Bone Key (2 page)

So they gathered.

And they waited.

Bone

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Colt, for whatever reason, had constructed the gate so that it could only be unlocked by his pistol. And now, after an eternity of waiting, the metallic clank of the pistol being inserted into the iron gate echoed throughout hell.

The demons screamed and cheered and pushed and shoved. This was it—this was freedom, at last!

Free to roam the Earth, free to wreak havoc. With the squeal of century-old hinges, the gate flew open.

Freedom! Out they crawled, out they ran, out they flew. Some held back, recalling that Colt had also surrounded the gate with an iron pentagram, but Azazel had planned for that—the pentagram had been broken by the human who would lead them. (Another reason, those who had faith pointed out to the doubters, why it was wise for Azazel to conscript a human.)

But there was no human here to lead them. No commands were given, no orders, no instructions, nothing.

They were
truly
free.

The demons scattered to the nine winds, Azazel’s plan forgotten as they became drunk with the knowledge that they were unfettered on Earth and could do
whatever they wanted . . .

ONE

This is the best way to celebrate Christmas and
New Year’s,
Megan Ward thought as she took another gulp of the heavy amber beer that some guy had bought for her, thinking it would get him somewhere.

A resounding bass line made her ribs vibrate, the drums echoing, the guitar slicing through the air like a buzz saw. Megan couldn’t remember the name of the power trio that was playing at the Hog’s Breath Saloon tonight, but she was enjoying their music. They were a cover band, like most musicians who played the Duval Street bars on Key West, sticking with the usual classic rock favorites. Right now, they were doing “Magic Carpet Ride.”

The lead singer was a woman with a deep, throaty voice, and she also played the guitar, scorching through the Steppenwolf licks.

They had the volume up loud enough to be Bone

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heard on Duval—the Hog’s Breath had a large gravel-covered parking lot between it and the Duval Street sidewalk—and so the music could be heard around the giant tree in the center of the fenced-in, open-air bar. Megan was grateful for this for a variety of reasons, not least being it made it easy to ignore the guy who bought her the beer. She didn’t turn it down, of course—free booze was free booze, especially on a college student’s meager budget—but she wasn’t about to let him have his way with her, either. Especially since he spit when he talked, which was just
gross.
Besides, it was just a beer. If he’d bought her a gin and tonic or a screwdriver, then
maybe
, but just a beer? Forget it.

After the human spit-take gave up and moved on to some other chick, Megan actually had one of the small, raised round tables with the high stools to herself. The table was located right between the two bars—the main one in the center of the Hog’s Breath and the small one by the parking-lot entrance. That was bound not to last, as there was a steady stream of people in and out of the Hog’s Breath on this Saturday night. Some came in from the parking-lot entrance, as Megan had, past that smelly guy who was selling his poetry. Others came from the back entrance on Front Street. She was grateful that she at least didn’t have a view of the televi-10 SUPERNATURAL

sion behind the smaller bar. A whole bunch of dumb jock types were gathered around watching a college football game.

If Megan had wanted to spend the week after Christmas watching big dumb guys scream over what happened in a football game, she’d have gone back home to Atlanta and her redneck stepfather and stepbrothers.

Mom was all weepy about her little girl not being home for Christmas, but Megan pointed out that she wasn’t “her little girl,” she was a twenty-twoyear-old adult who was trying to get a bachelor’s degree at Boston College, and that Mom herself was the only person who’d be in the house that Christmas whom she didn’t want to punch in the nose.

Megan didn’t blame Mom for remarrying after Dad died in that car accident. Mom had never done the alone thing very well, and a teenage daughter wasn’t sufficient, especially since Megan was trying to, y’know, have a
life.
Mom had met Harry in grief counseling, as he was a widower as well, his own wife having died during a liquorstore robbery. He had three sons, and Megan was hard-pressed to decide which one was the worst—

Harry Jr., who kept exposing himself to her at every opportunity, Billy, who kept grabbing at her chest and whom she caught once going through her underwear drawer, or little Joey, who set up a Bone

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web-cam in the bathroom and uploaded a video of Megan showering to the Internet.

Of course, Mom kept insisting that they didn’t mean any harm by it, and the boys were just being boys. Since Harry Jr. was twenty-nine and Billy was Megan’s age, this didn’t really fly, and as for Joey’s “prank,” Megan had had to hide in her dorm for two months after the shower video had been downloaded by half of BC’s campus. So no going home for Christmas. But there was no way in hell she was staying in Boston, either. Nice place and all, but the winters were just
brutal
for a Georgia gal.

Instead, she came down to Key West. She’d been saving the money she made at the Starbucks on Commonwealth Avenue, managed to get a cheap flight to Key West on the Internet, got a room at a nice bed-and-breakfast right on Duval Street—

easy stumbling distance from the bars—and spent her holidays here in a tropical paradise. Megan loved Key West. Her favorite thing wasn’t the bars, the live music, the beautiful weather, the friendly people, the laid-back attitude, the
fantas-
tic
seafood—though she loved all those things—it was the fact that
every single night
on Key West they celebrated the sunset. Every night, folks gathered at the boardwalk and on Front Street and watched the sun go down over the Gulf of Mexico, cheering and celebrating and drinking beer. The 12 SUPERNATURAL

boardwalk was filled with vendors and performers, and it was a wonderful party. At first, Megan had thought it to be a onetime thing that she was lucky enough to have arrived in time for, but she soon learned that it was a daily occurrence. Tonight, she skipped the sunset celebration. She just wanted to sit and listen to music. She’d spent the day playing tourist, going to several of the wrecker museums, the “Little White House,” the Hemingway Home and Museum, and the lighthouse, and her feet were
killing
her. About the only thing that hadn’t happened yet was getting laid. Megan had never been good at the boyfriend thing, especially since she kept winding up with boneheads like her stepbrothers. Plus, after the web-cam incident, she couldn’t bring herself even to
talk
to most of the guys on campus. She’d gotten plenty of offers since coming to Key West, but none from anyone she even wanted to be in the same bar with, much less the same bed. All the cute guys she saw were either gay or with someone. For that matter, some of the people who’d hit on her were women, but Megan didn’t swing that way, despite the best efforts of some of the other girls in the dorms.

Although if the offers from the men didn’t improve soon, she might well consider it. Still, at least she’d gotten to meet some fun people. Nobody who’d be a friend for life or any-Bone K

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thing, but fun people to talk to about music and college and life and things. It’d been a different group of people each night, and as far as Megan was concerned, it was part of the fun. She’d consider this trip a success even if she went home alone every night.

The band finished playing “Magic Carpet Ride,”

and the lead singer said, “We’re gonna take a little break. Be back in fifteen!”

Along with most of the rest of the bar’s patrons, Megan cheered. (The notable exceptions were the jackasses watching football.) She downed the rest of her beer, then looked around for Liza, the waitress.

“Excuse me, are these seats taken?”

Whirling around, Megan saw an older couple—

maybe late forties, early fifties. They were both wearing the Key West “uniform”: short-sleeved shirts, shorts, and either flip-flops or sandals. The man who spoke had a slight accent, though Megan couldn’t place it—sounded kinda European. Since they were unlikely to hit on her—though it wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen to her—

she said, “No, go ahead.”

They shifted the stools so they were right next to each other and facing Megan. The man was very attractive, with olive skin, and what her history professor always referred to as an “aquiline” nose. Megan had no idea why they were called that, 14 SUPERNATURAL

except maybe because it sounded more polite than

“big.” Still, on this guy it worked. He had short, dark, thick hair arranged neatly without obvious evidence of hair-care products.

In contrast, the woman he was with—his wife?—had long dark hair that was laden with such product. She also had huge cheekbones and a perpetual smile. Where the man was rail-thin, the woman was curvy. They actually made kind of a cute couple.

“I am Alberto,” the man said with a small smile.

“This is my wife, Fedra.”

“Thanks for letting us sit,” Fedra added with a much bigger smile. “I thought we were gonna have to stand all night.” Fedra’s accent was more Brooklyn than Europe.

“No problem. I’m Megan.”

“Glad to meetcha, Megan.”

Alberto asked, “What brings you to Key West?”

Megan didn’t really feel like burdening them with her family history, so she just said, “Christmas down here’s a lot better than Christmas in Boston, y’know?”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” Fedra said, putting her hand on the table. Megan noted the perfectly manicured nails—purple nail polish, with sparkles—and silver rings on most of the fingers.

“I can’t stand all that snow. And the cold—
ma-
ron.
”

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“What about you guys?” Megan asked.

“We’ve been spending the past few months traveling,” Alberto said. “We had a bit of a life change recently and decided to sell our house and simply
move.
”

“Wow.” Megan blinked. “That’s really cool.”

“We’re thinkin’ a stayin’ here for a while, though,” Fedra said, leaning forward and speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “I just
love
the atmosphere here, it’s so beautiful.” She enunciated that last word as “
byoo
-tee-full.”

“Yeah, it’s great.”

Liza finally came by, a short woman with a deep tan, long brown hair tied back in a sloppy ponytail, and wearing a black shirt with the bar’s logo on it. “Another beer, Meg?”

Megan sighed. She hated being called “Meg,” but Liza apparently was only willing to use one syllable on a person. She’d been here last night drinking with these three other girls named Christina (whom Liza immediately started calling “Chris”), Melanie (“Mel”), and Elizabeth (“Beth,” even though the girl herself preferred to be called “Liz”). Looking at Alberto and Fedra, she said, “And your friends?”

“Can I get a margarita, please?” Fedra said.

“
With
salt.”

Alberto smiled. “Just a glass of red wine for me, thank you.”

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“You got it.” Liza disappeared into the crowd.

“So you live in Boston, huh?” Fedra asked. Megan nodded. “I go to college there.”

For the next ten minutes or so, Megan told the couple some details about her college career—the usual stupid small-talk answers that she’d given to pretty much everyone she’d met in assorted Duval Street bars over the past few days.

Then the band came back out, and conversation was limited by the noise of the band. Inevitably, they played “Brown-Eyed Girl”—it was impossible to spend an evening on Duval Street without hearing it at
least
three times—as well as a bunch of other hard-rockin’ songs.

Alberto surprised her by paying for her drinks. She had three (or was it four?) more beers, and she and the couple kept talking between songs or sometimes by shouting in each other’s ears during them. By the time the band finished their second set, she was starting to feel a little woozy. Her feet
still
hurt from the day’s excursions, and it might have been time to call it a night. True, it was
hours
before anything would close, but Megan was feeling
really
out of it. She’d been going full tilt since she got here, so maybe it was time to take it easy.

“Look, thanks for the drinks, guys. It was
great
meeting you, but I think I’m gonna turn in early.”

She pushed back her stool but couldn’t get her footing on the ground, and collapsed. Bone

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Before she could stop herself, she felt Alberto grab her arm, steadying her. Despite her body no longer moving, her head swam as the Hog’s Breath felt as if it were swirling around like a merry-goround. “Woooooo boy. Okay, that was bad.”