought we were here to spend time
together
?” Lisa said quietly, out of earshot of Ben. “We didn’t come all this way so you could wander off alone.”

Dean knew she was right, and he didn’t want to upset her. But he had come to Salem to raise Sam, and he had to find a way to do that without Lisa finding out his real motive.

“Lis, I’m just saying,” Dean said gently, “I might want to go off and do a little exploring myself. Like boring stuff. You know I’m a big history buff. They have some great historical reference libraries in town. I might want to hit those.”

“You’re a big history buff?” Lisa looked at him skeptically.

“Yeah, totally. Ask me anything about the Bible—I bet I know it,” Dean countered.

“I’m not going to a library on my vacation,” Ben chimed in.

“See, what did I tell you. Kid doesn’t want to go to a library,” Dean said. “Don’t worry about it, we’re totally Brady Bunch Does Honolulu this week, except of course minus like seven people.”

“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.