banshee | s. winchester

19 | playthings ¹

BANSHEE

19 | playthings ¹

Sam and Dean parked the Impala outside of the Pierpont Inn, where Abigail was already leaning against her bike. The ground was wet beneath their feet and the air was misty, which had made Abigail's wait feel like she was waiting to be murdered.

"Hey," Sam greeted her.

Abigail gave a small smile and turned to walk up the porch. "You guys took your time," she announced.

As they walked up the steps, Sam noticed an urn on the side of the porch. His eyes fell to a symbol. "Hey, wait a sec," Sam spoke up, stopping his brother and Abigail. He inspected it closer. "I'm not so sure haunted's the problem."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"You see this pattern here?" Sam asked, tapping the symbol engraved on the urn. "That's a quincunx, that's a five-spot."

"Five-spot."

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

"That's used for hoodoo spellwork, isn't it?" Dean asked.

Abigail spoke up. "Yeah. If you filled this thing with bloodweed, then you got a hella powerful charm to ward off enemies."

"Yeah, except I don't see any bloodweed. Don't you think this place is a little too, uh, whitemeat for hoodoo?" Dean asked, looking between Sam and Abigail.

"Maybe." Sam shrugged.

Abigail entered first, the brothers behind her. Susan, the owner of the hotel, entered. "May I help you?" She asked, looking at the group.

"Hi, yeah, I'd like a room for a couple of nights," Dean announced.

Sam moved in, (presumably) her child darting in front of his legs as he did so. "Hey!" Susan yelled to her, before apologising to Sam. "Sorry about that."

"No problem."

"Well, um, congratulations, you could be some of our final guests," Susan told them.

"Sounds vaguely ominous," Abigail said jokingly.

"No, I'm sorry, I mean we're closing at the end of the month," Susan told them. "Well, let me guess. You guys are here antiquing?"