Bone Key (19 page)

He also saw at least two dozen bodies covered head to toe in blankets.

Next to him, Sam said, “That can’t be good.”

Dean looked out the rear window, seeing if the road was clear to make a U-turn, but when he turned back, he saw a uniformed cop heading toward them. “Crap.”

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Immediately, Dean weighed options. If they ran now, the cops would definitely run the plates, and with all the flashing lights, they’d probably get a good look at the make and model. It was a small island, so it wouldn’t take all
that
long to track down so distinctive a car. The plates themselves couldn’t be traced back to Dean and Sam, but the fact that they couldn’t would be something of a red flag as well, especially since they went to an expired registration (like all the other tags they’d been using since they first got on the feds’ radar). On the other hand, if they played innocent tourist and asked what was happening, they might just get out of there intact. If nothing else, they could say they were headed to the beach, as one reasonable driving route from the Naylor House to the beach on the southern coast was the one they were taking.

Then Dean saw that it was Officer Montrose. Leaning out the open window, Dean said, “Hi there, Officer.”

“Kinda figured you two might turn up. All things bein’ equal, I’d let you fellas in to check it out, but I can’t, not right now.”

“Why the hell not?” Dean asked, surprised at his own outrage given that he hadn’t expected to get near the scene in the first place. Montrose looked over at the scene and pointed at the man wearing the tie. “See the overdressed 192 SUPERNATURAL

fella over yonder? That’s the chief of police. Last time he set foot in an actual crime scene was in nineteen-and-ninety-two.”

“How many dead?” Sam asked.

“Thirty-one. But the reason for the brass band is that one of ’em was the head of the construction company doin’ the building here. She’s got a
lotta
friends in Tallahassee, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, so?” Dean asked. Then he got it: “Tallahassee’s the capital.”

“Friends in high places,” Sam added.

“Yup,” said Montrose. “And another one of our corpses is Kevin Lindenmuth, who has friends in even higher places—the ‘favorites’ list on his cell phone includes the private personal numbers of the governor
and
both our senators.” He shrugged. “If it was just workin’ police at the scene, I’d let you fellas in, but the chief ain’t as enlightened. Plus, we’re workin’ in a fishbowl, so—”

Holding up a hand, Dean said, “We get it.” Then he slapped the steering wheel with that hand.

“How’d they die?” Sam asked.

“Same as that couple last night,” Montrose said.

“Had the life drained out of ’em. M.E.’s still tryin’

to come up with a good explanation for it.”

“That’s a waste of time,” Dean said.

“Yeah, but I don’t think they’re gonna buy ‘I don’t know.’”

“Maybe not,” Sam said, “but we—”

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Suddenly the whole area was plunged into near darkness. The headlights and dash lights on the Impala went out even as the ignition gurgled and stopped, and the cop car flashers all went out. Looking up, Dean saw that the one streetlight on the block was also out.

Sam pulled his Treo out of his pocket. “Phone’s dead, too.”

Immediately, Dean threw open the door to the Impala. Sam did likewise.

“Fellas, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Montrose’s tone conveyed a warning. Dean just ignored him and his tone as he went back to the trunk. Sam glared at Dean for a second, then turned to face Montrose from over the Impala’s roof. “Officer, we’re dealing with a spirit that calls itself the Last Calusa. It appears to be the embodiment of the
entire
Calusa tribe, and it’s
incredibly
powerful. What’s worse, the same thing that amped up all the spirits on this island has made it
more
powerful, and whatever it’s about to do next, it’s gonna do it
right
now.
”

Tossing Sam a shotgun, Dean then checked his own weapon to make sure all was well. From the site, he could hear the consternation and complaints of the cops and lab techs as they couldn’t make
anything
—not their cars, not their radios, not their techie toys—work.

194 SUPERNATURAL

Then the site grew quiet. Looking up, Dean saw why.

The Last Calusa was back.

“Is it me,” Sam asked, “or is he taller this time?”

In the Hyatt, the Last Calusa was about Sam’s height. Now, he towered over the cop nearest him, who Dean figured to be about six-five or so. “It ain’t you.”

“We are the Last Calusa.” The voice was even deeper and more resonant this time—like James Earl Jones with a bullhorn. “You have been chosen for the sacrifice. We are dead, and we are forgotten, but we are not lost. After the sacrifice, there will be vengeance, for none may trifle with the Calusa and live.”

“Let’s test that theory,” Dean said, raising his shotgun. “I’m in the mood to trifle.”

“Fine with me,” Sam said, doing likewise. Both brothers fired. The reports of their shotguns echoed into the night. The Last Calusa was unaffected.

However, their action seemed to break the ice, as all the cops present started unloading their own nine-millimeters into the Last Calusa—with the exception of Montrose, who probably was the only one to figure out that, if two rock-salt shotgun blasts didn’t do it, bullets weren’t going to.

“We are
still
not impressed.” The Last Calusa held up one hand, which started to glow. Bone

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Sam began, “Dean, maybe we c—”

Whirling around as his brother cut himself off in midsentence, Dean saw that Sam suddenly wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing, wasn’t blinking, nothing.

Neither were any of the cops or techs. Behind him, Montrose said, “What the hell’s this?”

“The sacrifices will be prepared.” The Last Calusa raised his other hand.

Dean felt as if a hand had grabbed him by the chest. Next thing he knew, he and Montrose were both flying backward, landing on the pavement of South Street near the Impala with a bone-jarring thud. His father’s combat training combined with a lifetime of being thrown around by spirits and demons had taught Dean how to land properly in such an event, so he was pretty much unbruised when he clambered to his feet.

Montrose wasn’t so lucky. He lay on the street, gripping his arm and wincing in pain. Sam and the rest of the people were walking zombielike into the construction site, walking under the tarp that covered the foundation. Dean ran toward them. “Sam!”

Even though there was nothing on the street, Dean crashed into what felt like a brick wall. He felt blood stream out of his nose from the impact. Stumbling back a step and wiping the blood off 196 SUPERNATURAL

his upper lip, Dean reached out more carefully. He felt something solid and impenetrable, even though there was just empty air in front of him.
Great, some kind of wards.

Dean saw a bright light from behind him out of the corner of his eye, and he heard a low hum. Turning around, he saw that the Impala had started back up and its lights had gone on. The cop cars, though—which were inside the Last Calusa’s little bubble—were still dead. So was the streetlight.

“Well. This sucks.” He walked over to Montrose and helped him to his feet. “You okay?”

“Not especially. A whole bunch of my close friends and colleagues just got dragged into a construction site by a crazed spirit. And my arm hurts.”

Before Dean could respond, his phone rang. His instinct was to let the person eat voice mail, but it might’ve been Bobby.

Sure enough, Bobby’s name was on the display when he pulled it from his pocket, and he flipped the phone open. “Bobby,
please
tell me you’ve got good news.”

“I do, yeah, but also bad. I know what the Last Calusa’s supposed to do, but I don’t know how to stop it. He takes power from living beings, draining their life. Then, at sunset, he makes a certain number of sacrifices in order to bring about his vengeance—and Dean? It’s only
white
sacrifices.”

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Dean winced. “Okay, well, we’re a step ahead of you there. Our big bad injun just put a whammy on Sam and a bunch of cops. He left one cop out of it, but he’s a Seminole.”

“Makes sense,” Bobby said.

“Yeah, but why Sam and not me?”

Bobby hesitated. “Because you’ve already
been
sacrificed, Dean.”

“Say what?”

“Your life already belongs to that demon you made the deal with.” Bobby’s temper was, Dean could tell, raging, and he was barely keeping it under control. Dean had known Bobby for most of his life, and he’d never seen the man as angry as he was when Dean told him what he’d done to save Sam’s life. “The Last Calusa can’t sacrifice you

’cause the sacrifice wouldn’t have any power.”

“Great.”

“Look, I’m at the Sioux Falls airport right now—

got a flight to Key West that’s takin ’off in an hour or so. With the layover in Atlanta, I should be there by ten tomorrow morning. That still gives us a few hours to think’a something. Can tell you one thing, salting and burning won’t cut it. We’d have to do every single set of bones of every single Calusa who ever lived, and we don’t know where most of them
are.
”

“Yeah, the bones here were a big surprise to everyone.” Dean gritted his teeth. “I’ll start digging 198 SUPERNATURAL

through Dad’s journal, see if he’s got anything—

maybe use Sam’s laptop.”

“I’ll call when the flight lands,” Bobby said.

“You can pick me up.”

“’K.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Bobby?”

“We’ll get him back.”

“Yeah.” Dean closed the phone and pocketed it.

“Tough break there, kiddo.”

Dean whirled around, raising the shotgun. The voice was Montrose’s, but the tone wasn’t at all the laid-back deep drawl of the cop.

Montrose—or, rather, “Fedra”—grinned widely.

“Now now, Deano, you don’t want to hurt poor Officer Montrose here, do you? And he’s the only one you would hurt with that pigsticker of yours.”

While Fedra was talking with Montrose’s mouth, Dean was reaching around to the weapon he had in the waistband of his pants. “Maybe, but this one might do some damage,” he said, lowering the shotgun and raising the Colt.

“And, again, we’re back to poor Officer Montrose. Are you
really
prepared to kill a fine, upstanding officer of the law, a man with a wife and four kids, just because you don’t like me?”

“Montrose took an oath to serve and protect and put his life on the line to protect people from criminals. You’ve killed four people that I
know
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about, and probably a bunch more. So I’m actually pretty much okay with it.” Dean hoped that his bravado was convincing because the truth was, he didn’t particularly want to kill Montrose. Dean was more than happy to take someone down for the greater good, and had done so more than once. Besides, once someone was possessed by a demon, their lives were all but over. The real Fedregotti couple was evidence of that.

But that was only after long-term possession. Montrose had only been taken over for half a minute. Dean wasn’t sure he could just kill someone like that. Or, rather, he knew he
could,
but didn’t think he
wanted
to in this case.
Jesus, I really
am
becoming the whiny emo
bitch. Nothing like looking down your own per-
sonal mortality barrel to make you think about
other people kicking it, I guess.
If Dean hadn’t already met Montrose, he wouldn’t have known that he was possessed, since the demon hadn’t done the black-eye thing. Dean still recalled when they had the yellow-eyed bastard’s daughter trapped in Bobby’s place, and Bobby told them that she was a regular human who was possessed.

“Can’t you
tell
?” Bobby had asked, and he sounded horrified that the answer was obviously “no.” The method for doing so was one of a legion of things that Dad had never shared with his sons, and Dean still didn’t have the trick of it down. 200 SUPERNATURAL

The demon was still talking. “Besides, I think now maybe you might want to listen to my offer.”

Dean smirked. “I’d say go to hell, but—”

“Look, Dean, we both want the same thing.”

Montrose started to move forward toward Dean. Clicking off the Colt’s safety, Dean said, “Stay right there. You wanna talk, I’ll talk for a few, but you give me a single reason to squeeze this trigger, and you’re done for.” Self-defense, after all, he could justify. So, for that matter, could shooting in the leg. True, it’d likely cripple Montrose for life and end his career as a cop, but it wouldn’t kill him. When the yellow-eyed bastard had possessed Dad, shooting him in the leg had gotten rid of him without killing Dad. It might work a second time.

“Fine.” The demon held up Montrose’s hands in a backing-off gesture. “But we do. I want revenge for what that thing did to Alberto, and you want Sam back. If we work together, we can do it.”

“Just for kicks—how would we do that, exactly?”

“I can cast a spell that will channel all the spiritual energy on this island through a single vessel. It’s a variation on what we’ve
been
doing. But I need a willing human vessel to do it.”

“Gee, usually you just grab somebody off the street.”

“Pay attention, Dean,” the demon snapped, “I said
willing.
The Last Calusa’s too damn power-Bone Key

201

ful—if I’m busy fighting the will of the vessel, it won’t work.”

“Then it won’t work, ’cause I ain’t
willing
to do a damn thing with your kind.”

Montrose, Dean discovered, had a really unpleasant laugh. Or maybe that was the demon’s doing. Either way, the cop’s head reared back, and his guffaw echoed. “What,
now
you’re getting all persnickety about doing a deal with a demon?

Seems to me you’ve been down that road before when li’l bro’s life was on the line. We’ve already established what you are, Dean—now we’re just haggling over price.”