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Cassity Ranch, Shoshone, Idaho
Ellie had learned how to make her own hex bags while on the run from Crowley. She had to. Dean Winchester showed her how to do it her last night on the Ranch. That night she left the place that had been her home since she was a girl without a second thought. Her mother worked the ranch before her until the Parkinson’s made work too difficult. Before then, Ellie had shadowed her mother nearly every day during the summer. So she picked up for her mom around the ranch when the tremors and stiffness took their toll. As a child, she wasn’t nearly as capable as her rough hewn mother, but they managed until a dapper gentleman visited Shoshone. He told thirteen year old Ellie he could make her dreams come true. And she believed him. She had to. There was nowhere else for her to go.
Ten years later, she left her home at a run. Her life was stuffed in bags or boxes and thrown in one of the old farm trucks. A truck she knew she could Frankenstein together if need be. Her shotgun was laid flat next to her on the broad vinyl seat except now Sam had loaded it with salt rounds. Around her neck was a soft leather pouch that Dean swore would hide her from the demon dogs that prowled for the damned. Prowled for her. After the hex bags, the brothers set her up with supplies: goofer dust, salt rounds, spells, sigils, an iron crowbar, holy oil and water. Dean gave her that pair of glasses she thought looked good on him. The rectangle lenses with a thick black frame against his chiseled cheekbones. The way they had accentuated his long lashes and big, green eyes. She smiled sweetly at the flash of a moment they had after she called him Clark Kent.
“They’ll let you see the hellhounds,” he said. All business now. He told her how to make another pair if needed. The growl in his voice had softened to something else. Something she wished she had had more time to hear. Dean furrowed his brow and frowned. She nodded to let him know she understood. She realized this wasn’t easy for him either. He had really meant it when he asked for a “rain check.” She sighed and perched the glasses on her nose. She blinked. Everything had a bluish tint. “Can’t really call you Clark Kent, but you’re definitely not Lois Lane,” he said, sweetly. She’d miss him and she knew she’d probably never forget him: Dean Winchester. They loaded her up with all these supplies against the supernatural because that night she learned the things that go bump in the night were true…and they’d be at her heels for the rest of her life.
Crowley Dean had growled that horrid night. Ellie’s stomach sank. This man she had been seconds away from bedding immediately knew her darkest secret. Her deepest fear. His broad shoulders hunched and he shook his head when he said the name like a curse. He knew Crowley and it wasn’t a compliment. Her fear that her mother’s recovery had been a curse, not a blessing curled its cold fingers around her thumping heart and it froze. The truth of her deal was a minor detail she often forgot about in the physical demands of her busy days. She didn’t regret her choice, but the gruesome deaths of Margie and Earl had made her wish for any other end. But the end felt inevitable.
Maybe another beer–or five she had thought. And that's where she was until Dean swore he wouldn’t let it happen. He swore there was another way. When his soft green eyes had hardened and flashed with anger at his recognition of Crowley she knew. She knew who this man really was. What he was. Someone who hunted demons and knew the dark things in life that others couldn’t even imagine. And she knew he was right. She felt a flicker of hope. The words: “I don’t want to die” had tumbled out of her mouth like an apology. She had been so sure that she would have to face whatever was waiting for her outside. Alone. Hopeless for any rescue. Not uncommon for her. She wouldn’t go quietly, but she’d go. Because she thought she had to. But then Dean said there was another way. That he’d show her. And he did. And she learned quickly. Like she always did. Because her life depended on it.
Like it always did.
****
Osceola, Arkansas
Forty miles outside Memphis along the Arkansas and Tennessee border the truck sputtered and scolded Ellie as she pumped the gas in a stupid attempt to squeeze one more ounce of movement from the heap of metal. She turned the ignition off and threw her head back. She had made it farther south than she had expected, but not fast enough to replenish her goofer dust. Her savings had gone to keeping the truck moving–tools and parts, roadside motels and food. A line of goofer dust along the door and around each window had become part of her nightly routine.
She had texted Dean for any contacts to replenish the black powder, but they were mostly down south. So she had her heading. Working on the truck wasn’t the hard part, but finding auto body places that had what she was looking for was. She had been willing the truck to make it the last ten miles to a little autobody shop that had the part she needed. She fought the feeling of desperation and took a deep breath. She thumbed the leather pouch around her neck and pulled it from the inside her wrinkled blouse. She checked the cord. It had been worn smooth around her neck and at the knot that held the satchel. She kept tugging on it and rechecked its existence twenty times a day. She tucked it back in.
The leather was strained at the satchel's tight twists. She could keep it in her pocket if it broke. She stared at the blunt stock of her shotgun still laid by her side on the seat. She’d have to walk the last ten miles to get the damn part. She double checked her mechanic’s bag for the needed tools, just in case she had to borrow (or much dreaded, buy) something from the mechanic. After ten years of running a whole ranch mostly on her own, Ellie had forgotten how shitty a female who knew her way around equipment could be treated. She tried not to walk into a place with a suspicious bias, but, hellhounds and demons will make you wary of asking anyone for help. So sexism didn’t make anything easier. She scoffed and thought of Dean. Again. For a half a second, she had thought that finally there were more men like Dean Winchester.
“Not likely,” she said out loud to herself. She gathered her vest, her gun, her duffel bag with cash, more weapons and keys. She locked the door on the bags of her worldly possessions and pocketed the burner phone in her jeans. Finally, she slung the shotgun over her shoulder. Today was a good day for open carry laws in Arkansas.
****
By the time Ellie walked past Greens’ Quiet Acre it was nearing dusk and her legs ached from hours of walking on the sloping gravel shoulder of a rural highway. Several drivers had stopped and waved her to the side of the road. She waved them ahead of her. Her pride prickled at the thought and angry fear propelled her steps. She had shed her sherpa-lined vest several miles ago and stuffed it in her bag on top of all her weapons. Sweat spotted her thin red blouse and dotted her forehead. She had unbuttoned the long sleeves and pushed them to her elbows in an attempt to cool down. The still warm summer breeze felt like a taste of relief from her tiresome walk. She pressed her dry lips together and tucked a finger under the leather strap yet again. She should drink water, but didn’t want to stop. She knew the hex bag would protect her but her heart hammered as night fell. Crowley’s hellhounds favored the dark for their bloody deeds and Ellie wished she had been more frugal with the goofer dust.
After a time, she had tried calling the mechanic’s shop in a tired effort at a pickup, but the shop was short-handed. They offered a tow, but Ellie shuddered to think of the cost of impounding or towing. And the headache of it all. She hung up before they could try to convince her otherwise. Three hours later, she was doubting her stubbornness, but promised herself a ride back. Even if she had to beg. She felt a jolt of panic from the thought of being in a car with a stranger. At their mercy. Depending on their goodwill and word. She didn’t like the idea, but she knew she’d have to give herself a break sometime.
As the night began to fall the shadows cast long and cooled the steamy summer wind. Ellie shivered as she passed a cypress tree’s dark rounded pall. She adjusted her bag and gun. The duffel bag’s strap dug into her armpit and chafed her damp, tender skin. She slid it off her shoulder and squatted to dig her vest out before it got too cold. She heaved with a second’s relief at the excuse to stop. With the gun at her feet, she unzipped the bag to pull the vest out. In the sudden absence of her footfalls crunching on the gravel and her huffs, she heard a rustle in the shrubby roadside willows and feathery fronds of cypress. Something broke branches and shook the glossy heart-shaped hosta growing unkempt along the trees’ roots.
Ellie froze mid crouch and slowly reached for her shotgun. Her heart hammered. A low growl sounded from the bushes. Electricity shot through her spine and up her limbs. She grabbed the gun and cocked it. Aiming at the quaking greenery, she walked towards it with the center of the rustling in her sights. An angry scowl and the sound of claws breaking branches came from the bushes. Ellie flinched and pulled the trigger.
Two canine yelps responded.
“Shit!” Ellie scolded herself. The hidden fight broke up and Ellie could see one dog–or something–run the opposite direction. “Dammit!” she yelled and cocked the gun again, but walked cautiously towards the scene of her crime. She huffed and cursed at her skittishness. She felt beyond foolish. The hex bag still stuck to her clammy skin under her blouse and twisted her lips over her trigger finger.
“It’s not a freakin’ demon dog, Ellie,” she cursed herself.
When she was less than six feet away a sleek, but slightly hobbling Doberman Pinscher sprinted out of the bushes and disappeared into the nook of the campground’s utility shed. It wasn’t much of a sprint, but the dog was fast enough that Ellie swore it wore a red collar and was smoking? She shook her head and lowered her gun.
She sighed and walked back to her bag on the side of the road. Her vest was halfway out and the glint of her weapon cache bloomed in the falling light. She slid the vest on. Before buttoning it up, she pulled the collar of her blouse away to check the hex bag–again.
“I need a vacation,” she said and zipped her bag closed after checking for medical supplies to triage the damn dog.
****
Ellie stopped outside the door of the shed and quietly unzipped her bag trying not to startle the dog inside. She scooped out medical tape, gauze squares, some alcohol pads and a scrap of beef jerky from her pouch. She tucked the supplies in her vest pocket and laid the gun down near the door. Close enough to grab, but not aimed at the wounded animal inside. She felt like calling out, but wasn’t sure if the dog would take that as a threat or as a sign of help. So she opened the door slowly and clicked her tongue against her teeth. Pinching the jerky in one hand she stepped through and wished she had her animal tranqs from the ranch.
“Hey Buddy,” she tried to call out soothingly, but her call stopped with her mouth wide open as she looked into the shed to see a woman in a little black dress sitting on the floor with her legs tucked under her. Her curly black hair bounced as she shot an accusing eye over her shoulder.
“You shot me! You asshole!” she scolded. Ellie’s eyes boggled as she saw the last wisps of smoke evaporate from the woman’s arm. The skin healed itself and returned to its smooth brown. The woman still favored her hand and winced with pain. She looked away.
Ellie dropped to her knees a good distance away, “I’m…sorry?” Her hand holding the jerky dropped to her knee. “You want some jerky?” she asked, lamely.
“No!” the woman shouted with disdain, but shrugged her shoulders. “I just ate a little bit ago.” She looked back at Ellie pleadingly. Not with sadness, but a tired caginess. Like she wasn’t certain how this “human” was going to handle her appearance.
“You–”
“Yeah?” The woman rolled her eyes and studied her hand.
“Are you hurt?” Ellie managed to ask. The woman held up a bloodied wrist. A fine circle of dog teeth left tears along her skin. Ellie scoffed weakly, “A dog bite, huh?” The woman laughed.
“Magick doesn't protect you from everything,” she quipped. Ellie sunk a little lower into the shed's metal floor.
“Ain't that the truth.”
The woman turned to face Ellie more completely.
“Sounds like you’ve had to wake up to some scary truths real fast?”
“Sounds about right.”
She turned and tilted her head towards Ellie, “I'm Portia.” Ellie smiled weakly.
“I'm Ellie. Sorry, I shot you,” she shrugged. Portia laughed. “Not the first time someone shot rock salt at me. And probably won't be the last.” In her naivete, Ellie wanted to ask what Portia was, but a tug of conscience told her that would probably be rude. Portia saved her the embarrassment.
“I’m a Familiar,” Portia offered.
“Ohhhh!” Ellie said and nodded slowly like she knew what that meant. Portia laughed lightly and shook her head. “You have no idea what that means, do you?” Portia said, gently. Ellie’s steady nod changed to a head shake. “Not a clue,” she laughed. Portia smiled wider and turned to face her.
“You must be new new to the neighborhood?”
Ellie blushed and smiled self-consciously. “A month ago I was just a ranch manager.” Portia widened her already wide brown eyes, “Ohhhhh,” she said smoothly. “Sorry, Babe,” the apology felt insincere, but still playful. Ellie’s face cooled and she shrugged. She continued to shake her head. The movement was more of disbelief than shock.
“I was just trying to save my mom,” she said with tears stinging her eyes. She swallowed hard and felt like she had unburdened too much on this veritable stranger. Portia was unphased and reached her unwounded hand towards Ellie in reassurance. “Hey, hey,” she shushed her. “The things we do for love, huh?” Portia patted her hand, but winced again. Ellie remembered her task.
“Oh my god, let me wrap that for you!”
Portia accepted the kindness and extended her wounded hand. Ellie held the jerky up like a child coming clean of crime then popped it in her mouth. Portia scoffed and shook her head. “I suppose that does work,” she admitted. Ellie shrugged and took the tape, squares and wipes out of her pocket. “I’ve been a ranch hand pretty much my whole life.” Ellie inspected the wound and tore open the alcohol pad with her teeth. Holding the scrap of wrapper in her teeth, she mumbled out of the other side of mouth, “I’ve seen my fair share of animal fights. Dogs don’t usually bother unless they have something at stake.” She dabbed the cut and laid Portia’s hand down. She focused on the minor triage and didn’t bother Portia for details.
Portia’s dark eyes flicked back and forth over Ellie’s mask of non-concern. She knew it was a ploy, but the subtlety of it drew her respect.
“We, uh, my husband,” she jiggled her head, “Well…not officially–”
Ellie’s eyes bugged but she didn’t pause her task of pulling the gauze out of its sterile wrapper. Portia sighed then let out a tired laugh.
“We aren’t exactly welcome in polite witch societies,” she smiled thinly and turned her wrist slightly to inspect Ellie’s placement of the gauze pad. It was spot on. Ellie tossed her head side to side in nonchalance. “Who needs politeness?” Then, “Who needs society?” Portia burst out laughing then winced at the exertion. Ellie returned the laughter with a small smile as she tore the tape in smaller strips and taped the gauze in place. Portia sighed at the expulsion after such the fight that had her fighting fierce moments ago.
“We, uh, had a little dust up in James’ hometown and, well, we can’t go back. And as it does, word spread. James is trying the legal way.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m trying the not so legal way.” Ellie frowned with amused understanding. “You know,” she grinned at the obvious play on words towards the idiom hanging between them. Portia caught her drift and rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Yeah.”
“I guess they were right. It’s a dog eat dog world out there.”
Portia groaned and tested the tightness of Ellie’s bandage. It was snug, but not pinching. “Do you feel better?” she asked, sarcastically. Ellie nodded and looked down. She didn’t want to offend her new friend, but the shortness of their exchange seemed to underline the painful loneliness she had been submerged in the last month. On the ranch she was physically alone nearly every day, but she hardly felt alone. On the Cassity Ranch, the animals were often better company than the humans. Off of the ranch, it was starting to feel the same way. Portia, well, Ellie didn’t quite know what she was, but Portia was one of the friendlier faces she’s met since leaving. And someone who knows much more about the dark things out there, too.
“I–I hope I didn’t offend you. I’ve just been…well, running scared.” The sound that came out of her mouth was far from a laugh, but something like it. Portia nodded sagely and straightened her dress. Then she stood. She held her hands out to Ellie. Ellie stood up and took them.
“Look. I don’t know what you’ve been through or where you’re going. Or…what deal you made with whatever, but…I can see you’re one tough cookie.” She looked down at her wrist. “And you’re kind. And that means a lot.” She nodded as if to underline the sentiment. Ellie squeezed her hands.
“Thanks,” she let them go. Reluctantly. And weaved her hands together then pinched the tip of her thumb. She looked at Portia and decided to tell her the craziness that has been her life. If anyone could understand, it would be Portia. “I…made a deal with a demon for my mother’s health when I was thirteen and, well, I’ll be damned if that–well,” she laughed harshly and felt like something inside her had bursted its buttons. “I am damned,” she said. Tears welled in her eyes and her pretty face twisted in sorrow. “I’m damned. And I’m trying to stay two steps ahead of Crowley’s dogs–”
“CROWLEY!” Portia shouted and scared the living bejesus out of Ellie. Who just bared her soul. “Ohhhhh!” She shot Ellie a dangerous look. “What did that louse promise you? Your mother’s health? You were thirteen! Of course he did!” Portia answered her own questions. “Woooow, Crowley. What do you need?” She demanded. “Goofer dust?” She answered herself. “I got some contacts just a little farther south that can help you.” She offered. Asking, answering and volunteering for the task before Ellie could even respond. She nodded her head brusquely, “I can get there and back before daybreak,” she told Ellie and sealed their deal. “Do you have enough for tonight? Someplace safe?” She waited for Ellie to catch up. Ellie blinked and stared at Portia’s intense eyes.
“Yes,” she said, carefully. Portia tilted her head for clarification. “Yes? To?”
“All of it!” Ellie answered, “I mean. Well. I have a truck.” Portia scowled. “I have goofer dust!” Ellie felt like things had veered off the rails and it was somehow her fault.
“Girl, you’re gonna sleep in a truck?” Incredulous didn’t begin to describe Portia’s disbelief. Ellie threw her hands out in her defense. “It’s got a biiiiiig seat! Like…huge,” she pressed her lips together as if her point was made. Portia blinked rapidly. “Wait. Where is your truck now? Were you walking? Why aren’t you—ohh.” She pursed her lips and again answered her own questions before Ellie could muster a breath. “Your truck broke down. OK, well you get to wherever you need to get going for the whatever and you get your ass back to that truck ASAP, Sweetie. Drop me a pin on your location at–” she held her hand out for Ellie’s phone.
Ellie blinked and jerked her shoulders up like an offended tween. Then reached into her back pocket and gave it to her. Portia tapped the screen and pressed send. She handed the phone back to Ellie. “Drop the location of your truck to that number I just texted and I’ll bring the goofer dust before dawn.” And in a blink of an eye the sleek black Doberman was there. Portia jumped gracefully through the open door and was gone.
“OK then!” Ellie shouted and wondered if Portia even heard her.
****
The sun rose over the waving cypress trees in blushing reds, pinks and warm yellows. Ellie shifted towards the edge of the bench seat. Her sherpa vest laid over her bare shoulder. She had relented to the stuffy summer heat trapped in the cab last night and shed her blouse. The white tank stuck to her assisted by the vinyl seat back. She blinked and squinted at the unwelcome morning. The night before she had gotten back at nearly midnight. After securing a helpful ride back to her truck, the mechanic offered again to tow it back to the shop or put her up for the night, at least. Ellie smiled tightly and declined. She had made sure to thank him profusely, but then shut the doors tightly with a line of goofer dust along the inside. She didn’t doubt Portia’s word, but she was eager to get the truck running.
A vague sense of helplessness tickled the back of her mind if the truck wasn’t up and running like it should be. Sleep had been elusive, but a few hours before daybreak she had finally drifted off. Now the morning sun was more of an annoyance rather than a welcome sight after the worrisome cloak of night. She propped her head up on her hand and blinked some more. Her stomach growled. She couldn’t remember eating anything besides the jerky yesterday.
“Dammit,” she grumbled, “Why is food such a necessity?”
Pulling herself farther up, she swung her legs to the floorboard and made plans to sleep in a real bed tonight. Wherever she may end up.
A dark shadow with pointed ears cast along the driver’s side window. Ellie’s heart leapt to her throat and she gripped the edge of the seat. She held her breath for a second and then closed her eyes and groaned.
“Goddamit, Portia!”
Portia barked at the window and tapped the car door with her paw. Ellie let her breath return and blinked once more in hopes of clarity, then opened the door. Portia stood back as the door swung open and Ellie jumped out with a flurry of goofer dust on her still booted feet. Portia cocked her head as if to wonder how Ellie could sleep so late. Ellie sighed and dropped her shoulders.
“I did not sleep.”
Portia barked like an “I told you so.” Ellie stretched and put her hands on her hips. She decided to ignore the dog’s sass. Portia nosed a leather bag towards Ellie’s feet. Ellie smiled and relaxed.
“Thank you,” she said, genuinely. She picked it up and tested its weight. Portia barked and nudged Ellie’s hand for a pat. Ellie obliged and knelt to not only pat the dog’s glossy head, but to wrap an arm around her graceful neck for a hug. “Thank you,” she said again. This time into the dog’s strong neck. She patted the side of the dog’s face and Portia pecked at Ellie’s face with her wet nose like a kiss. With that Portia turned away and slipped behind the highway shrubbery. Back to her own errand.
“How can I repay you!” Ellie shouted after her, but Portia didn’t bother waiting for a response. Ellie felt oddly disappointed. And suddenly lonely. She looked at the bag of goofer dust. It seemed so small and somehow the price felt so big. It felt like she lost something. With mixed emotions, she hopped back into the cab. Leaving the door open to feel the cool morning breeze off the cool asphalt, she tugged her sweaty tank top away from her skin and tossed the gopher dust next to the shotgun. Her old truck’s cigarette lighter had crapped out, so she charged her burner phone with a charging block. She lugged the brick off the floor of the truck and unplugged it.
She had a dozen new text messages from unfamiliar numbers. She blinked in disbelief and squinted. They all started with something along the lines of: “Portia said you’ll be needing goofer dust…” Or: “If you need a bed to stretch out on…” She smiled and held her hands to her mouth. Tears blurred her sight. “We got a safe house…” Many of the hunters left another number in case the first was a no go. Several simply sent an address with “℅ Portia.”
Ellie set her phone down and held her forehead. Laughing through the tears now. She held her face and let out a long breath. There was one that caught her attention: “Heard you need a shop…” Ellie sniffed and tried to compose herself. She could get the truck running and then head there to fix everything else. She didn’t trust herself to leave a message, but she got the feeling most hunters would be satisfied with a text. She texted the hunter back with her ETA and a thank you. They texted immediately back.
“Cool, we’ll have dinner waiting.”
Overwhelmed, Ellie set the phone down and gave herself some time. The world felt a little bit smaller and a little bit kinder.