Free Supernatural: War of the Sons by Rebecca Dessertine, David Reed Page B

a knowing look. Boy did they have Asians.
    James’s head drooped toward the floor. Dean, realizing that this was his moment, shut up and watched for any sign that James would snap out of it. Instead, he dropped to the floor entirely, his girth hitting the concrete with a slap.
    “Gonna feel that tomorrow,” Dean said as he moved toward the vault door. In his inebriated state, he stumbled over James’s legs and nearly face-planted himself.
    The vault was like that of a small bank, with a heavy combination-locked door which no doubt lead into a room full of safety deposit boxes. Dean knew that breaking into the main vault would be relatively straightforward—after all, he had a bit of experience in that regard—but finding the War Scroll inside might prove trickier. He’d seen James bringing the large crate in earlier, but he had no idea how big the scroll itself was, or whether it had been filed into an individually locked safety deposit box.
    As he listened to the tumblers on the main door click into place, he heard James twitch on the floor. Poor bastard , Dean thought, seems like he’s got enough problems as it is. This ain’t gonna help . Not that Dean knew what James’s problem was, since he hadn’t been particularly chatty during their marathon drinking session.
    After a few minutes, the heavy door swung open. All of Dean’s fears about finding the scroll were immediately relieved, as the center of the vault was filled with several large jars. They looked to be thousands of years old, and each was capped with a lid inscribed with symbols. Dean moved quickly toward them. He lifted the lid off the nearest jar, to find, to his surprise, a shape was carved onto the inside of the lid—a rudimentary Devil’s Trap. The holy symbol that could contain a demon.
    Before Dean could react, a throaty growl sounded behind him.
    James McMannon stood outside the vault, totally sober, his eyes jet black. While Dean took a heartbeat to consider how totally screwed he was, James charged.

EIGHT

    Despite his considerable heft, James’s possessed body moved with the speed and lightness of a man half his weight. His meaty hand grasped Dean’s neck as he slid him off his feet and up against the wall of the vault. Dean’s feet strained for the solid floor, his toes dangling inches above the cement.
    James looked at Dean with a discerning eye, as though he had just discovered a brand-new species of insect. He rolled Dean’s head from side to side as Dean gasped for breath.
    “Listen buddy,” Dean managed to choke out. “I know you’re super glad to get into a new meatsuit—though frankly you could have picked someone in better shape. How ’bout you leave the poor shmuck alone?”
    James brought Dean’s face close to his own and sniffed him.
    “Whoa, guy, I’m not into the kinky stuff,” Dean squawked, noticing the wild look in the man’s eyes. “This is a little too Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom for me. How about you let me go?”
    With a swoop of his arm, James threw Dean clear out of the vault. He sailed over the ramshackle table outside and hit the concrete wall, head first. He slumped to the ground, consciousness fading quickly. The last thing Dean heard before blackness took him was a howling, ferocious bark .
    When Dean woke up, the asshole desk clerk was looming above him. Dean turned his head with difficulty. He noticed the vault was closed and James McMannon was nowhere to be seen.
    Dean lifted his arm to the desk clerk. “Can I get a little help?”
    “You’re fired. Return your uniform and get out.”
    Dean managed to lift himself up on one elbow.
    “You mean I don’t get to keep this cute little hat?”
    The desk clerk sneered, turned, and walked away.
    Dean felt the goose egg on the back of his skull. So much for working from the inside.
    As he got to his feet, Dean had to brace himself against the wall. He stumbled a little—he hadn’t been unconscious quite long enough for all that vodka to