Smoke

The lock-up in Utah was exactly how Bela had left it. No surprise, really. She’d paid enough for the security of stagnation with the thing.

Still, it sent a thrill of strangeness through her, to see her own boot-print in the dust from the last time she was here. In her mind, it was hundreds of years since. Here, in the human world, it was less than a decade. Either way, she looked damn good for her age.

Smiling at her reflection in a polished bronze bowl, she tried to see if there were any outward signs of what she’d been through. Maybe there was something in the way she held herself, or in the tightness of her skin, but this body she’d acquired, one just like her old, human one, might be the way she’d look if she’d actually lived those nearly ten years on the surface, doing nothing more horrendous than making the occasional trade of a sought after item.

Going through Hell and through angelic Heaven should leave more marks.

A clatter brought her attention to the people behind her. Dean looked up from balancing an earthenware jar, the guilty expression on his face over something so minor almost enough to make Bela laugh. This was Alastair’s apprentice, this was the man who’d risen from the rack more brutalized and more brutal than any demon since Alastair himself, and he looked like he expected to be scolded for knocking a pot.

“It’s fine, Dean,” she said. “It’s almost five thousand years old, but I’m sure we can just glue it back together if you drop it.”

Dean pulled his hands away from the jar, holding them up as though afraid even being close would cause destruction, and turned, wiping his fingers on his legs. Was he trying to wipe off the clumsiness? Dean was even stranger than she’d remembered.

“What are we looking for, anyway?” he asked.

Behind him, Castiel picked up a withered finger on a chain, and raised an eyebrow at Bela.

“Not that,” she said, before the angel could point out it was a fake. Sometimes, fakes were worth a lot. She’d been a businesswoman, after all. Whatever sold. “This way.”

She’d thought this was a fake, too, back when she’d acquired it. It was only still here because she’d not worked out how to spin it into a sale. Amongst the many tidbits she’d picked up in the Pit was the knowledge that this was no fake.

She’d expected to find Dean beside her when she lifted the lid on the crate, but Castiel appeared instead, placing one surprisingly graceful hand on the edge of the box and leaning in. He was focused, intent. She could well believe he’d commanded battalions, that he’d more than once commanded large portions of the Host. She had a little more trouble believing he’d commanded Hannah.

“Where did you find this?” he asked.

As usual, Bela was struck by the depth of his voice, by the harmonics she was almost sure Dean and Sam didn’t notice. Side-effect of being a fully-spawned demon. There was a tang to being so near to an angel, something like having a live-wire running just under the skin. She’d know. The Pit was full of creativity.

“In a junk-shop in Leeds, of all places,” she said. “Thought it might fool some particularly stupid buyer.”

Castiel slid his gaze her way, looking at her from the corner of his eye. Bela upgraded her old, occasional thoughts about getting Dean into bed. Having this angel there too could be more than worth it. And Hannah wasn’t the jealous sort.

Still, not the time.

“This isn’t junk,” Castiel said.

“No kidding,” Bela said. “Thank God you’re here to correct me. I dragged us all the way here because I still thought it was junk.”

The heat in his eyes was enough that she almost backs down. Of course, she almost pushed him further. But that whole not the time thing…

“Look, it turns out this is capable of creating a demon without all the fuss of spending several subjective centuries in the Pit. From what I can tell, Cain used it to speed up the process with his Knights. He didn’t pass the Mark to them, you understand. That would have given them his power. Which means that our boy Dean wasn’t turning into any Knight of Hell. He was becoming Cain’s Heir. You can see why the demon groupies want him so badly.”

Castiel frowned, his eyes narrowing. It was startling. Bela actually wanted to take a step back. She didn’t.

“We want to stop them from turning Dean, not find a more efficient way to do it,” he said.

His words were conviction. Bela only wished she could master the skill.

“I have a plan,” she said. “This is part of it. Are you saying you don’t trust me?”

Castiel opened his mouth, stopped, and glanced behind Bela. At Hannah. The sparks which blossomed under Bela’s skin from Hannah’s presence were gentler than the ones planted by Castiel, but she could tell when Hannah was close.

Meeting her eyes again, Castiel grimaced. He was more expressive than Hannah was.

“I trust Hannah,” Castiel said. “Collect what you need and we’ll listen. But we aren’t doing anything without being sure.”

If Dean had an opinion on that, he didn’t share it.