Part 2: A Hex of a Problem

Following Sam's demon trail of the American northwest was the easy part of the first few days. They slept in shifts, never stopped driving, never got motel rooms, just worked their way through the demons Sam led them to with the most speed and precision they had ever used while hunting. Several of the demons already, usually when there was more than one together, were actually clever enough to escape Sam for a time. Dean kind of liked those demons; it gave him something to do.

Amazingly, however, their whole hunting sextet had proven to be useful. Bobby, who had taken to hanging back as their last line of defense, had demonstrated more than once how necessary a factor he was. Quite a few of those swifter, sharper demons were dispatched solely by his well-concealed devil's traps, quick flicks with holy water, and well-honed skills with exorcism. Dean was even more impressed with Jo and Sarah as he had not yet gotten to see them really work as a team. The most impressive was when Jo guided Sarah almost blindly to spot an escaping demon from clear the other end of a factory, and Sarah shot it down for Sam using the paintball gun they had converted into a sniper rifle for holy water pellets. The gun had been Jo's idea.

That was Sydney, Montana at the end of their first two days. They were less than an hour from reaching Spokane, Washington when Sam called Dean from the girls' car to say he was starting to doubt his tracking skills.

Something about the next demon, one he was sure was singular, wasn't coming across his senses as precise as before. Sam still felt a presence in Spokane, but it seemed off somehow and that feeling was worsening the closer they got to the city. Sticking with Sam's initial senses anyway, they soon discovered why. Sam was drawn to the basement of an abandoned house that held no demon but did present them with a well-hidden hex bag.

"A trick?" Sasha asked when they found it. It was late at night and they were all gathered in the basement of that house to regroup.

Sam was holding the hex bag and sighed as he studied it. "A decoy," he said, "It's giving off a signal almost identical to what I normally sense from demons, but it's not harmful, just something to throw me off the trail."

"This demon knows you're after it?" Sarah questioned.

"The hex bag might not be for me specifically, but I think it's pretty much guaranteed the demons know we're coming for them. Word's probably traveling fast and it'll get harder from here. But they shouldn't be able to sense me. That'll still help us."

That had been a great asset to them so far, but wild goose chases like this could really slow them down whether they still had certain advantages or not. Dean could tell from all of the others' expressions that that thought was already weighing heavily on their minds. "So what do you sense now?" Dean asked his brother.

"Southwest. Kennewick, I think," Sam said with a growing scowl, "But this one feels off too. It has to be another decoy, maybe a way of marking Washington as this demon's territory, I don't know. Problem is, I didn't sense this new demon energy at all until we found the hex bag."

"Which, bad news as it may be," Bobby broke in, "Probably means we won't be finding the real demon til we've tracked down every last one of these damn bags. And who knows how many of those there'll be."

Jo huffed and crossed her arms. "Could be all over the whole damn state."

Wonderful. Dean should have realized by now that whenever luck seemed to be working in their favor, the ground was already falling out from under them. "Then we better get moving," he said.

As it turned out, Sam's guess about Kennewick was right, including that their discovered culprit was merely another hex bag. That opened up Sam's senses to the one in Kelso. Then Aberdeen. Then on the way to Port Angeles, with days wasted and everybody's nerves shot, Sasha asked the logical question, "All these hex bags in a sequence, revealed one at a time to Sam, have to mean we're being led somewhere. More than likely to find a trap, not our demon." A few of the hex bags had already had minor traps that one or more of the group had spotted in time to take care of. "How do we know we're not playing right into its hands?"

"We don't," Bobby said, "Beauty of the hunt, son. We've probably been lucky so far. This one's smart. If it's really trying to guard against you, Sam, maybe it thinks you're alone. Numbers give us some advantage there. My guess is, a real trap, one that nearly gets the best of us, that'll be the sign we've almost found the demon."

The clatter of a half-full glass slamming down on the tabletop shot everyone's eyes to Sam. He had been the most visibly and increasingly agitated since the first hex bag was found, even more so than Dean. Or at least more than Dean chose to show outwardly.

The six of them were crowded together in a large booth in the corner of a diner. None of them had had a good night's sleep in over a week. They needed rest, but no one wanted to be the one to admit that and to have to slow them down when their progress was already backed up by several days.

"We can't keep wasting all our time on this one demon," Sam snapped, "But we can't skip over any either. Malak said all. We need to find it now. Dean, I could summon those hex bags in seconds, one after the other until we finally got to the demon, if only you'd let me—"

"No," Dean said warningly. He hated back-tracking over old arguments that had already been decided.

"But why not?" came the expected dissent, only not from the expected person, "If it's only one, one at a time, one hex bag and then the next," Sarah continued, "Then we know Sam can handle that. With everything else we know he can do, Dean, I don't understand why you're so hesitant about this one thing."

It was Jo who gave an apologetic look and spoke up before Dean could. "We've all seen enough freaky things and know enough about them to understand that not all supernatural things are bad," she said with a sympathetic glance at Sasha, "But I'm still on Dean's side for this one. It's not that we don't trust you, Sam. We know we can trust you. What I don't trust are the things I don't know. I don't trust the demons we're after. I don't trust this Malak for damn sure. There are too many unknowns not to play it safe."

In response, Sam's hand slammed down onto the tabletop next to his glass. "Playing it safe won't mean shit when Dean's in Hell," he growled, far too loud to be inconspicuous for a public place.

That was it. Onlookers be damned, Dean slammed his hand down onto the tabletop too. "Enough, Sam. If anyone gets to be in charge of this crusade to save my soul then it should be me. We've had this talk already. You. Listen. Now Jo made a point back there that means a helluva lot more than us worrying about you turning on his from being overpowered. We can't trust these demons to play fair. Who's to say a hex bag further down the line isn't the trap itself? Just because so far they've just been decoys doesn't mean it won't be otherwise later. And what happens when you do get to the demon? You won't know for sure it's the demon until you've brought it to us, and by now it's pretty damn obvious that this asshole was a witch once or at least learned some pretty nasty tricks in the pit. Summoning it won't give us any chance to scope things out before we need to fight. Can you at least appreciate the sense to all that?" He looked to Sarah too, and Sasha, since Dean was pretty sure the incubus was thinking along Sam's lines as well.

All three of them looked uniformly cowed. "I'm with you too, Dean," Bobby nodded, "Too risky otherwise. We keep moving, we'll get through all the hex bags soon enough. Damn demon couldn't have put around too many more, I'm thinking. Long as we keep our wits about us for traps, we'll get it."

That seemed to close the conversation and no one spoke about changing their current plans again. Dean could feel the frustration in Sam, see fainter echoes of it in Sarah and Sasha who seemed more comfortable overall with Sam's insane powers. Dean wasn't surprised by where the group split on that account one bit. Jo and Bobby trusted Sam as much as Dean did, but they were born to be skeptical, knew better than to trust anything they didn't understand, especially when that something came from the enemy. Dean was glad for the evenly weighed opinions, and even gladder that he had been named leader above Sam's powers and Bobby's experience. That way if they failed he knew he could only blame himself.

Port Angeles was a close call, close enough that Bobby was certain it must have been the last hex bag when they were all checking over each others' wounds from the curses that had rained down upon them. The worst they had come out with though was merely Jo with a twisted ankle and Sasha's hair being a little singed.

Sam frowned as he held this supposedly last hex bag, because although he sensed a new presence, he shook his head and said, "Seattle. But it still feels fake somehow. It's…stronger. There might be more of them. Maybe all over the city. The demon is in Seattle, but we're not going to have an easy time tracking it down."

Wonderful, but at least their next destination was set.

As they were leaving this newest run-down building where the last hex bag had been found, the fatigue bearing down on all of them was starting to show more than ever. They'd be in Seattle in time for the sun to rise and no one had gotten a turn at sleeping for at least twenty-four hours.

It was a brave and desperate thing when Sasha stopped his sluggish following of the others and finally said what all of them had been avoiding.

"We need to rest. Really rest," he called ahead to the others, "I know we're behind, and I know this isn't going to be any easier once we're in the city. It'll probably be worse since we won't be dealing with abandoned buildings anymore. But if we don't get some decent sleep, all of us, we're not going to be much use for finishing this. When we get to Seattle we need to take the time to really regroup and really rest."

Dean loved the incubus so much when he made beautiful sense like that. Even Sam, resistant as he had been up until now to even stop for food, looked so haggard from the past few days that he didn't protest. "What did you have in mind, Sasha?" the younger Winchester asked.

Sasha grinned and pulled out his cell phone. "Well, it just so happens I know someone in Seattle with a place big enough for all of us."

"Sweetheart!" Shiarra exclaimed when they appeared on her doorstep. Of course Sasha had called ahead since Shiarra often left Seattle for 'personal reasons'. And it was doorstep figuratively as the well-to-do succubus had one of those ridiculous lofts Dean used to shake his head at on reruns of Frasier. "So glad you finally took me up on my offer," Shiarra continued, releasing Sasha from a quick embrace and looking past him into the elevator at the gathering of hunters, "Though I see this is more business than pleasure. Not that that's ever stopped me before," she grinned, "Bobby! So good to see you again."

Dean felt mildly disturbed by Shiarra's exuberance as she stepped back to allow them into her apartment. Actually seeing the place for what it was though put the ones on Frasier to shame. This was like a fancy hotel lobby, not one person's living quarters on the 23rd floor of a 4th Avenue downtown Seattle apartment complex. "Jesus Christ!" Dean exclaimed, looking about the spacious, well-decorated loft with way too many windows, "You have some nine-to-five we don't know about? How do you afford this place?"

"Oh please," Shiarra scoffed, leading them further along towards what appeared to be a living room area, though it could very well be one of many, "I haven't paid rent on this place a single day I've lived here. I introduced the head of the board to her husband. I also perform several important functions for certain influential people about the city. And not always in ways that lead to the gutter, like where your mind just went, Mr. Winchester. I'm an event planner. And a damn good one. I assume a posh party isn't why you've arrived though. Shiarra Brennan," she introduced herself suddenly to the girls, extending a hand first to Jo.

"Oh, uh, Jo Harvelle," Jo said, little flustered as she accepted the offered hand.

Then onto Sarah who seemed at least a bit more at ease. "Sarah Blake. You're home is very beautiful, Miss Brennan."

"Shiarra, darling. Shiarra. Brennan's only for business purposes," the succubus said, "And this apartment, lovely as it is, is really only a place to come back to on occasion." Her eyes swept down then and Dean couldn't help noticing how the succubus was looking the girls over with pleased scrutinizing. "Forgive me, but I must admit I didn't expect the feminine side of hunting to be quite so lovely. Of course Sasha has told me only good things about you, my dear," she smiled at Jo.

"Aunt Shi," Sasha laughed maybe a little nervously, "Stop embarrassing everyone. We're actually on a pretty tight schedule right now for, umm…well, something very important. And we have a few favors to ask you."

A quick glance from Shiarra and Dean understood that it was time to come clean. He was glad none of them had bothered to sit down yet, tired as they all were. He crossed to Shiarra. "She knows," he admitted to the others, "Sorta came up during our fun in Maine. We can all talk freely. Made an amendment to the deal not long ago," he explained to Shiarra, "We get rid of some demons, I'm off the hook. But one of the demons we need to take care of is hiding somewhere in your city. It's powerful enough to fool Sam's senses. We need a home base. And frankly a place to sleep."

"Well of course you can all stay here," she said right away, "Three bedrooms. Plenty of sofas. Food. Whatever you need. Though I do expect to remain involved in the hunt for as long as you're here if you expect me to offer my hospitality. I know this city better than anymore, and not just the upper class either. Why don't we get you all settled and rested up and you can full me in on what I need to know." She promptly took both girls by the arms and started leading them away.

The four men of the group were left to stare dumbfounded a moment before Dean said, "Did she basically just…take over right there?"

"She's good at that," Sasha shrugged.

Sam just chuckled and shook his head, at least looking a little less frazzled and homicidal for the time being.

It was Bobby though who Dean couldn't help noticing was watching maybe a little too closely the way Shiarra's hips swayed as she walked, covered alluringly in a tight blue skirt. She was also wearing a burgundy sweater, but instead of matching heels Dean almost giggled to see the succubus in Garfield slippers.

"Now that's a woman," Bobby grinned appreciatively, completely unapologetic of his assessment, "Come on now. Rest. Then we'll figure out our next move. Lord knows we need it."

Amen to that, Dean thought.

He didn't sleep though. Not really. Not deeply. He and Sasha had been allotted one of the bedrooms, and while they were definitely too tired for anything recreational, and Sasha conked out fairly fast, Dean's mind was buzzing too much to let him get the sleep he needed.

He woke up after only a couple of hours and walked out into the large kitchen—there was a large everything in this place—where Sam and Shiarra were talking quietly over coffee. "The new superpowers mean you don't need sleep?" Dean teased as he pulled up a stool next to his brother, "Coz your ADD lately sure leads me to believe otherwise." Dean snatched away Sam's coffee and took a swig. Bad idea as it tasted like slightly off hot chocolate with a shot of caffeine in it. Dean grimaced.

"I'll get you a more suitable cup," Shiarra offered with a smirk, being a 'coffee, black' person just like he was.

"I tried to sleep, Dean," Sam started right in on the defensive, "Not the easiest thing for me these days. And you're not one to talk anyway. I've only been up a few minutes. I'm too wired."

They were all wired. Wired and over-tired, the worst combination because you never felt rested or satisfied but more like there was always something you needed to do and yet you never had enough time to do it. Dean hated that feeling—his life the last eleven months and counting. "We'll be back on track in no time," he said with fake ease as he patted Sam's back, "Whatcha working on there anyway?"

Although Dean hadn't noticed at first, Sam had a pad of paper and pen and was jotting things down. It appeared to be a long list. "I was telling Shiarra about some of the other events lately that she's missed. Apparently, Charis already called to tell her about the Meg thing."

Ouch. They had sworn they wouldn't tell Shiarra about that for Sasha's sake. Dean tried very hard not to notice her sharp look as she handed him a fresh mug of coffee. "Good thing your spies are so diligent," Dean snarked as he nodded a thank you. He turned to Sam again. "So what's the list?"

"Powers. Mine," Sam said shortly, "Figured you'd want a new account of them now that there are so many. Well, more enhanced mostly, but…I tried to get everything." He passed Dean the pad of paper that was fairly well covered in Sam's usually neat scrawl.

Reading down the list, Dean took another sip of coffee—Shiarra did make good coffee when it was the way Dean liked it—and started to call them off out loud. The first were the ones he recognized best. "TK. Strength. Agility. Constitution. Electric pulse—or melting power," Dean couldn't help adding, which included everything from burning an enemy's skin to stopping or starting a heart, "Mojo," he chuckled then, "Nicely put. Sense demons. Control demons. Exorcize demons. Summon demons. Telepathy. Runic spell casting. Almost forgot about that one. And…" Dean trailed on the last addition to the list. He looked up and caught Sam's anxious hazel eyes. "Visions? Waking or dreaming? I thought you hadn't had—"

"I'm not even sure if I am," Sam interrupted, "It's just…a feeling. And dreams, not waking. No…pain or headaches like before. It's…it's why I haven't been…sleeping so well. Lately."

"Lately," Dean repeated, having pretty much forgotten Shiarra was still there to overhear them, "What's lately? Lately, since the cave? Since Castle Rock? Since Meg? Or lately…since Malak's first communal visit back in Pittsburgh?" Dean wasn't stupid. His own nightmares had all but stopped then. He had noticed on more than one occasion, however, that Sam seemed to be making up for that.

"Malak?" Shiarra said with a venomous whisper. Much as they had filled her in on the details of the past couple months, Malak's name hadn't actually passed any of their lips until now. Shiarra did not look pleased. "The holder of the contracts is Malak? That is a dangerous name, even in the fae plain. This isn't just some demon you're dealing with."

Dean huffed and took a moment to scrub at his eyes. He wished the coffee was hotter, hot enough to scald his tongue. "Yeah. I know. I get the irony. I sold my soul to the Devil. And he fancies me something awful. All we know is that it has something to do with Azazel's plans for Sam, but not everything. I don't know why he wants me. But he still gave me a way out, and god damn it we're gonna finish this. But only…if we're not leaving anything out anymore." Dean looked up sharply at Sam.

It wasn't puppy eyes that looked back at him; there was something too harsh, too determined and desperate in Sam's expression to be the puppy eyes. "I haven't said anything, Dean, because there hasn't been anything to tell you. I always dream the same thing. That same dream I had the night with the twins. Armageddon. Terminator style kind of D-day, barren and dead nothing. But it's not just nothing. There's people and something to lead and we're there, us, to lead them. Just you and me. And Sasha. But I won't listen to it," he growled, "Whatever it really means, I don't care. It's not a prophecy if we don't let it happen."

The future was always in flux, Dean had heard that before, even from Missouri who he pretty much figured knew everything. But it didn't ease his mind to think that way now.

It didn't seem to ease Shiarra's mind either.

"This is too big for me," she admitted, "And you can bet I've been around long enough to have seen my fair share of war, impossibilities, and chaos. But this fight, it's bigger than saving your soul, Dean. I don't like how wrapped up in it my boy is, but I know I couldn't and wouldn't change anything about that now. So," she said more confidently, downing the last of her own cup of coffee and setting it down with a thunk on the countertop, "You need to track this demon by cutting through some interfering hex bags hidden around town. Am I right?"

Sam and Dean shared a look, both knowing that there was much unsaid between them as always, but for now they simply turned to Shiarra and nodded.

"Okay then. That I think we can manage."

The others woke up by dinner time, looking refreshed enough to go on if not a little ragged yet. Sasha was the first to appear in the kitchen after Sam and Dean, and he was a little upset that Dean had left him. It always spooked the incubus a little to wake up alone.

After apologizing fervently and earning Sasha's forgiveness, there was only enough time for everyone to change, for a few to take showers, and for Shiarra to give free reign at the refrigerator, before Dean made sure everyone was gathered together. He and Sam needed to explain that they finally had a plan. Well, at least a step one.

When dealing with witchcraft, call on another witch.

"So this is Glinda, the good witch, right?" Dean was asking, waiting along with the others in Shiarra's foyer for their late night dinner guest to arrive, "You trust this woman? Coz if we're looking for a séance here, can't we just use the neighborhood psychic?"

Shiarra had replaced her coffee table with one from a back room that was covered in symbols. She had also set out several candles that were clearly not only for air freshening purposes. "It's not a séance," the succubus said, "At least not the kind you're thinking of. This particular locating spell needs a sorceress powerful enough to avoid detection. Wendy Goodwyn is leader of her coven here in the city. They're very responsible. It's a wiccan community, tightly run. They sell propaganda to the poseurs, free love and blessings on Mother Earth to the feminists, and maintain a very small group of legitimately practicing witches. We've had…a few encounters."

Something in the way Shiarra's smirk twitched as she said that had Dean wondering just how intimate those encounters might have been. He knew there was no way Shiarra always drove stick.

Sam, Sarah, and Jo were on the sofa, Shiarra was leaning against it, and Sasha had taken a cushy-looking chair while Dean sat propped on the arm. Bobby was just coming from the kitchen, carrying a tray of fresh coffee for everyone that he had helped Shiarra make.

"You keep any kind of tabs on these witches?" the experienced hunter asked.

Shiarra smiled at him, not at all offended at being questioned. Dean had long since learned that this woman had a role she liked to play and ways she liked to play it, and few things would ever change that. "No. I do not keep tabs on them. But to the best of my knowledge the most harm they have ever done to anyone has only been financial. And that's on the legitimate business end. Wendy's family owns a rather successful manufacturing company."

"That makes what?" Jo asked.

Another shrew smile. "Wax products. Makes getting fresh candles a hell of a lot easier," she smirked, "But to the point, yes, I trust her. You'll still do well not to pass around your hunter cards too eagerly. She'll guess, no doubt, but she trusts me too. Not all witches gain power by selling their souls to a demon. There are other beings to align oneself with."

Dean had never been a fan of cryptic answers like that. Neither was Sam, who beat him to a response. "So what exactly did this coven make a pact with if it's not a demon?"

"Now that," Shiarra replied, "Is as dangerous a question, my dear, as asking a woman her age."

It was just then that the buzzer rang, signaling their guest had arrived and effectively silencing any other nervous comments.

Shiarra admitted her friend into the apartment with the same affection and courtesy as she had shown them, kissing the woman on both cheeks even and commenting at length on how gorgeous she looked.

Once he got a good look at her, Dean supposed this Wendy character was a year or two shy of 40. She had short auburn hair with striking blonde highlights, and a full-bodied figure that claimed presence in a room like an opera singer. But she wasn't dressed at all like Dean would have guessed of one of Shiarra's high-class friends. Wendy wore jeans, a violet shirt and blouse combo that looked as much like it might have come from Sears as anywhere fancy, and she didn't have on a spec of jewelry. Dean would have thought suburban housewife before he thought rich bitch, and especially before he thought coven leader.

"Wendy, you remember my nephew," Shiarra began with introductions, "And these are his associates who have…called upon your expertise." She went around then giving each of their names but Dean might have missed his as he was busy staring at Sasha for not having mentioned before that he had already met this woman. The incubus just shrugged, looking apologetic like maybe he had forgotten.

"Well isn't this a crew," Wendy smirked at them, "A group of hunters including both sexes, an incubus, a former debutant, and…" her gaze passed over Sam and she paused, "Hmm. Well you're something, sugar, but it's not everyday that I'm stumped on what. You must be why someone's had my city so heavily veiled for the past few weeks. And you," she turned to Dean, "Are the reason we're all here. You got a shadow over you, honey. A Devil deal without the middle man—direct. That's ballsy. How's Ol' Scratch been treating you so far?"

A frown pulled at Dean's lips. He wanted to like this woman, found a certain soothing quality to her voice that occasionally slipped into Southern like maybe she had grown up a few years in Louisiana and couldn't help going back to that drawl once in a while. But being casual about how he was going to Hell was his job, not a stranger's.

"My mistake, hun," Wendy amended with a warm smile, "You got a light about you too. That's rarer than any Devil's shadow, lemme tell ya. Now, you're looking for a demon, that right? Hiding in this city and using hex bags to do it? I wouldn't want to face this old damned witch myself judging off the power I've been sensing lately, but I should be able to help narrow things down for you. Let's get started."

Undaunted by the presence of hunters, in full knowledge of Sasha and Shiarra being sex demons, and overlooking entirely that Sam was something without category—Dean was definitely going to have to tease Sarah about the debutant comment—Wendy, the (seemingly) good witch said she only needed the men's help for this and sat right down on the floor. She had them sit around the coffee table with her.

"You sit next to me, handsome," she said to Sam, "With the raw power you're giving off, you might be all the extra channeling I'll need, but it's best to have a circle."

"Why just the guys?" Dean had to ask. Being singled out always made him feel exposed, at least when it wasn't by his own doing, and especially with Shiarra, Sarah, and Jo standing over them watching.

Wendy grabbed hold of Dean's hand as he was sitting on her other side. She had said they all needed to be linked, and she had one damn strong grip too. Not surprisingly really since she was about as tall as Dean and rather full-figured. "Oh, honey, believe me it is a male vibe I've been getting off this haze covering my city. No doubt about that. Fight fire with fire, as they say."

"Male?" Sasha questioned, next to Dean in the circle around the coffee table, then Bobby and back to Sam, "Male witches from back in the day were a lot more dangerous than women if this guy practiced in life. They didn't follow the same rules or codes at all. No male covens," Sasha explained.

Dean remembered that much, but these days it usually didn't matter; male witches were even rarer today than they had been back then. Men usually followed different paths if they wanted to go the supernatural route. "Hey, uhh…Sasha's not gonna mess up the process or anything, is he?" Dean asked with a nod at his lover.

"For being an incubus? Not at all," Wendy dismissed, "Male is male. You know that well enough, I think," she smiled secretively.

Right. It was always nice to know that Dean's 'I belong to the redhead' sign was still intact. "Okay, so…what do we do?" Dean asked. Bobby, Sam, and Sasha all looked fairly wary too.

Wendy's smile stretched a little too wide, Dean thought, like she was preparing for one hell of a good time instead of a locator spell. "Honey, when real power's involved, all you have to do is focus in the right direction."

The surge of energy was immediate. Dean's back straightened as if a rod had been shoved down the center of his spinal cord. His teeth clenched at the feel of foreign power flowing through him, reminding him immediately of all those months ago when he first felt the circuit like white-hot fire and it knocked him flat on his ass.

This was worse because it wasn't pleasure, it wasn't pain either, it was just energy running so damn strong and hot that it made Dean feel like he might blow apart. He couldn't turn his head, but he could tell with his peripherals that Wendy was definitely having a harder time with this than she had predicted. Her eyes were wide and flickering between a general glow of her own and an echo of Sam's yellow. So far, the white eyes in Sam only appeared when his powers were pushed to the brink, something Dean assumed meant that his brother still had a few levels to go before he was as strong as he could be.

"Focus," Wendy said, Dean wasn't sure to them or to herself, but her voice sounded like rushing wind, all hisses and whispers that made his hair stand on end. He might have jerked his hand away from hers if he could have moved.

Then Dean had to wonder, maybe Sam was the one he should have worried about for this, not Sasha. Dean knew it was mostly his brother's power he was feeling, overpowering Wendy, Sasha, and even the natural energy Dean knew must be coming from Bobby. They were all connected, all feeding this spell, and just when Dean was certain it was all clearly more than Wendy could handle, she squeezed his hand tighter.

"Got it," he heard in that same rushing whisper, and he knew without having to question her that she meant she had a handle finally on all of their combined energies. She channeled it all into guiding them through the city, seeking out the decoy demons. Dean knew the moment it started to happen because he could see it as clearly as he knew the others were all seeing it too.

Suddenly, they were no longer in Shiarra's apartment but spiraling off the side of her building down to the streets below. Dean flinched, feeling the air rushing past them, knowing that there was something real about where they were and what they saw, but before they could hit bottom Wendy steered them upright. It was fully sensual, like being inside an IMAX screen, not just in front of it. They tore down the street with amazing speed.

If Dean focused hard enough he could differentiate between each of the energy signatures that made up their singular moving self. He could feel Sasha's knowledge and recognition of the streets, the incubus' intense emotions trying to find bearings. He could feel Bobby's anxiety over trusting this witch, and also a powerful desperation to help overcome the deal that Dean never would have guessed Bobby felt so strongly.

He could feel Sam too, so uncanny with power, all those listed off powers lying in wait to be used when necessary like secret weapons. To feel all that as Sam did, to really feel it, Dean was overwhelmed, but he could feel how much Sam wasn't. It was Sam's senses right along with Wendy's that guided them to the pulse of demonic power.

A sharp turn at Union Street, then down 1st Avenue and they were at Pike Place Fish Market near the water—Dean was amazed with their shared knowledge of the city, so accessible that Dean felt like he knew the city too. The first hex bag was there at Pike Place. Dean could see it like an infrared beacon glowing at them through the walls.

As soon as they had all seen it, the next decoy opened up to them and they turned, speeding the other direction down 1st Avenue again, up Yesler Way, to 4th, and finally to Uwajimaya's on 5th Street. It was a huge Asian market with a food court, bookstore, and grocers. They found the next hex bag hidden amongst Japanese novels.

Then they were off again, crossing over Highway 5 towards Seattle University. At first Dean thought they would go straight through the walls into the building but they turned sharply, finding a third hex bag at the crossroads of 13th Avenue and Cherry Street.

Again, back towards the pier they raced through brightly lit streets, past people walking and cars at standstills at intersections. They passed right over Alaskan Way, right off the pier into the water. The fourth bag was on a houseboat locked into harbor.

By now Dean recognized there was a pattern here and he felt that the others had all realized that too. None of them were surprised then when they raced straight down Yesler Way once more towards what they knew was the fifth and final hex bag. They stopped abruptly at Yesler Terrace, the decoy glowing brightly at them to confirm their suspicion.

The presence that opened up to them then was far stronger than any decoy, but it was still veiled, Dean could feel it like a haze of mist settling back at the center of what they had just drawn over the city with the hex bags as their points. There had been five of them, five points creating a reverse pentagram over downtown Seattle. The perfect protection for any witch or demon, just as the opposite had worked for Samuel Colt in guarding the Devil's Gate.

For the last time they raced back the way they had come, heading for the center of the pentagram. The demon wasn't necessarily at the very center, but somewhere within that much smaller section of streets and buildings in the middle, greatly narrowing their search. Dean's guess for their final destination was one of the city buildings that spattered the area, and although he was correct, he was surprised that the city building they finally came to was the Office of Arts and Cultural Affairs.

The entire building was pulsing red, covered no doubt in hex bags that made it impossible to even begin looking for the real demon. They headed for the main doors anyway, ready to raid the whole damn place no matter how long it took, but as soon as they attempted to cross the threshold of the building they were suddenly snapped back to Shiarra's apartment.

It took Dean several moments to realize he was no longer holding anyone's hand but was lying back flat on the carpet, trembling. What remained of the energy from the others was seeping slowly out of him and as it left he felt strangely isolated and alone, having been so completely interconnected while they were together.

A moment later he was back to his senses and pushing back up into a sitting position. "What the hell just happened?" he spat, hating the fast beat of his heart and how much his hands were shaking, "We had him, we found where he is, what happened?"

The others were in much the same state as Dean, all shaky and out of breath as they steadied themselves and sat back up. Dean could see now that the girls had all gone to someone's aid. Jo was just behind him and Sasha, Sarah by Sam and Bobby, and Shiarra was helping Wendy to her feet and leading her to the sofa.

The witch looked the most drained, having guided them along, channeling them into one great pulse of energy while she led the spell. She had been smiling up until now but now she looked shaken.

"I…I can't help you from here," she shook her head, holding tight to Shiarra's hand even as she was being eased down onto the couch, "Out of my league. And you can bet you won't find a stronger witch in this town. Whoever this demon is, he's up the ranks. That barrier spell that knocked us back here…it might have killed me if not for you, sugar," she said to Sam.

Sam, of course, looked completely shocked. "I…I didn't do anything," he said.

Even Dean knew that Sam hadn't used any of his powers save helping them sense the demonic energy; they were so inside of each other then that all of them would have felt it. But Wendy shook her head. "All natural, honey," she said, "You got some sort of…built in neutralizer. I'm guessing most demon powers don't work too well on you, do they? Lucky too. The barrier knocked us back, but it shouldn't have alerted the demon. Means he won't know you're coming. I'm just sorry I couldn't bring you further."

"Well, you still brought us pretty damn far," Bobby broke in, "We know now where we're looking. Only problem is it's a city building. Can't just go storming in there or looking around waiting for Sam here to spot our demon."

"The spell led you to a city building?" Shiarra questioned.

Bobby nodded. "What was it now? Arts and Cultural Affairs. Not too far from here."

"Goodness, then the demon is probably on the council or part of the Seattle Arts Commission," Shiarra said with a hand dramatically on her chest, "I probably even know the bastard."

"So how many potentials are we talking here?" Jo asked.

Shiarra considered that, looked to Wendy for a moment as if to confirm, then said, "Thirty, I suppose. Another fifteen on the Commission."

"We need to get them all together somehow," Dean said, painstakingly getting to his feet, something he was very grateful Sasha helped him with after a moment. He stared only briefly into those gorgeous blues, slightly dimmed by fatigue, and couldn't help being a little pleased that the most lingering of all the presences from the locator spell was Sasha's, bold and intense inside of him. "Don't suppose we're lucky enough that there's some kind of—"

"Fundraiser," Shiarra exclaimed suddenly, "How could I forget. Saturday. The Arts Commission is holding a fundraiser at the Seattle Municipal Building. The members of the council should all be there too. It's on Level 3, sort of the Commission's personal floor. Granted, there'll be countless members of the upper class to clutter our already high numbers, but we'd have all night to search out the demon."

At hearing that, Sasha made a sudden beeline for the kitchen, calling back as he went, "Aunt Shi, do you still keep that map? I need to check something." He was already opening drawers by the time she answered.

"No, no. On the end, sweetheart. Should be right on top."

Sasha found what he was looking for and returned, spreading out what appeared to be a map of downtown Seattle over the coffee table after the others hastily removed the still lit candles. Sasha also had a sharpy. "Do you mind?" he asked Shiarra, already uncapping it. She shook her head and he immediately made five points on the map. Dean recognized them as the places they had found the hex bags. Sasha then drew in the pentagram and pointed at the safe spot in the center. "The Municipal Building is still in the safe zone. I'm guessing this guy lives, works, everything right in this area. It means even if we do find him at this party, he's going to be at his best, protected, amped, you name it."

The girls only took a moment to register the bad news of the reverse pentagram before Sarah was asking, "Shiarra, can you get us tickets to this fundraiser?"

"Well…I'm sure, but…not for all of you," she replied, "How many would you want? Surely, it wouldn't be a good idea for all of you to go. You'd be far too conspicuous."

"Bad idea for us to all go legitimately," Dean agreed, "But Sasha's right, this guy is going to be buffed, and if Miss Head-Of-Her-Coven says he's out of her league then we're gonna need everybody on standby. I say we have a couple of us at the party and the others wait it out on the roof."

"Uh, Dean, the Seattle Municipal Building's roof is rounded," Sasha pointed out.

That was something Dean had seen for himself even before their astral projection tour. "I know. But it still has a spot for maintenance. Easier to stay off the radar up there. Harder to get to though, which is where you come in, baby. Roof access is restricted for sure, but not for someone with wings."

"But who's going to go?" Jo asked, "What cover? And how are we supposed to spot this demon anyway if it's so super-powered and protected?"

The logical answer seemed to be that Sam would have to be one of the ones at the party, but none of them needed to say out loud what they were all thinking—a demon of this caliber would almost for certain feel Sam coming. They couldn't exactly go around saying 'Christo' to everyone or dusting Seattle's upper crust with holy water.

But before anyone could offer another suggestion, Wendy was getting up.

"Not that I'm against you getting rid of this sore on the face of my city, whoever he may be, but I think it would be best for everyone if I stayed out of it and know as little as possible. Shiarra, darling, you can have my tickets to the fundraiser. I'll gladly give them up." Then Wendy was moving remarkably swiftly for the door to excuse herself. She said quick goodbyes, gave her assurance that it had been a pleasure to meet all of them of course, and disappeared down the elevator.

Dean felt better concerning their use of the witch, but he didn't feel much better about their current situation. They had been left with several questions still unanswered. As important a decision as it was who went, it was more pressing to figure out how they were even going to spot this guy. Most of their tactics weren't exactly kosher for an exclusive party.

After several minutes of sitting around the living room offering dead-end ideas—even some of Bobby's best suggestions required more privacy than this party would allow—Sam finally raised his hand to get the others' attention like an insecure student.

"I'm not sure if it would work," he began slowly, "But with the success I've had lately using my telepathy, it's possible I could…well, tag along with whoever went to the party."

"Tag along?" Bobby repeated skeptically.

Sam nodded. "I'd physically be somewhere else, but getting into their mind I could look through their eyes, see what they see, and hopefully spot the demon once we come across it. Then we only have one person to try and lead out of the party, check to be sure it's them with holy water, Christo, whatever, and finally get rid of them. I know I can keep him from sensing me as long as I'm outside the building, assuming he even sets that one up with the same wards as the office."

"He will," Bobby said right away, pressing a finger to the safe spot on the map, "I'm betting this old witch comes with a radius. Wherever he moves, the wards move with him, but only so long as he's in this zone. Worse comes to worse, if we're set up on the roof then we might be able to fly him outside the pentagram, even just outside this spot would be enough," he tapped the map, "To give us a better advantage. If you think you could handle that," he looked pointedly at Sasha.

The incubus quirked the side of his mouth. "I think I'd rather drop him, but assuming there's an innocent body involved, I can manage that if it gets that far. There's a lot of details we'll need to work out for this in a couple of days. We don't even know for sure how powerful this demon is. And we still haven't said whose going."

"I think I might have an answer to that," Sarah smiled. The whole of the group stared at her for a moment but she kept her attention focused on Sam and Dean. "There should be three of us that go. Shiarra can handle introductions. She's already invited and she knows most of the people who will be there." Sarah looked to Shiarra, who nodded, then turned again to Sam and Dean. "Okay. Then I'm the obvious next choice. Or did you forget what I used to do for a living?"

Dean cracked a grin at that. Of course Sarah was the obvious choice; that debutant comment was more than a supernatural guess. There was something about the way Sarah carried herself that just spoke of natural-born class. She also already knew the art world and probably knew at least by reputation some of the people who would be attending the party.

"I can act as an agent," Sarah continued, "A personal spokesperson and seller of my client's work. I don't even need an alias. And it'll get me on the radar to throw my Dad a bone. All we need is my up and coming artist."

It was a given that all the remaining hunters looked around at each other skeptically. "Sounds like a solid idea," Jo began, "But if we make up an artist, I can't imagine these kinds of people caring about some nobody."

"I said up and coming," Sarah corrected, "Not a nobody. Crispin Webb has been a recluse artist for the past few years. He's never been seen in public or been photographed. A perfect cover. He's already established and no one would know we're not the real thing."

"But couldn't that backfire if someone knows anything about the real guy or where he is right now?" Dean said.

Sarah smiled secretively. "Not if the real thing is dead. It's just lucky for us no one knows that."

Again the group had to stare at Sarah a moment. It was Sasha who finally braved the question, "Then how exactly do you know he's dead?"

Another enigmatic smile . "Because. Six months ago outside of Cleveland, I'm the one who killed him. Turns out he was already dead. His first few paintings were real. Sold well. But he killed himself soon after. His father, who had been living with him at the time, apparently didn't want all that talent going to waste."

"Urg," Dean grimaced, "Dad zombied up his son so he could keep making money off the paintings? Not cool." If there was something Dean hated more than witches, it was definitely zombies.

"The father got his just desserts, I'm guessing," said Sam.

"Webb Senior didn't know how to control that kind of magic," Sarah nodded, "He was Crispin's first kill. One of many. He was using human blood in his paintings when I found him. Still selling them too. He was such a recluse in the art community anyway, six months off the radar isn't too strange. We'll just say he was…working on a new style."

That would have been a story to share over beer, Dean thought, but this was serious now and the playing field kept getting narrower. He had also realized something else. "So our third guy's obviously gotta be me or Bobby," he stated the obvious, "And since this sounds like a younger guy, why do I get the feeling you're grinning like that coz you've known from the start I'm the one who has to wear a damn tux?"

Malls were not Dean's scene. Gay clubs? Definitely not. But hob-knobbing with Seattle's rich and famous, people he had less in common with than Mic Jagger had with Rockmoninov, was enough to make him feel like he might break out in hives. He could con with the best of them as a PI, cop, or even a preacher, but he knew next to shit about high class. Never cared to either.

Sarah had said that as his agent she would do most of the talking anyway, and after all he was supposed to be a recluse—Dean did like the idea of free food and champagne—but he couldn't get the song 'which one of these things is not like the others' out of his head. And they hadn't even left yet.

"Dean!" Sasha pounded on the door, "We have to leave in five minutes! Will you stop hiding in there! I'm sure you look fine." Sasha's voice turned gentle at the last of that, trying to coax Dean out.

The elder Winchester had purposely been the last to start getting ready. He knew he couldn't pull off a tux. "You're just trying to get me to come out of the closet," he snarked, stalling for time. And it was Shiarra's ridiculously large walk-in closet with floor-length mirrors too. He didn't want to know why she already had his size in a pressed black tux.

Sasha laughed from the other side of the door. "If I was still waiting for that, we'd be here all night. Now come on! Bobby and Jo already left. Sam wanted to wait for you so we could be sure you guys have the synching thing down. So please, Dean. Will you just come out of the—"

Dean opened the door, effectively rendering Sasha speechless in under half a second. The incubus gaped at him, eyes sweeping over the tux to stare in utter incomprehension. Damn it. Dean knew he was right. "I look ridiculous," he grumbled.

"Dean," Sasha shook his head, eyes suddenly vibrant and tongue darting out over his lips, "Ridiculous is…not the word." Then Dean realized what that look really was—Sasha's hungry look. The incubus was literally trying to devour him with his eyes. "I think you need a Bond Girl on that arm," he teased.

"Will I do?"

They both turned towards Shiarra's bedroom door, just in time to watch as Sarah made her entrance. Sam came in behind her, smiling smugly, to lean against the doorframe, but they weren't looking at him. Sarah was a knockout. Her long dark hair was up, gathered in curls with two long pieces falling at each side of her face. Her makeup was subtle, prominent only in the smoky look to her eyes. She had borrowed diamond earrings and a necklace from Shiarra, but it was definitely the dress that left both Dean and Sasha without the ability to speak.

It was so simple. Just a halter dress, floor-length and form-fitting on Sarah's generous curves, but it was a deep midnight blue with same-color sparkles covering every inch of it like stars. She had a diamond bracelet too. And the way she moved was the epitome of the very class-act Dean knew he didn't have.

"Damn. I mean, umm…err…what was the question?" Dean attempted.

Beside him Sasha chuckled, a little more on top of the untying his tongue part. He moved to meet Sarah across the room. "Bond Girl is putting it mildly for you," he grinned, swooping in to peck a kiss on her cheek, "At least I know I don't have to worry tonight. You'll knock 'em dead without even trying."

Dean couldn't see Sasha's expression when the incubus shot Sam a look, but he knew that it had to include either a raised eyebrow, a wink, or at least a smirk. "My, my," he said, finally finding his own tongue again, "Is that really my date? I don't know, my boyfriend might get jealous." Sasha chuckled again as Dean slipped in around him to take Sarah's arm. There were a few perks to playing Mr. High Class after all.

"Dean," Sam said in a familiar warning tone.

"Yeah, yeah, hands to myself."

"Not…that," Sam fumbled, obviously trying very hard suddenly not to blush or murder Dean on the spot. "I was going to say," Sam started again sharply, "That we should synch up before we leave so we can test distance. This is serious tonight, Dean. You sure you're okay with all this?"

Dean couldn't count on one hand anymore how many times Sam had asked him that the past few days. "Dude, I'm good. The seeing through my eyes thing works without blowing out the back of either of our heads, we have every base covered—hopefully—and I've got a hot date on my arm," he pat Sarah's hand, "What more do we need?"

"Ahem. Your chaperon," entered Shiarra, looking just as stunning as ever in a teal gown cut well below her bust line. Her hair was down and gently curled, and although she did have an air of authority and experience about her, being seemingly twenty-five did not make her look like much of a chaperon. "Lovely, my dear," she said to Sarah, "And Dean…my."

Okay, the hungry look from her too was definitely more than Dean needed right now to give him both the willies and to confirm that he must look pretty damn good after all. While Sasha was still chuckling, Sarah and Shiarra smiling at each other looking absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, and Sam standing there rolling his eyes, Dean kept hold of Sarah's arm and started to lead her out of the room. "Tonight, just call my Winchester. Dean Winchester."

tbc...

A/N: Why do I feel so slow. Am I slow? Do I suck yet? I have plans to have them hit one more miss step with demons after Seattle before they reach Pittsburgh, and Minnesota is going to give them...all sorts of problems. This arc should still be the usual ten parts, but who knows what they'll do to change that. I do think I like this chapter but I need feedback. It seems whenever I like one it actually sucks, and when I doubt you all love it. go figure. :-P

Anyone know Seattle? I have been to all of those places and was baffled to realize they made a pentagram. The things that inspire this story. Man, could I go for some Seattle's Best. Mmm. Please review! And do not forget about the drabble contest! Less than 100 words again, of course, with the prompt 'presents'. I'll post my entry when I write it. But have your entries before Xmas Eve please! More soon!

Crim