Mythmaker Read online

  Geoffrey flexed his fingers, fascinated by the way the gauntlet-finger followed the movement of his joints, even though it had no apparent joints of its own. “Can it zap people?”

  “No. It will only lead you to my creator. I have made it so.”

  He nodded. He closed his eyes and tried to sense this person who was so powerful that she could wish up gods out of thin air. At first, he sensed nothing, but then—off in the distance—he felt more than saw a small pinpoint of light. He felt it calling to him, pulling him toward it. He opened his eyes, and the light was still there in his mind, a guiding beacon, ready to help him fulfill his god’s desire.

  “That’s why you had them leave the third car, wasn’t it?” he asked. “So I could use it.”

  Adamantine reached out and took the spear from his other hand. She smiled.

  “I can’t very well let my priest walk, can I?”

  EIGHT

  “After this, let’s look for a case in California,” Dean said. “Or maybe Florida. Someplace warm.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Sam guessed the temperature was in the lower thirties. Not all that bad, really, but it was dark and the wind was blowing, which made it feel colder. They’d been walking in downtown Corinth for the last half hour, and they were surprised at the number of people who were still out at this hour. Given the amount of both pedestrians and street traffic, if Sam hadn’t known that Corinth was a small town, he would’ve thought he was in a city with a thriving nightlife. There was an almost electric hum in the air, a mounting tension that translated into nervous energy in Corinth’s citizens. They moved fast and spoke even faster, as if they had a great deal to do and not a lot of time to do it in. It felt to Sam as if something was coming—something big—and whatever it was, he knew it wasn’t good. Dean sensed it, too, and that awareness made both brothers anxious to understand more about what was happening here. If the god infestation was building toward an event of some kind, they had to stop it before it could take place. If they failed, Sam feared that people—dozens, hundreds, maybe even thousands—were going to die. They couldn’t let that happen.

  The brothers had no trouble finding people willing to talk to them about the new gods that had appeared in town. The problem was these people were all too willing. Each of them was thrilled to tell the Winchesters how wonderful and life-changing their god was. Unfortunately, their sales pitches were short on specifics and they mostly ignored whatever questions Sam and Dean asked. They’d spoken with eleven different people in the last thirty minutes but had learned little. Sam was frustrated, and he knew Dean was, too.

  “These people seem almost desperate to find converts for their gods,” Sam said.

  “It makes sense that the gods are recruiting,” Dean said. “After all, what’s a war without soldiers?”

  “That’s a disturbing thought.”

  “Let me know if you want another. I’ve got a million of them.”

  The one thing they hadn’t seen so far was an actual god. Their followers were only too happy to spread the good news about their gods—tales of miracles performed, battles fought and won—but if they knew where their chosen deities were located, they weren’t saying. Sam guessed the followers were reluctant to tell potential recruits where their chosen deities could be found until they’d made a commitment to becoming a follower. Once that occurred, the recruits would be taken before the god and some sort of Binding ceremony would take place. Sam doubted it was merely a ritual, though. His guess was that the gods used their powers to literally bind their worshippers to them on a spiritual level, but whatever the nature of the bond was, it wasn’t permanent. That explained why there were so many people out trying to convince others to worship their god—because it was possible to switch allegiances. At least for now. As this process came closer to completion, he suspected that a time would come when changing from one god to another was no longer an option. The game of spiritual musical chairs would be over, and when the music stopped, whatever god you were Bound to would be the one you’d stay Bound to. But until then, it was like a smorgasbord of deities—you could try a little of this, a little of that, and some of the other. Sam wondered what would happen to the worshippers when this process—whatever it was—finally reached its climax. Whatever happened, he doubted it would be good for the worshippers. The monsters who called themselves gods were predators, after all.

  “Excuse me!” a woman called to them.

  She looked to be in her eighties and stood in a doorway with a gray blanket wrapped around her for warmth. Sam thought they probably would’ve walked past without registering her presence if she hadn’t spoken to them. The brothers stopped and turned to face the woman. The business whose doorway she occupied was a twenty-four-hour laundromat called Wash-o-Rama. From what Sam could see through the window, the place was empty, probably because no one had time to do laundry when spreading the gospel of whichever deity they served at the moment.

  “Yes, ma’am?” Dean said.

  She smiled, and Sam saw that she shivered beneath her blanket. The cold wasn’t that bad—it was still above freezing, and the doorway protected her somewhat from the wind—but he figured the temperature was probably more difficult for older folks to take. She shouldn’t be out here; she should be inside where it was warm.

  “I was wondering if you boys wouldn’t mind my talking to you for a bit.”

  Her voice was pleasant and soothing, and Sam found himself wanting to hear what she had to say. He’d experienced this same effect when speaking with the other worshippers, and he theorized that they’d all been imbued by their gods with a touch of magic, just enough to catch and hold people’s attention while they delivered their sales pitch. The brothers’ long experience with magic of various kinds helped them recognize what was happening, which in turn allowed them to resist it, but they still felt the effect when it took place. So not only did Sam want to hear what the woman had to say because he hoped he and Dean might learn something that would help them defeat the gods of Corinth, he also listened because he wanted to.

  But before she could launch into her spiel, Dean said, “Let me guess: You want to tell us about someone very special who’s changed your life completely and can do the same for us, if we’ll just let him-slash-her-slash-it into our hearts. Sound about right?”

  The woman looked momentarily confused, but then she grinned in delight. “Yes! That’s it precisely!”

  Dean clapped his hands together and spoke with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Well, that sounds exactly like what my brother and I have been searching for.” He turned to Sam. “Isn’t that right?”

  Sam wasn’t sure where Dean was going with this, but he decided to back his play. “Absolutely!” he said, doing his best to sound excited.

  Dean turned back to the woman. “It’s kind of chilly tonight, so what’s say we skip the preliminaries? My brother and I are looking to be Bound, and if you can help make that happen for us, we’d sure be grateful.”

  “That’s right,” Sam added. He thought he understood what Dean was doing. The sooner they encountered one of the new gods—however dangerous that might be—the sooner they could start to more fully understand what was happening in this town and hopefully do something about it. Dean had gotten tired of waiting and was looking to speed things up. Sam wasn’t sure it was going to work, though. Sure, there was a kind of feeding frenzy going on when it came to recruiting new worshippers, but wouldn’t the woman expect them to want to hear something about her god before they made a commitment? But if their eagerness to get Bound right away bothered her, she didn’t show it.

  “I’m happy to help,” the woman said. “Overjoyed, in fact! My god’s temple is nearby. If you’ll just follow me?”

  Without waiting for a response, she stepped out of the doorway, and Sam and Dean moved aside to make room for her to pass. She started walking down the sidewalk, moving easily enough for someone of her age, and she drew the blanket around her more tightly as the wind
kicked up. Sam and Dean followed close behind.

  “Ma’am, you said you’re taking us to your god’s… temple?” Sam asked.

  “Yes. They all seem to need a place where they can gather their worshippers together and keep them close. These places don’t even have to be real temples, just someplace they can call their own. I’m not sure why they need these places, to be honest, but then, we’re only mortals, and as such, we shouldn’t question their ways, should we?”

  “No, ma’am,” Sam said. He knew the they she referred to were the gods, and in this case, temples sounded a lot more like lairs to him. Monsters often had places where they hid from the world until it was time to go out and hunt again, and many times these lairs were also places where their power was concentrated. If the gods fed off their worshippers’ emotional energy, they would need to keep them nearby, and to do that, they’d need a central gathering place. And temple sounded so much nicer than larder.

  The woman led them to the mouth of an alley, stopped, and with a half-bow gestured for them to go in ahead of her.

  “The temple’s in there?” Dean asked.

  “No,” the woman said. “The alley is the temple.”

  Sam exchanged a look with his brother. The woman might’ve said temple, but the two of them heard trap. In other circumstances, they would’ve drawn both their guns and knives before entering the alley, but they couldn’t go in armed and still pass themselves off as new worshippers eager to be Bound. They were going to have to walk in with empty hands, keep their eyes open, and be ready for anything.

  The alley was a large one, wide enough for a car to pass through, and Sam and Dean were able to enter it walking side by side. Some snow remained near the walls, but most of it had either been shoveled away or removed by cars passing through the alley. The woman followed after them and called out, “It’s Molly! I’ve brought a couple new recruits, and they’re fine-looking specimens, if you ask me!” She chortled at this.

  Sam and Dean exchanged another look. Being referred to as specimens was never good.

  The alley was dimly lit, but Sam could make out a pair of dumpsters, along with a number of small mounds that he assumed were plastic garbage bags. He couldn’t figure out why the trash had been left in the alley like that when there were two dumpsters, neither of which appeared to be full. He also didn’t understand why the bags had been spread throughout the alley instead of being piled up near the dumpsters. But as they moved farther into the alley, what he thought were trash bags stood up, and he had his answer. They were people, presumably Molly’s fellow worshippers, who’d been sitting with their backs against the alley walls, arms wrapped around their knees, heads bowed. Sam hadn’t recognized them at first due to the alley’s lack of lighting. Which, he assumed, was exactly how they had wanted it.

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw several men and women standing in the mouth of the alley, blocking the exit. Another group shuffled together until they stood shoulder to shoulder at the alley’s other end. Trap, Sam thought. No doubt about it.

  Dean gave Sam a questioning look that said, Time to cut the act and start shooting? Sam replied with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Not yet. They’d come here to meet a god, and until one showed up, they’d keep playing it cool.

  Sam turned to Molly. “So what do we do now?”

  Molly grinned, a hint of madness glimmering in her eyes. “All you have to do is stand here and wait. Karrion will be here soon.”

  “That’s the name of your god?” Sam asked. “Karrion?”

  Molly nodded.

  “I’m not trying to criticize,” Dean said, “but that sounds kind of dark, don’t you think? Like, Darth Vader dark.”

  “Oh, no!” Molly said. “Karrion’s wonderful! Just ask anyone here.”

  The crowd of worshippers chanted their agreement in unison.

  “Great Karrion is merciful. He harvests others so that we might be spared.”

  “Like that isn’t creepy,” Dean muttered.

  By this time, Sam’s eyes had adjusted to the alley’s dimness, and he was able to make out the worshippers’ features. They were all old, their ages ranging from seventies to nineties, he estimated. Some wore hospital gowns and slippers, blankets serving in place of coats, as if they’d escaped from a medical facility of some kind. As near as Sam could tell, none of them were armed, but their gazes shone with cruel anticipation, and he knew whatever was going to happen next, it wasn’t going to be good.

  One of the dumpster lids began to creak open, and Sam saw hands, one pushing the lid upward, the other gripping onto the dumpster’s edge. The hands were covered by leather gloves and were almost twice the size of normal human hands. With a hard push, the dumpster lid was thrown all the way back, and a figure climbed up and over the container’s edge. It landed on the ground with a solid thump, and stood there for a moment, regarding the Winchesters. The man was massive, close to seven feet tall with broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and arms and legs thick as tree trunks. He wore a pair of long-sleeved coveralls with heavy work boots, and in his right hand he gripped a huge machete, its gleaming blade dotted with suspicious-looking stains. His face was like something out of a nightmare. Half of it was covered with scar tissue, as if he’d been horribly burned at one point, and the other half had no flesh at all, was nothing but white bone—empty eye socket, grinning teeth… He was mostly bald, with patches of wiry black hair that stuck out from his head like weeds. He gazed at the brothers impassively with his one eye, and Sam saw nothing remotely human there. No thought, no emotion, only emptiness as cold and endless as space itself.

  Molly still stood close to them, and she leaned forward now and spoke in a soft, reverent voice.

  “Karrion keeps death at bay for his followers, and in return for this wondrous gift, we bring him sacrifices. Young sacrifices that are full of life.” She chuckled. “I’d say you two fit the bill quite nicely, eh?”

  Before either brother could respond, she backed away from them to join her fellow worshippers.

  Sam looked at Dean.

  “Well, we did want to meet a god,” he said.

  Karrion raised his machete and came stalking toward them.

  * * *

  Julie is in the kitchen making dinner: roast beef, baked potatoes, honey-glazed carrots, and apple pie with ice cream for dessert. Dean, Sam, Stewart, and Gretchen all offered to help, but she shooed them out, saying, I like working alone in the kitchen. It’s relaxing. So the four teenagers are hanging out in the living room while Julie bustles about, singing softly to herself. Dean loves the domesticity of it all. Sam was only a baby when their mother died, but Dean remembers her—a little, anyway—and he finds Julie’s simple enjoyment in preparing a meal comforting. Plus, the food smells fantastic. Because the Winchesters spend so much time on the road, they eat at fast-food joints and greasy-spoon diners a lot. A home-cooked meal like the kind Julie is preparing is quite a luxury, and Dean intends to enjoy every single bite.

  The TV is on and tuned to an old western movie called The Searchers. Dean has seen it a half-dozen times before, but it’s so good, he doesn’t mind seeing it again. The sound’s turned down low, so it’s hard to hear the actors, but that’s okay. He remembers almost all the dialogue. He’s sitting on the couch next to Stewart and Gretchen is sitting on the other side of her brother, leaving Sam the armchair next to Dean. Dean would rather sit next to Gretchen, but at least Sam isn’t, so that’s something. He feels a momentary pang of guilt for competing with his brother like this—although so far neither one of them has gotten into the ball park with Gretchen, let alone reached first base—but he can’t help it. They meet so few girls their age on the road. Besides, he is the older brother, so that should give him dibs, right?

  “Your mom’s really happy,” Sam says. It’s unclear whether he’s speaking to Gretchen, Stewart, or both, but Stewart answers.

  “We lost our dad to the Sheepsquatch a year-and-a-half ago. Since then all mom could think a
bout was bringing the bastard down, you know?”

  Dean thinks about their father’s pursuit of the yellow-eyed demon that killed their mother.

  “Yeah, we do,” he says.

  Stewart continues, “She tried everything she could think of to get him, but nothing worked. Not until—” Gretchen elbows him in the ribs, cutting him off. He glares at her, but says, “Until we got lucky.”

  Gretchen ignores her brother’s glare and smiles at Sam. “That’s why tonight’s so special. It’s like Christmas, New Year’s, Thanksgiving, Fourth of July, and all our birthdays rolled into one! And I’m so glad you’re both here to share it with us.” Dean grinds his teeth in jealousy.

  “Yeah, it’s awesome!” Stewart says. “After all, we couldn’t have done it without you!”

  Stewart punches Dean on the arm as a show of enthusiasm, but the blow lands hard, and Dean winces. He’s tempted to rub the spot where Stewart’s fist connected with his body, but he doesn’t want to look like a wimp, so he restrains himself.

  “We were happy to help,” Sam says, “but we really didn’t do that much.”

  Sammy’s right. Dean managed to put some rounds into the Sheepsquatch, and Sammy might have too, although given his distance from the target, there’s a good chance he missed. But their contributions to the fight were minimal at best, and he’s certain the Underwoods would’ve defeated the beast without them. Still, if they want to thank him and Sam, Dean isn’t going to turn away their gratitude—especially when it takes the form of a mouth-watering home-cooked feast.

  Julie calls from the kitchen then. “All right, everyone! Come help me set the table!”

  Dean’s the first to his feet, and he practically runs to the dining room.

  * * *

  It’s dark. Pitch-black, actually. Dean can’t see a thing. He has a headache and his mouth is so dry it feels like it’s caked with sand. He’s lying on what feels like cold concrete, and his hands are bound behind his back with what he thinks is a zip tie. His ankles are bound as well. Where is he? A garage? A shed? A basement?