Supernatural: Coyote's Kiss (26 page)

Huehuecoyotl put out one of his hands and a small ceramic flute took shape, solidifying out of the smoke. It was bright red with a bell-shaped cup at the base, decorated with a trio of bipedal coyotes dancing in a circle. He closed his fingers around the flute and then held it out to Dean.

“Play this flute,” he said. “
Metzlicihuatl
will hear it and come to you, thinking you are me. Fair warning, she will be angry when she finds she has been deceived. But you are the kind of man who is easily forgiven by women, aren’t you, Dean?”

“Where should I play it?” Dean asked, taking the flute. “Here?”

“Anywhere,” Huehuecoyotl replied. “She would cross oceans to be with me.”

“Thank you,” Dean said.

“Just make it worth my while,” the trickster said. “Put on a good show, hunter.”

“Will do,” Dean said. “We ain’t going down without a fight.”

“And if you win,” Huehuecoyotl said. “Will you keep on standing alone in the rain? Or will you come inside?”

Huehuecoyotl leaned close to whisper in Dean’s ear, shifting again as he moved. Shifting back to Xochi.

“Forgive yourself.”

The trickster turned and walked away into the desert, Xochi’s image fading slowly into smoky transparency before disappearing all together.

Dean found Sam, Claudia and Xochi standing together by the dirt bikes. He showed them the flute and explained everything that had happened.

“Find the Alpha Borderwalker,” Sam said. “Genius. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“We only have a couple of hours before the sun comes up,” Xochi said. “We don’t want to be out here when that happens. We should head back to the Rover and then find a place to catch a few hours of sleep. We can visit my friend in Chihuahua during the day and then summon the Alpha tomorrow night. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I’m pretty beat.”

“We all are,” Xochi said.

Xochi carefully buried the fire and gathered up her ritual objects. Claudia was silent and stoic, waiting. Dean thought maybe he ought to talk to her, apologize or something, but he had absolutely no idea how to even start a conversation like that with a fifteen-year-old girl, so he just kept his mouth shut.

Sam got his dirt bike started and Claudia climbed on the back, strapping on her helmet. Sam hit the gas and took off down the trail. Xochi was about to mount up on the other when Dean stepped up next to her.

“I’m sorry about all that,” Dean said. “You know, before. Is Claudia okay?”

“She will be,” Xochi shrugged. “She’s young. Easily hurt but resilient.”

She was about to throw one leg over the bike seat, but Dean put a hand on her shoulder, holding her back.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“What?”

“I remember the way,” he said. “Let me drive the bike back to the Rover.”

“Why?”

“Honestly?” he said. “Because I don’t think I can take another lap dance like the one I got on the way out here. Have a little compassion, will ya? These are my only pants.”

She laughed, but she let him drive. They made it back to the Rover without incident.

Sam was the only one who wasn’t half asleep at that point so he drove while the rest of them dozed. When Dean woke up the sun was starting to rise and the Rover was parked in the lot of a Ramada in Chihuahua. Xochi and Claudia were still asleep in the back seat.

He got out of the Rover to stretch his aching body and spotted Sam coming out the door, two sets of hotel keys in his hand.

“Come on,” he called.

Dean was about to tap on the back window and wake the girls up when Claudia suddenly jolted upright, her movement startling Xochi. Claudia turned to Dean, hand flat against the window and her eyes flashing wide. Then wakeful awareness seemed to filter into her face and she took a deep breath, opening the back door and getting slowly to her feet.

“I saw her,” Claudia said. “I saw Elvia.”

Xochi got out of the Rover and came around to stand beside Dean.

“Tell us,” she said.

“She...” Claudia paused, frowning. “I think she escaped.”

Xochi threw a look of surprise in Dean’s direction.

“You need to remember everything,” she said. “Start at the beginning of your vision. Don’t leave out any details, no matter how small.”

“Okay,” Claudia said. “It’s just... well it’s kinda mixed up.”

“Go on,” Dean said.

“Well, first she was in a dark place, like inside a truck or something. She was... tied up. Bound somehow. Then, cops. Army guys, maybe? Guys in uniforms. There was some kind of nasty fight happening. Shooting and...” Claudia shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. “And in the chaos, Elvia broke loose and ran. But she’s... sticky. Like one of those poor birds you see on T.V. with the oil all over their feathers. She’s too heavy to leave our world. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Xochi said. “That’s Teo’s magic, holding her down. Can you see where they are? What can she see?”

Claudia closed her eyes, remembering.

“It’s a not a major city. More like a town,” she said. “Real pretty and old-fashioned. Narrow, twisty streets. There’s a big church. Tan with a big red dome.”

Xochi shook her head.

“That could be anywhere,” she said. “Can you be more specific?”

“Elvia is hiding in some kind of catacombs,” Claudia said. “With dead bodies all around her. But... this is gonna sound weird.”

“Nothing sounds weird,” Xochi said.

“The bodies aren’t in tombs. They’re... It’s almost like they’re... on display. Like in a museum, standing up in these glass cases.”

Xochi’s eyes went wide.

“These bodies,” Xochi said. “Are they dried out, like skeletons covered in leathery, pale-brown skin?”

“Yeah,” Claudia said.

“Guanajuato,” Xochi said. “They are in Guanajuato.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “How long will it take us to get there from here?”

“If we drive straight through and don’t sleep?” Xochi asked. “Maybe twelve, fourteen hours.”

“Come on, man,” Dean said. “None of us are gonna be worth a damn if we don’t grab a few hours of real shut-eye. Plus we still need to see your friend who makes the silver ammo and have our little chat with the Alpha Borderwalker.”

“He’s right,” Xochi said. “But we can’t spare more than three or four hours at the most.”

“No problem,” Dean said. “That’s all I ever need.”

“I’ve already got us checked in here,” Sam said. “May as well take advantage. I don’t need to sleep, but I could sure use a shower.”

“Me too,” Xochi said. “A good hot shower.”

Their rooms were on the top floor. Sam had splurged on neighboring suites with an adjoining door. Xochi and Claudia took the one on the left and Sam unlocked the one on the right.

“See you in the morning,” Xochi said. “I mean, later today.”

“Right,” Dean said. “See you.”

The suite was decent but utterly forgettable. All that Dean cared about was that it was relatively clean and the bathroom door had a lock.

Sam was setting up his gear on the tiny desk. Dean could hear the shower start up next door. He wondered if it was Xochi.

“You need to get in there?” Dean asked, gesturing at the bathroom door.

Sam shook his head. “I’m good,”

“Because I’m gonna be a while,” Dean said.

“Have at it, dude.” Sam said without looking up from his laptop. “Do us all a favor.”

Dean went into the bathroom and locked the door.

Three hours later, Dean felt infinitely more civilized. Rested, as well as ever, and otherwise stabilized. Showered and shaved and caffeinated. Clean socks and underwear. Ready to get out there and save the damn world. Again.

Xochi’s friend ran a tiny jewelry store just off the main plaza. Touristy stuff mostly. Lots of turquoise and silver mixed in with gothic crosses, bats and skulls. It was a mother-daughter operation. The daughter running the public half of the shop while mom did business out of the back.

Mom met them at the back door. She was probably close to fifty and dressed like the aftermath of an explosion in the Stevie Nicks factory. Lots of flowing, gauzy lace and frills that hardly seemed like practical work wear for a serious bullet-smith.

“This is Consuelo Morena Valesquez,” Xochi said. “Sam and Dean Winchester and Claudia Porcayo.”

“You can call me Chelo,” the older woman replied with a wink. Her English was flawless. “All the hunters do. Especially the handsome ones.” She took Sam’s arm on one side and Dean’s on the other. “Come on in.”

The back room of the little shop was a scattered mess of bullet molds in varying sizes, ladles, and bricks of pure silver. In the center of the unfinished cement floor was a large cast-iron pot over what looked like the guts of an electric turkey cooker. There was a heavy leather apron on a hook by the door, as well as several pairs of thick, elbow-length gloves and plastic safety goggles. The far wall was covered with Polaroid photos. Chelo posed and smiling beside a hundred different men and women, all heavily armed. All hunters, obviously. It was amazing to Dean how easy it was to recognize other hunters, even in another country. It wasn’t just the guns. It was the eyes. The same eyes he saw every day in the bathroom mirror.

“Xochi tells me you have a problem with the
Nagual
,” Chelo said. “I have a shorty I might be able to spare. What do you have to trade?”

Xochi and Dean emptied their pockets of all the weapons they’d stolen from the phony
federales
back in Nogales. Chelo picked up the weighty Magnum.

“.50 caliber?” She whistled appreciatively. “I’d love to take this one, but it sounds like you need it more than I do. Lucky for you, I just poured a fresh rack of 50s last night.”

She turned to a large cabinet and unlocked it with a key that hung from a chain around her neck. After a moment of searching through inner drawers, she turned and handed Dean a sawed-off Mossberg 500.

“You know what,” she said. “Just take it. But in return I want a photo with you two handsome boys.”

“You got it,” Sam said.

She handed an old-school Polaroid camera to Xochi. Sam and Dean both had to slouch down to keep their heads in frame with the petite bullet-smith. Xochi took the shot and handed the developing photo to Chelo.

“Thanks,” Chelo said, waving the photo in the air.

Once the image came in, she smiled and pinned the snapshot up on the wall beside an old photo of Xochi that Dean hadn’t noticed until just then. In the picture Xochi looked about Claudia’s age. No tattoos. Her hair was shorter, chopped into blunt bangs. She was trying for a stony bad ass stare that wasn’t quite there yet. Kind of reminded Dean of himself at that age.

“Okay,” Chelo said. “So you need 50s, 45s, and 38s, plus the 12-gauge slugs for the Mossberg. Anything else?”

“Got any silver knives?” Dean asked.

“Of course,” she said, like he’d just asked if the Pope was Catholic. “How many you need?”

“Three,” Dean said.

“Four,” Claudia said.

“No,” Dean said.

“It’s okay,” Xochi said. “She has to learn sometime.”

“You’d better teach her how to throw it,” Dean said. “Because I’m still not letting anything get close enough to be inside her range. I promised I’d protect her and I meant it.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Claudia was looking at him all sparkle-eyed again. Apparently last night’s embarrassing revelations had done nothing to dim her crush.

Chelo smirked and headed off into a small storeroom.

“We’d better divvy up the firepower while we’re at it,” Sam said. “Dean, you take the shotgun.”

“Right,” Dean hefted the Mossberg, checking it over. “What about you? You want the Magnum?”

“Don’t need it,” Sam said with a smirk. “I got nothing to prove in that department.”

“Yeah,” Xochi said. “But you also have the largest hands. Me, I prefer the .45.”

“Fair enough,” Sam said, picking up the hand cannon. “That leaves Claudia with the snubbie.”

Claudia reached for the .38 and Xochi grabbed her wrist.

“Not yet,” she said. “I’ll hold it for you until I have a chance to teach you how to use it. I don’t want you to shoot your foot. Or mine.”

When Chelo returned she had a huge, teetering stack of unmarked ammo boxes. Xochi stepped up to help her, taking about half the boxes and laying them out on the workbench.

“Dean?” She tossed him a box.

He opened the lid and saw what looked like a dozen ordinary shotgun rounds. But when he pulled one out and turned it over, instead of the usual star-shaped top, he saw a solid, gleaming silver slug with a flattened top and a deep dimpled center.

“Hollow point?” he said. “Hot damn.”

“Like you Americans always say,” Chelo said. “Ideal for home defense.”

Dean loaded up while Sam and Xochi expelled the standard rounds from their respective firearms and reloaded with silver.

“Here you go,
muñeca
,” Chelo said to Claudia, handing her a slim silver stiletto with an image of the Virgin Mary on the handle. She leaned in to stage whisper, “I gave you the best one.”

She handed out three other, plainer knives, one to each of them, and then dug up a sturdy leather backpack to carry all the ammo.