Chapter 147 : Dead Witch
Dean was still on one knee, coughing as the last traces of the potion cleared from his lungs. He looked up at Henry with an annoyed expression.
"Hey... why the hell weren’t you affected?"
Henry raised an eyebrow. "Did you forget?"
Dean frowned, thinking for a few seconds before his eyes widened. "...Right." He let out an exasperated sigh as he pushed himself back to his feet. "I forgot you’ve got all that creepy supernatural crap you can do."
Henry shrugged. "It has its perks."
The moment Dean took another step, his legs gave out. He hit the floor again with a grimace. "Yeah... looks like I can’t do much of anything."
Sam tried to stand as well. His muscles betrayed him and he slumped back against the wall. "Whatever was in that potion, we’re not moving for a while."
Henry dragged them both into the living room and helped them onto the sofa. He stepped back, folded his arms, and studied the two helpless hunters.
"Hmm... maybe I should draw a mustache on your faces while you’re like this."
Dean shot him a flat glare. "Do that, and the second I can move again, I’m putting a bullet through your leg."
Henry considered it for a second before nodding. "...Fair enough."
He turned toward the hallway. "Stay alive. I’ll go find Tracy."
He searched the rest of the house. After checking several rooms and finding nothing, he noticed a locked basement door near the back. He forced it open and headed downstairs.
The basement was dimly lit. At the center of the room sat a young woman tied to a wooden chair.
Henry slowed. "So there you are..."
He stopped a few feet away and studied her. She looked exhausted, bruises marking her wrists where the ropes had rubbed against her skin.
Henry scratched the back of his head. "This would’ve been a lot easier if I could remember every detail of the plot." He frowned at the unconscious girl. "Right now I can’t tell whether you’re the witch or just another victim that psycho kept around."
After thinking it over, he crouched beside her and untied the ropes.
"Hey." He gently patted her cheek. "Wake up."
She stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked around in confusion. "W-Where am I?"
Henry watched her expression carefully. "What’s the last thing you remember?"
She frowned, pressing a hand against her forehead. "I... I remember seeing my art teacher. After that... everything’s blank."
Mind control? Possession? Some kind of spell?
If she was telling the truth, Don Harding had been using her rather than working with her.
"We’ll figure it out later," Henry said. "Just follow me."
He turned toward the stairs.
The moment his back was to her, Tracy’s confused expression disappeared. Her eyes went cold. She reached down silently and picked up a heavy wooden plank lying beside the chair.
Crack!
It smashed into the back of Henry’s head. Caught completely off guard, he stumbled forward and dropped face-first onto the basement floor.
Tracy looked down at him and scoffed. "Men really do fall for fake tears surprisingly easily."
She set the broken plank aside and knelt beside him, checking he was still breathing. "Now you’ll become the final sacrifice..." Her smile widened as she began dragging him toward the ritual circle etched into the floor. "...and the vessel for my beloved Samhain."
"Well... you’re a bigger bitch than I thought."
Tracy froze.
Henry slowly opened his eyes and looked up at her with an amused expression.
"W-What...?"
Before she could finish, Henry drove both feet into her stomach.
Thud.
The kick sent Tracy flying backward across the basement. She crashed into the ritual circle, knocking over several candles before rolling to a stop.
Henry rose to his feet and casually dusted off his jacket. "Did you really think getting hit with a piece of wood would knock me out?" He shrugged. "I just played along to see what you were planning."
His gaze shifted to the ritual circle on the floor. "So this is your grand plan." His eyes moved back to her. "And this ’beloved Samhain’ of yours... don’t tell me some centuries-old witch is borrowing a teenage girl’s face. That’s just creepy."
Tracy’s expression twisted with rage. "You insolent—"
She immediately began chanting an incantation, raising her hand toward him.
Henry crossed the distance before she could finish.
Smack.
His palm struck her across the face with enough force to send her crashing into the basement wall. Dust rained from the ceiling as she slid to the floor.
"Nope." Henry lowered his hand. "You’re not casting anything."
Tracy spat blood onto the floor and glared at him with murderous hatred. "You filthy human—"
She never finished.
Henry snatched a ritual knife from the nearby altar and flicked it forward in a single smooth motion.
The blade whistled through the air.
Thunk.
It buried itself deep in Tracy’s throat. Her eyes widened as she clutched at the handle, blood spilling between her fingers. Only a wet gurgle escaped her lips before her body collapsed onto the stone floor.
The candles surrounding the ritual circle flickered and went out.
*****
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