Free Supernatural: One Year Gone by Rebecca Dessertine Page B

Despite all the fru-fru stuff in the store, a real witch could stock up on some powerful stuff in there if they knew what they were doing.
    Lisa, Ben, and Dean wound their way back to the inn. Dean hesitated when they got to the door.
    “Hey, I’m going to continue to look around,” Dean said.
    “Really?” Lisa asked
    “Yeah, I’ll be back soon. Rest up.” Dean waved away her concern. “I just want to check the place out.”
    “Okay, see you later,” Lisa said, and she and Ben disappeared into the inn.
    Dean quickly walked across the street and popped the trunk to the CRV. His close parking job made it difficult to get it open. Dean struggled, trying not to hit the hood of the car behind it. The Impala wouldn’t have this problem.
    He wanted to go back to the store and see what he could get out of the hippy chick, but something caught his attention. He looked up at the inn across the street and saw Ben in the window of their room. His eyes were as wide as saucers and he was beating on the window trying to get Dean’s attention.
    Dean grabbed his duffle, which was stuffed into the wheel well of the spare tire, slammed the door shut, then ran back across the street.
    SCREEECH!
    A car ground to a halt, its grill a mere three inches away from Dean’s kneecaps.
    Dean looked up again. Ben had disappeared from the window. He ran inside, startling Ingrid.
    “Oh, Mr. Winchester, do you—” she called.
    “No time, Bea Arthur,” Dean yelled over his shoulder as he took the stairs three at a time. He reached the landing and spun around, almost knocking Ben over.
    “What’s wrong?” Dean asked, grabbing Ben’s arm and heading toward the door of their room.
    “I don’t know. I don’t—” the boy stammered, he looked scared.
    Inside, Lisa was curled on the bed, sweat dripping off her forehead. Her eyes were glassy and rolling up into their lids.
    “Lis, Lis? can you hear me? Did you drink anything?” Dean shook her and frantically looked around the room. He picked up an open water bottle and smelled it. Nothing.
    Lisa was shaking all over and her hands had palsied and curled up under her chin.
    “What’s wrong with her?” Ben asked, his eyes watering with fear.
    “Ben, I need you to search around the room. See if you find anything like this,” Dean said, taking the gris-gris bag out of his pocket. “Can you do that for me?”
    “Yeah. Yeah,” Ben said.
    “Look underneath everything, inside everything,” Dean directed. “Lisa, stay with me. What did you touch? Did you eat anything?”
    Her body shook. Blood trickled from her mouth. She started coughing.
    “Dean, what’s happening?” she sputtered.
    “Just stay with me,” Dean said urgently.
    “Dean?” Lisa choked. She reached into her mouth and tugged at something, a creature emerged from between her lips, wriggling in her grip. Staring at it in horror, she screamed and fainted. The lizard scampered away to the corner of the room.
    “Mom!” Ben yelled.
    “Okay, just stay calm. We have to find the bag,” Dean instructed.
    He took out his knife and sliced straight through the butter-colored wing-back chair in the corner. He flipped it over and dug through the springs with the blade. Nothing. He pulled all the covers off the other queen-sized bed, flipped the mattress, tore through the box spring. Nothing.
    In the bathroom Dean poured out every lotion, tossed every towel onto the floor. Nothing.
    He stomped back to the bedroom window and pulled down the curtains, kicking through the pleats.
    Still unconscious, Lisa fell from the bed and was now writhing on the floor, but no more lizards appeared from her throat.
    Then Dean saw it, a little bag sitting on the table underneath an aging, dried bouquet of magnolias. He picked it up and opened it. Inside was some dragon’s blood, a black cat’s bone, thyme, and, Dean guessed, a couple of different kinds of oil.
    “What is it?” Ben asked.
    “It’s a hex bag and it’s making your mom sick,”