RENEGADE "ANGEL"

Another One Bites the Dust, PART II

Hours passed, and Cora did not get up from her desk. She flipped through the books so large they should have been considered tomes, jotting down anything that seemed relevant and underlining passages. She wrote down connections between books in places they agreed or disagreed on certain standpoints, such as Lilith's origin and the abilities of a creature like her.

The sun was rising once more by the time Cora stopped reading. She slept for a little over an hour, forced herself to eat, and went back to her reading.

This pattern of read, sleep, eat, read, sleep, eat, etc. continued for two more days before Cora finally left her apartment, changing tactics. She needed more books than what she had.

Just streets away from her flat was a library Cora had often frequented as Fable. It had sections on anything anybody could need, and Cora was relying on that to remain true as she went in search of books on the occult.

"Can I help you, dear?" asked the elderly librarian. She didn't seem to recognize Cora, either, despite the numerous times "Fable" had practically lived at the library during research-heavy cases.

Fighting back a wave of sudden nostalgia, Cora said, "Not yet, thank you."

"Just let me know if you need anything, dear!" called the librarian, heading back down between the stacks with an armful of books.

A wave of nostalgia washed over Cora.

Being new to town was an old hat. What was unusual was being alone.

Cora walked through Aberdeen feeling like her brothers were flanking her, only to have her bubble burst when she turned to remark to Dean about the number of pubs on one street alone. He wasn't on her right, and Sam wasn't on her left. She was alone, and they thought she was dead.

Well. Dean thought she was dead. She wondered what he and John had done for her funeral, as there was no body to burn. Maybe they'd burn some of her possessions to keep her spirit down. Whatever they'd done, she was hoping they hadn't told Sam yet. She hoped her last letters would get to him soon, before it became suspiciously far after her death. She'd tried to keep the details vague, that way if Dean did go digging, he could assume the post office hadn't sent them out before her death. There had been a mail backup recently, hadn't there?

Aberdeen felt almost like an American town, up until Cora walked close by to conversing people and realized she had to really think to decipher the words behind the accent.

Cora had spent three days in Aberdeen, and already she was fighting the urge to run back home. She'd called Bobby at least eight times, a few to actually ask for the names of hunter contacts, but mostly to panic. She fought the urge to call Bobby again as she slotted her new keys into the lock of her new apartment—flats, they called them—and pushed open the door, painted a soft sage green.

It was as sparsely furnished as the landlord had promised it would be, but Cora didn't mind it. She liked the idea of making the space hers. At least that was a perk of being alone—her own place, covered in her stuff and not her brothers' dirty clothes and John's maps and Dean's junk food and Sam's books.

The walls were pale eggshell blue and white, with windows looking out onto the street. There was a single lamp by an empty wall-to-wall bookshelf and a desk without a chair. That would have to change shortly—Cora already had a case to work, the information she needed scribbled on a paper in her pocket.

She put her bags down on the floor and dug around for the single framed photograph she knew she could get away with taking with her. Neither Dean or John knew she had it, a photo of Dean holding baby Sam with Cora peeking at her little brother over her twin's shoulder. Mary was smiling in the background, her fingers over her mouth.