Free Supernatural: Coyote's Kiss by Christa Faust Page B

Dean eased up on Ojon. He eyed them both like it was some kind of trick.
    “You heard her, slick,” Dean said. “You’re free to go.”
    Ojon didn’t bother to remove the gag. He just bolted for the door, threw it open and ran out into the parking lot, where he tripped over his own big feet and ate asphalt about three feet away from Xochi’s bike.
    Dean closed the door, shaking his head.
    “Write the names of the two men,” Xochi said to Sam.
    Sam tore a page from his notebook and did as she requested, setting the sheet of paper on the carpet at her feet. She knelt with the cap in one hand and the knife in the other. She spoke some words that Dean was pretty sure weren’t Spanish and the blood inside the cap began to swirl like a miniature maelstrom. When she up-ended the cap onto the center of the page, the blood ran toward one of the names as if the paper were slanted in that direction. Crimson tendrils flowed around the name, obliterating it.
    BREWER
    “There’s your answer,” Xochi said.
    “Okay,” Sam said. “Brewer’s in Yuma. We’d better hit the road.”
    Xochi stood, sheathing the knife.
    “Before we leave,” Xochi said. “May I wash myself?”
    “Uh yeah,” Dean said. “No problem. Be my guest.”
    “You’d better wash yourself too,” Sam said to Dean. “I’m not gonna sit in a car for four hours with a guy who smells like a dirty bar rag.”
    “Ladies first,” Dean said, gesturing toward the closed bathroom door.
    “Thank you,” she said. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “But Dean, I have one question. What is Q?”
    “Look,” Dean said, suppressing a snicker. “You can’t be in the Monster Club if you haven’t seen Q, The Winged Serpent .”
    “It’s a movie,” Sam said. “And you’re probably better off not having seen it.”
    “Winged serpent?” She frowned. “They made a movie about Quetzalcoatl ?”
    “They made a movie about a cheesy rubber puppet flying around New York City and eating people,” Sam told her.
    “Aw, come on,” Dean said. “I love that movie.”
    “Dude,” Sam said. “We watched that movie when I was, like, five years old, and even back then I wasn’t buying that monster for a minute.”
    “You help me win this fight,” Xochi said with a wink. “I’ll introduce you to the real thing. Then can I be in the Monster Club?”
    “If we win this,” Sam said. “You’re in. Lifetime membership.”
    Xochi smiled and disappeared into the bathroom.

FOURTEEN

    The three of them stood outside a greasy spoon diner. It was long and narrow, a fifties aluminum building that had been given an ugly brown-and-orange makeover sometime in the mid seventies. There was a Denny’s on the other side of the highway, and so the little diner was nearly empty. The faded and peeling sign above the door read “ROADRUNNER GRILL” and featured a slightly altered knock-off of the famous cartoon character who was always making a fool out of the coyote. Dean found that strangely appropriate.
    It was only 9 a.m. but rapidly becoming unbearably hot. Xochi had traded her black wifebeater tank top for a white one, making her lack of a bra even more evident. Her long hair was loose and fragrant, still damp from the shower. She wore the same beat-up, Mad Max leather pants. And her gun-belt.
    “You know, I’m as paranoid as the next hunter,” Dean said, gesturing at the pistols. “But are you sure it’s a good idea to wear those to breakfast? I really don’t think anybody’s gonna try to shoot you in a diner.”
    “I have a carry permit,” Xochi said. “Your country is very gun-friendly.”
    “But you aren’t even a U.S. citizen,” Sam said. “Are you?”
    “No,” Xochi said. “In fact, this is my first time visiting the United States. But I have a U.S. driver’s license. And a birth certificate that says I was born in Los Angeles. A lot of people owe me favors.”
    “Come on, kids,” Sam said, pushing the diner door open and motioning for