Innocence (Burning Beliefs #1)

Chapter Four *edited*

Chapter Four

"So this is a witch we're facing?" Dean says, before taking a bite of his greasy diner burger.

We're at a local joint, Teddy's In and Out, eating lunch. Cas and I didn't order. Cas just isn't hungry (of course) and I couldn't find anything on the menu under three hundred calories.

"Definitely," I say. "There was a hex bag halfway down her throat, animal bones, and everything. Did you find anything at the house?"

"People said that Bethany was superstitious about thieves, and murderers, crap like that," Sam explains. "But we found her back door unlocked."

"So we're starting to think," I say, gathering up all of our information. "That there's a witch in town, who for some reason, didn't like Bethany. So she breaks into her house, force-feeds her a paper sack of doom, and bolts? What about the vase?"

"Well, the vase was removed from the household and put on exhibit at the art museum as a 'memorial' type thing for Bethany," Sam says. "She taught a painting class there. I was thinking that Cas and Gracie could dress up as art inspectors and check it out."

Dean smiles at me a little too sweetly.

"A father-daughter bonding trip," he comments with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

I nearly choke on my water. "Someday," I shoot daggers at him with my eyes. "I'm going to punch you. Really hard. In the face. With a chair made of steel. And spikes."

"If you're Cas's kid," he retorts. "I sure as hell want to meet your mother."

"Is that supposed to mean something offensive?" Cas comments, tilting his head slightly.

I touch his shoulder lightly. "He's just trying to get on our nerves, Dad."

Everyone stops and stares at me.

"What?" I say defensively. "I can't call him 'dad'? Is that illegal in the hunter world or something?"

"No," Sam sighs.

"It'll just take some getting used to," Cas says, his voice full of tension. He stands up and walks out of the restaurant. As to be expected.

With an inward sigh, I slam my glass of water on the table. Sam and Dean exchange a look.

* * *

I'm wearing a baby blue halter dress, with mini floral designs printed on the fabric. My hair is up in a professional-looking bun, and I'm wearing the glasses again. Cas was also kind enough to buy me a pair of blue sandal strap heels.

Cas is wearing a sleet-gray tuxedo. His hair is gelled to perfection (thank you Dean) and his shoes are so shiny they'd probably blind someone if he stood in white light. I have to say, we do look like art inspectors.

We approach the front desk of the museum. An bored looking secretary is sitting there, reading the newspaper. She glances at us over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses.

"Can I help you?" she says, her voice almost sarcastic.

"Yes, we're the art inspectors," Cas says, smiling nicely. "We're here to see the vase on display at the memorial."

"Can I see some ID?" she says, in the same exact tone.

I pull my fake card out of my golden Miche purse. Dad and I present our IDs at the same time.

The old woman blinks slowly and lets her eyes glue themselves back onto the newspaper.

"Third room, second floor," she says. She sounds like she's falling asleep at a very quiet opera.

I give her a sickly-sweet smile. "Thanks," I say, dripping the word like maple syrup.

"No problem sweetheart."

Before I can punch her in the face, Cas tugs on my elbow and leads me towards the staircase.

"Watch it, Doberman," he warns. "Control your temperature."

As he drags me up the staircase, I comment, "Did you just call me a dog?"

"Yes, now shut up."

I roll my eyes, but I keep my mouth closed.

Finally, we reach the memorial room.

It's completely empty when we enter it. A soft gray light fills the room, and the vase is displayed on a clean, white stand about one-and-a-half feet above the ground. A single white spotlight shines down on the vase.

It's a very curvy piece of pottery, painted almost completely in a grainy ebony color. Sand-colored Egyptian pictographs and figurines are etched around the mid-section.

Cas walks up to the rope guarding the vase, unlatches it from the stand, and lets the scarlet tube fall to the floor.

We both approach the vase carefully.

"Witches can live for almost forever, right?" I ask.

"Unless they're killed or cursed, I believe so," he says, regarding the vase with extreme caution.

Unlike my father, I take this time to stare straight down into the vase. I feel Cas is slightly wary of it in case the whole thing, you know, blows up in my face, but I think I'm okay.

The vase seems normal. Nothing on the inside, except more black paint. But still. Something tells me, a tiny little prophetic "feeling", that there's more to this piece of pottery than meets the eye.

"Hey, you have a flashlight?" I ask.

"It's small," my father responds.

"That's fine."

I take the sleek silver thing from Cas's hands, turn it on, and aim it into the vase.

"Anything unusual?" Castiel inquires. He's standing next to me.

"Not really," I say. "But... I don't know. Something's telling me... wait a minute."

The white light flashes over something silver, on the very edge of the vase.

"Hey," I say kind of quietly. I know something's there... but how do I get to it?

Oh. Duh.

I back away from the vase for a few seconds. I take off one of my heels. And, lifting my arm, I start smashing the object as hard as I can.

"What the hell are you doing?" Cas says, holding hands in front of his face.

I don't answer him.

Within a few minutes of my impulsive destruction, the vase is pretty much broken. Except for the base.

I kneel down at the spiky remains. Carefully, with Cas watching, I remove the black circle from the bottom of the vase.

There, revealed underneath it, is a silver plate. Golden letters of either Latin or Enochian are carved into the flattest section.

"Aha! What did I tell you?"

Cas kneels down with me and looks regretfully at the ruins of the vase.

"Well... you did find one missing piece," he grimaces. "But you also created a bunch of other pieces."

"We are the worst art inspectors ever."

Cas sighs in response.

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