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The Hunters
“You sure about this Sammy?’ Dean asked his brother as they lumbered through the forest. Dean adjusted the duffle bag hanging over his shoulder as he stepped over a log lying flat on the forest floor.
“Yeah,” Sam responded, “based on where each body was found we are looking for something within a seven-mile radius of Mule Deer Trail. That article from the Herald said the Wilson family were last seen in the woods out here.”
“Didn’t that psychic guy say something about Waller liking to camp off the official trails or somethin’” Dean says psychic like a nutrition-freak would say Taco Bell chicken.
“You think he was faking?” Sam asked pausing to brush his hair out of his face, “He seemed to know a lot about the dead hiker that he shouldn’t.”
“I don’t know man, he didn’t seem all that whoo-hooey to me,” Dean said “Besides, Missouri didn’t do all that jerking and flapping nonsense that what’s his name did.”
Sam hummed, taking a sip of water. “Maybe his visions come differently than Missouri’s, I mean my came with excruciating pain in my head, maybe he’s like me.”
“Didn’t all your psychic whatnot disappear when Azazel died, psychic boy wonder?” Dean replied pushing at a branch in front of him and letting it go as he stepped past so it slapped Sam in face, “’sides, he coulda figured all that stuff out just by looking around the dude’s apartment. Doesn’t take a psychic to know a dude whose place is covered in outdoorsy crap likes to hike and camp.”
“What about the dude having a super-secret camping spot?” Sam asked kicking a rock at his brother’s leg in petty revenge for the branch.
“Dude had a massive map of this area on his wall from 2015. It had a bunch of holes in it from push pins like he was trying to map out where something was. Psychic guy could have easily saw the map and figured it out.” Dean stops, dropping the shovel he was carrying and stretching his shoulders and back. Sam pauses behind him staring at the back of his head and blinking in surprise.
“Huh” Sam says, dropping his own shovel and the duffel bag that he was carrying. “I didn’t even notice that.”
“Well–” Dean was interrupted by a branch snapping a short distance away from where the two brothers were standing. Both men reached for their guns tucked into the backs of their jeans.
They could hear the sound of footsteps through the woods a few feet from where they stood. Dean rolls his eyes, turning back towards Sam, his eyebrows pinched together in disbelief as two men come bumbling out from behind cluster of trees.
Dean gestures towards the men with his hand in a way that has Sam muttering “jerk” underneath his breath. The brothers pick up their shovels and Sam shoulders the duffle bag as Dean calls out, “Hey! Idiot One, Idiot Two.”
The one Sam remembers getting introduced as “S. Day Pink Himalayan Salt” by the self-proclaimed Head Psychic for the Santat Barbara Police Department, Shawn Spencer, –though Sam was pretty sure that wasn’t the man’s actual name considering he smacked Spencer across the chest and said “It’s M. Night Shamalan, Shawn, I know you know that one” Spencer had shrugged and replied “Eh, I’ve heard it both ways”– let out a squeal and jumped in fright.
Spencer let out a scandalized “Dude” before walking towards the brothers shouting, “Well if it isn’t the F.B.I. or should I say F.F.B.I”
“F.F.B.I?” Sam muttered to Dean as they got closer to the other men.
“Fake F.B.I obviously” Shawn replied as the four men came to a stop next to two giant rowan trees, “Clocked you guys as soon as you walked into the room.”
“What are you talking about dude?” Dean asked.
“I'm talking about your fake FBI badges, and your even dumber aliases. Are you kidding me? Two FBI agents, with names that just so happen to match 80’s rock bands, though Irwin and Hemmings, really?” Shawn said using finger quotes as he spoke, “That's the kind of thing they put in an FBI file about criminals. Especially ones as notorious as you two. So, Sam and Dean Winchester, what are you two doing in Santa Barbara?”
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, “We uh, get that a lot” Sam responded clearing his throat.
“Yeah,” Dean laughed, “Kind of hoped it would stop after those two died but I guess not.”
Shawn looked to his friend, “Gus, remember that guy who thought he was a werewolf and I told you he wasn’t despite all the evidence pointing towards it?”
“Um yeah, you were insistent that something else was happening. You said something about hearts being torn out or something.” Gus shifted his body slightly towards Shawn as he spoke, keeping his eyes on the brothers.
“Right, remember that summer I spent as a bartender at that roadhouse run by that woman and her daughter?” Shawn spoke.
“Yeah, but what does–” Gus looked to Shawn.
“Wait,” Dean interrupted, “You know Ellen and Jo?”
“Yep,” Shawn responded popping the ‘p’, “They saved me after a werewolf knocked me of my bike and tried to make me its bitch. Ellen gave me a job at the roadhouse until I could afford to fix my bike up. Taught me what I needed to know to protect myself–”
A loud scream came from their left and seconds later a young girl came crashing through the trees next to the men.
“Woah,” Dean caught the girl as she barreled through the group and slammed into him, “What is it kid?”
The girl looked up at Dean and all four men flinched at the sight of blood covering the girl’s front. “They are gonna kill him,” the girl screamed, her breath panting out of her.
“Who?” Sam asked looking towards where the girl had run from.
A shout came from behind the trees and the girl took off running back towards the sound.
“Hey wait,” Dean shouted, shoving his shovel at Gus before taking off after the girl.
“Dean, wait!” Sam shouted after his brother, dropping his gear on the forest floor and taking off after Dean.
Shawn and Gus looked at each other, communicating with their eyebrows for a moment before Shawn picked up Sam’s gear and followed the path the two giant brothers had left in their wake.
The Librarians
“Finally!” Cassandra Cillian squealed out as she popped in from the main library with a pep in her step.
“Is that the clippings book?” Jacob Stone asked as he came stalking down the hallway into the annex.
Ezekiel Jones hopped on the thick handrail that lined the staircase in the annex and slid down to the first floor.
The three librarians converged around the thick book sitting on the large table near the center of the annex’s first floor.
They watched as newspaper clippings filled the page, covering every blank inch before the book began to rattle and thicken as more pages seemed to fill up.
“Woah” Cassandra let out as the three stepped back from the book, waiting for it to settle before stepping forward to flip through the newly filled pages.
“Well, it’s never done that before.” Jacob said as he watched Cassandra flip through the pages.
“That’s a lot of clippings,” Ezekiel said, his brow furrowing. He reached out, pausing Cassandra before she could flip the page again. “Wait, look, this first one says Anchorage, 1962, but this one says New York 1865.”
Cassandra flipped through the pages until she reached the last one, “Ten pages of clippings, why didn’t we get this until now?” She stepped away to the desk near the Back Door and ruffled through some of the papers sitting on the desk.
Jacob stepped closer to the book, “Hikers missing on the Sunrise trail in Tacoma found dead two days later. Two surveyors with RedBuilder killed while mapping new camping ground in Michigan. 1997, 2009, 2003, 1864,” he says reading some of the headlines on the pages.
Cassandra steps back over with a notepad and begins to make a timeline of where and when the disappearances and deaths were taking place. “I’m gonna go find Baird and Jenkins.” Jacob said before walking back down the hallway in search of their Guardian and The Library’s immortal caretaker.
“Goodness, these clippings are all over the country.” Cassandra stated before flipping to the next page to continue her notes, “All over the country, this page has clippings from all over Europe!” She flipped through the next few pages, writing down the locations, dates, and number of victims before setting down her pen and looking up.
“What’ve we got?” Colonel Eve Baird said as she walked into the annex, “Stone said something about missing hikers?”
“Ten pages of missing hikers, surveyors, backpacker…” Ezekiel said looking over the last page again, “This one has an article about a couple of archeologists in Irgoli, Italy. The one next to it is for treasure hunters in Barranca, Peru.”
“Wait, so where does it want us to go?” Baird asked, walking up to grab the notepad off the table, “Germany, Chile, Lesotho, Mauritius, Indonesia, Turkey, Canada. This list takes us all over the globe. What could the book possibly want us to find.”
Cassandra threw her hands up in the air as if she was pulling up a holographic map. It always reminded Ezekiel of when he’d snuck into Victoria Beckham’s mansion to binge watch Marvel movies for his birthday. Tony Stark had flung the image of his blueprints of the screen of his holodesk and into the air so he could manipulate it as a 3-D image. He imagined for Cassandra, it was not dissimilar to how her hallucinations worked.
She moved her hands like she was adding pins to the map, “Guys, this doesn’t make any sense. Unless the artifact can teleport across oceans in seconds, there is no way we are looking for one object.”
Jenkins walked into the annex then, Jacob following behind him with a disgruntled look on his face.
“Well Jenkins,” Baird asked the older man, “Know anything that could teleport across oceans and continents that quickly?”
“Oh, many things come to mind, though most of them are here in the Library,” Jenkins said as he flipped through the clipping book, his brows rising and mouth pinching in concern, “and out of the things we don’t have, well none of them could do this.”
“Huh” he muttered to himself before stepping towards the bookshelves lining the walls and searching for something, “Notice anything interesting about the victims?”
Jacob reads out lout as he flips through the pages, “Hunters, surveyor, backpackers, archeologists, wildlife researchers–”
“Wait so are we looking for some kind of magic wilds artifact?” Ezekiel asked.
“There was a story that was told to every young knight and squire that dreamed of serving in Camelot,” Jenkins began, still searching the bookcases “The story told of two goddess who came together to build a sanctuary for weary travelers. We were told that if we ever found ourselves lost on a quest or a hunt, and we stumbled upon an empty cabin that seemed to appear as if by magic, we could trust to find safety and shelter within its walls.” He paused at a shelf before pulling a book down and flipping through it. “Ah, here it is, Hestiani House. A collaboration between the Greek goddess Hestia and the Hindu goddess Aranyani. The house often depicted as a large cottage or lodge travels the globe, appearing to those who find themselves Lost in the wild.” He glances up at the others, “That’s capital L lost meaning physically or spiritually lost.”
“So, what some magic cabin powered by the gods is going crazy and killing people?” Jacob asked.
“And why are just now learning about this? I mean the library has been around for centuries. Surely another Librarian would have heard about this at some point.” Cassandra asked.
“Most recent location is Santa Barbara, California. A couple of hikers and campers have been found dead.” Baird said looking at Cassandra’s notes. “Cassandra, do you think you could figure out a probable location to lock the Back Door onto?”
“Give me a minute,” Cassandra threw her hands back in the air, scrolling her invisible mindscape for a moment before spouting out an area of coordinates. “Jenkins, anything you can lock onto in that radius?”
Jenkins fiddled with the globe that house the circuitry for the Back Door, “I’ve got something, margin of error likely less than a mile off.”
“Better than nothing.” Baird said before clapping her hands once, “Alrighty team you’ve got ten minutes to grab what you need and meet back here. Chop chop!” She then left to gather her gear, and the three librarians went off to collect what they need. Eleven minutes later the Back Door spat them out into a large room filled with comfortable looking wood furniture. To their right, a large fireplace burned below the image of a kneeling woman.
“Oh!” Cassandra gasped out suddenly, and the group turned to where a figure stood in a framed in shadow.
Hestiani House
Shawn and Gus broke through the tree line into the clearing and stumbled to a stop. Just ahead they could see the faint silhouettes of Sam and Dean as all four men took in the sight before them. A massive two-story building loomed in front of them framed by the setting sun.
“The sun,” Shawn muttered.
“What?” Gus asked his eyes locked on the looming structure.
“The sun,” Shawn said louder, walking towards the brothers, “Before we went through the trees, it was barely noon. The sun shouldn’t be this low in the sky; it doesn’t make any sense.”
“The–” Gus cut off with a rough shiver as a cold breeze blew through the clearing. “What the hell? Shawn?”
“Sam? Dean?” Shawn asked the brothers. They stood still for a moment before shivering and pivoting to look around.
“Where’d she go?” Dean asked.
“Dean–” Shawn began.
“The girl, where is she?” Dean asked again his voice rougher.
“I don’t know but–” Shawn was interrupted again.
“Dean look” Sam spoke, gesturing toward the lodge, the sky getting even darker as the sun set further.
“What the hell?” Dean asked, turning from the building and facing the way they had come. “How?” He pulled out his cellphone, but the thing was dead and useless. He showed it to Sam who checked his own and turned to the other two men in the clearing.
“Your phones dead too?” Sam asked.
Shawn and Gus pulled out their phones and tried to turn them on to no avail. Shawn looked up, past where Sam stood in front of him. “Maybe they have a landline or something. We can call for backup.”
Sam and Dean eyed the massive cabin in front of them before looking at each other and nodding.
“Alright,” Dean responded, “But you stay behind us and you do what we say when we say, we have no idea what the hell we are walking into.”
“Deal.” Shawn and Gus spoke at the same time.
The four men made their way to the stone steps leading to the lodge doors. Shawn paused at the base of the steps, blinking up at the porch. He felt the odd chill sliding through his body, and he swallowed his throat suddenly dry.
“Shawn?” Gus asked halfway up the steps, “You okay”
Shawn shook himself, digging a finger against his ear, “Yeah dude, this place is just super–” he trailed off, his eyes tracking up to a window on the second floor where he saw a large mishappen shadow.
“Creepy” Gus said. “Reminds me of that one movie. The one with the guy from– “
“Yo, chuckleheads!” Dean shouted from where him and Sam stood by the door, “You coming?”
A loud screech came from the woods behind them and Shawn and Gus quickly scrambled up the steps to where the brothers were standing.
The front doors were large and ornate. Both doors were intricately carved with various vines, trees and animals and the copper-colored handles were embellished each with a hearth. Carved into the trimming were words in an elegant script reading, “All are welcome here in this home. Enter and be blessed.”
Dean reached for the handle of door and went to twist the handle, when a hand shot out and gripped him tightly on the wrist.
“Dude, the hell are you doing,” he turned to face Shawn, his face much closer than Shawn had been expecting.
“What?” Shawn asked, leaning away from Dean.
“You got a reason why we shouldn’t enter psychic?” Dean asked, turning more to face Shawn.
“What?” Shawn asked, even more confused, “No?”
“Then you want to let go of my wrist?” Dean asked raising his arm, and Shawn’s hand with it.
Shawn blinked at where his hand was gripping Dean’s wrist, his knuckles white with how tight his hand was holding. He let go as if his hand had been burned and flexed it twice before shaking it out. “Sorry, I uh–” Shawn let out an awkward laugh, “Must be the spirits.”
“Right.” Dean said, turning back towards and pushing the door open slowly. All four men braced, expecting the hinges of such an ancient looking house, but the doors opened silently. Dean glanced back at Sam and his brother shrugged.
The four men stepped into the entry way, their eyes sliding around the room, taking in the sight of the bright chandelier that hung from the ceiling, the color of which cast an almost red hue to the lighting in the room.
Shawn stepped further into the room behind the other three and the door slammed shut behind him, it echoed through the building like a deep chuckle. They turned to look at the doors and Shawn shot out his hand to the handles.
“Not locked,” Shawn breathed in relief as the handles still twisted, “Must’ve been the wind.”
A thud came from upstairs, and the me turned quickly, the brothers raising their guns and Shawn and Gus brandishing the shovels in their hands as weapons. Dean turned to face Shawn and Gus, putting a finger to his lips, signaling the two men to keep quiet. They crept closer to the stairs, slowly. Shawn could feel eyes on him and he turned his head, pausing when his eyes caught on a sliver of light coming from a darkened archway off to the left of where the men were. He lowered the shovel in his hands and wandered over to the light.
Downstairs
Shawn stopped in the entrance of what looked to be a large sitting room, staring at where the four mismatched people had suddenly appeared from what looked to be a closet. The redhead turned to face him and let out a sudden gasp. The blonde woman, in a neat but functional grey suit tensed and reached for her hip, likely where she kept her service weapon. He catalogued her companions noting their appearances and made mental notes of all the things that stuck out about them.
“Uh, sorry to spook you guys,” Shawn spoke stepping further into the room, and closer to where the fire sat, goosebumps suddenly raising on his arms.
“Who are you?” the blonde woman asked stepping in front of the younger two of her companions, her stance protective. Definitely military, Shawn noted to himself.
“Shawn Spencer, Psychic Detective.” Shawn spoke smug but distracted as his eyes caught on the painting above the fireplace.
“Psychic Detective?” The group spoke as one, each voice varied in awe (the redhead) and in disbelief (the other three).
“Yep,” Shawn answered, his eyes searching the room. Something felt off but he couldn’t tell what, so he defaulted to what his father had taught him and scanned the room, cataloguing every detail. “Who are you guys?”
“Oh!” The redhead let out stepping closer to where Shawn was standing and bouncing lightly in place, “We’re The Librarians.”
Shawn’s brain stuttered for a moment, like something had tried to tickle its way into his consciousness. He shook his head, wincing as pain lanced behind his eye. “Weird” he whispered to himself. He continued to drag his eyes around the room, turning and facing the various couches and chairs that filled the room. He stopped, his eyes catching on the young girl sitting in a plump, wing backed chair, reading in the light of the flower shaped lamp on the table next to her. “Jesus, Carrie, and Joseph,” he startled out.
The girl looked up then as if she had been waiting for the attention in the room to shift to her. Even from where he was standing feet away, he could see the grey of her eyes and the pearl-like sheen to her skin.
“Hello.” She greeted the group, closing the book and setting it on the table beside her, “I shall let Madame Petril know that guest have arrived. It has been so long since we last had guests.” She smiled sharply skipped off through a wall.
“Uh, did she just–” the cowboy wannabe who was definitely smarter than he appeared stuttered out.
The blonde pushed some chairs aside as she walked to where the girl had disappeared and reached her hand through the wall.
“What the he–” The cowboy let out, coughing in embarrassment when the hand the blonde has seemingly stuck through a wall was illuminated as she turned on the light to what was apparently a hallway.
“Oh” Shawn breathed out in relief, dragging his gaze from her hand to her face where her brows were still furrowed in confusion.
“Colonel Baird?” The redhead questioned, stepping closer to the blonde woman, Baird. Shawn was right about her being military.
The group followed behind her cautiously, peeking into the hallway. “What?” Shawn let out, taking in what was not a hallway but an open cubby in the wall where dozens of old books lined the shelf. A sign sitting on one of the shelves read “House Library”.
“Secret tunnel?” The Asian man asked,
“Dude, you’re British?” Shawn asked turning to face him.
“What?” the man turned to face Shawn, “No, I’m Australian.”
Footsteps approached the room and the group turned as four people walked in the room.
“Shawn!” Gus stomped over to where Shawn was standing and punched him in the arm, “What the hell dude? Why’d you wander off?”
“Thought I saw something, look dude–” Shawn was cut of as the Winchesters and an older woman came closer to the group.
“More guests!” The woman clapped joyfully, “As I was telling these three delightful men, I am Madame Petril, the caretaker of this lovely establishment.”
“Oh!” Colonel Baird said, stepping up to shake the woman’s hand, “Yes, I think we just met your daughter? Little girl, blonde, very proper”
“Oh yes! Young Mary,” Madame Petril smiled wistfully, “Such a good girl, sneaky but ever so smart, shame about her family but well…” she trailed off.
A shiver ran through the group and Shawn turned behind him when Gus whispered something.
“What?” he whispered back, but Gus just furrowed his brows in confusion.
“I didn’t say anything.” Gus whispered back, “You okay Shawn?”
“Yeah dude just thought–” Shawn trailed off, shaking his head, “Never mind.”
“Come, Come!” Madame Petril clapped her hands, “I’ll give you a tour and show you to your rooms.”
She turned and began to walk towards the archway, the group of eight looking at each other before following behind her. “We currently have four double-beds available,” Madame Petril spoke, turning her head to look at the group behind her, “So, I hope you don’t mind–”
“Madame Petril!” Cassandra called out to stop the woman before she stepped into the chair that had been shifted by the group moving towards the library earlier, “The ch–“ Cassandra squeaked, and the group came to a sudden stop as Madame Petril walked clear through the chair and continued for a few more steps, seemingly realizing her mistake.
“Oh, dear!” She laughed out, “Well, I guess as you young folk say these days, ‘the jig is up’”
The flames in the fireplace went out with a woosh and the lights in the room flickered out as a deep chill filled the air. The specter of Madame Petril disappeared with a chuckle.
Shawn blinked in the darkness and flinched as he felt the duffle bag he had forgotten he was carrying get yanked from his shoulder and he heard the zipper rip open.
“Anyone know how to shoot a gun?” Dean’s gruff voice came from where the duffle had been yanked to.
“Me. And Stone” Baird’s said pointing with her thumb to where the cowboy stood next to her.
Dean pulled two sawed off shotguns out of the bag and shoved them at Baird and Stone. He dug a few shotgun shells out of the bag, handing Sam two thin but heavy looking metal polls as he did. Handing the shells to Baird and Stone, he spoke “Shells are filled with rock salt, won’t kill ‘em but it’ll scare them off for a minute. Shoot anything that isn’t one of us.”
He stalked off to the fireplace, grabbing more metal rods from where they sat on a rack near it. He rubbed his hands over them for a moment before walking back over to the group and handing them out. “Iron. Works just like rock salt, see the lady or the girl, you swing.”
He eyed the group, pausing on Shawn, “Where’d your friend wander off to?”
Shawn blinked, “What?” he looked behind him where Gus had been standing moments ago, “Gus?”
He gripped the iron poker in his hand tightly, stepping away from the group to search the room, “Gus? Where’d you go buddy?”
His eyes caught on something sitting against the wall opposite where they stood, he shoved past Dean and picked up the object.
“Gus,” he whispered looking at the grey Puma shoe his hand. He looked up at the wall and flinched back. Sitting just above eye level was a large handprint, bigger than what Madame Petril or Mary could have left. Underneath it was a name ‘Stadler’ and a single tally. “They took him.” Shawn spoke as he turned back to the others in the room barely registering that they had migrated closer to him, “They took Gus.”