Supernatural 10 - Rite of Passage Read Online Free PDF Page A

Sam’s finger closed on the trigger, Bobby fired his automatic. The bullet ripped through a row of feathers. Sam smiled and fired.
    The rifle bullet struck the third harpy in the upper back, just left of the spine.
    Dean rolled out from under the hovering talons.
    The harpy staggered, fell to one knee, wings spread wide, and coughed up blood.
    Working the bolt, Sam fired again.
    Te collapsed face down, her right leg twitching for a second or two.
    “Knife!” Dean called.
    Sam pulled out his knife and executed an underhand throw, hilt out.
    Dean snatched the knife out of the air, rolled the harpy over with one hand, and drove the tip of the blade into her chest with the other.
    “We’re a knife short,” Bobby yelled. “And Lo here is getting fidgety.”
    Dean cast about then reached down. “Found it.”
    He looked at Sam and nodded appreciatively. “Again, nice shot.”
    Sam flashed a brief smile.
    Dean spread his arms as he backed away. “Okay, I was wrong.”
    “No arguments here.”
    Sam followed Dean, feeling his smile fade away. He knew it would be hard to win back Dean’s trust if he couldn’t trust himself. On that front, he was a work in progress. But he was relieved Lucifer didn’t reappear to rub it in.
    With the harpies’ hearts skewered, they remained catatonic. The hunters grabbed them by the ankles and dragged them to a nearby fire pit, lined up the trio side by side, sprayed them head to toe with lighter fluid, and torched them.
    They stood upwind, in silence, watching as the sisters burned.
    Dean glanced at Bobby. “Are we done here?”
    “Kind of jackass leaves a fire burning unattended?”
    “Right,” Dean said, and pulled his flask from a jacket pocket, “I wouldn’t want to miss out on the merit badge.” He took a swig from the flask and walked a few steps away from the funeral pyre.
    Lucifer had taken Dean’s place beside Sam, and was warming his hands over the fire.
    “Feels like home!”
    Sam closed his eyes, pressed the scar hard, counted to three, and opened his eyes again. Lucifer was gone, but Dean was back.
    “These birds look extra crispy, colonel,” he said.
    Bobby ignored the jibe and nodded, satisfied. They kicked dirt over the dying flames. The harpies’ remains crumbled,with no more substance than burnt leaves.
    Once they were on the road and miles away from the harpies’ feeding grounds, they would place an anonymous call to the police to expedite the recovery and identification of the victims’ remains. For now, Sam hurried along the deer trail leading back to the roadside to catch up to Dean, who seemed in an unusual hurry. Mindful of the uncertain footing, Bobby brought up the rear at a measured pace.
    Drawing level with his brother, Sam asked, “You okay?”
    “Yeah. Fine.”
    Sam sniffed twice and wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?”
    “You really don’t wanna know,” Dean grumbled.

Two

    Tora sat at the back of the South Jersey Transit bus with the bowler tilted low over his deeply creased brow, his cane upright between his knees, both hands gripping the ironbound handle. Had he planned to crash the bus, he would not have boarded it. His interest lay in its route. For the same reason, he ignored opportunities to tamper with the lives of the passengers—early shift workers, probably food service or manual laborers by the look of them. Most wore casual shirts and jeans or shapeless polyester uniforms. A handful sported business attire. With his bowler, black suit and cane, he looked the most out of place on the bus, hence his decision to sit behind the other passengers, where he could observe without attracting undue attention. Of course, he could use his power to fade from their awareness, but saw no reason to expend the effort.
    Of all the humans present, the obese bus driver, with his florid face and labored breathing, his girth straining the seams of his black vest and white dress shirt, offered the easiest possibility. But a medical