Monachopsis

Chapter XXX: Do You Or Do You Not?

When it comes to hunting, I could confidently say that research was one of my least favorite parts. Because of course the monsters could never be common, or easy to find in lore. Because every book and every website said something different.

It didn't help that this shtriga bastard was nowhere to be found in any lore book I or my brothers owned. I shut another book with a sigh of defeat, slumping back into my chair. Through the conjoined doorway, I could see Sam hunched over his laptop, and Dean munching away on some food on the counter of their kitchenette. The only sounds were the clacking of Sam's computer keys and Dean's loud chewing.

I heaved myself up from the table and snatched up one of my duffel bags. I dug around for a second, then closed my fingers around the familiar cylindrical pharmacy bottle. The pills rattled as I extracted the bottle from the mound of clothes it was buried under. I popped the cap and tipped one black capsule into my hand before tossing the bottle back into the bag. 

"Well, I got nothing," I announced as I entered the boys' room. I tossed the pill into my mouth and stole a sip of Dean's soda. "Whatever the hell this thing is, it's not in any lore book."

"I've been searching every paranormal website I can think of," Sam said as I plopped cross-legged on the empty queen bed, "and so far I have--" his computer beeped, "--uh, something, I guess." He took a moment to scan the web page before he scoffed. He looked over at Dean. "Well, you were right. It wasn't very easy to find, but you were right. A shtriga is a kind of witch. They're Albanian, but legends about them date back to Ancient Rome. They feed off of spiritus vitae."

Dean tilted his head. "Spirit what?"

"Vitae," Sam repeated. "It's Latin; it translates to 'breath of life'. Kind of like your life force or essence."

"So, what, these hags suck out your soul?" I asked. 

"Uh, yeah, basically."

I scowled. "Gross."

"Didn't the doctor say the kids' bodies were wearing out?" Dean asked, scribbling down notes with a pencil. His eyes flickered to me.

"If their life force is being drained, their immune systems would be practically non-existent," I said, answering his unspoken question.

Sam nodded. "It's a thought. You know, she takes your vitality, maybe your immunity goes to hell, pneumonia takes hold. Anyway, shtrigas can feed off anyone, but they prefer--"

"Children." Dean leaned against the counter, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"Yeah," Sam said, "probably because they have a stronger life force. And get this--shtrigas are invulnerable to all weapons devised by god or man."

"So if no weapon can hurt it, how are we supposed to kill the damn thing?" I asked. This case just keeps getting better and better. A lump was beginning to form in my throat. I cleared my throat in an attempt to clear it.

Sam shrugged.

"No," said Dean suddenly. "That's not right." He pushed away from the counter and walked around it. "She's vulnerable when she feeds."

A pause. I raised my eyebrows.

"What?" Sam asked.

Dean pawed around one of his duffel bags. "If you catch her when she's eating, you can blast her with consecrated wrought iron rounds. Buckshots or rounds, I think."

"How do you know that?" Sam asked.

"Dad told me," Dean said, not looking up from the tools in his hands.

"Oh," said Sam. He and I shared a look. 

I leaned forward. "Um, I thought you didn't remember anything from this case, Dean?"

"So, uh, anything else Dad might have mentioned?" Sam asked, cutting me off.

Dean glanced up. "No. That's it."

I raised my eyebrows again. There was a beat of silence before Dean looked up again, and said, "What?"

"Nothing," I said, leaning back against the headboard with my arms crossed over my chest. The lump in my throat caught with my breath, and I reached for a tissue.

"Okay." Sam got up from the bed. "So, assuming we can kill it when it eats, we've still got to find the thing first. Which ain't gonna be a cakewalk. Shtrigas take on a human disguise when they're not hunting."

My breath caught again. I did my best to keep quiet, coughing into the tissue.

"What kind of human disguise?" Dean asked.

Sam replied, "Historically, something innocuous. It could be anything, but it's usually a feeble old woman, which may be how the witches-as-old-crones legend got started."

I cleared my throat and winced. "Yikes. You'd think immortal soul-sucking hags would pick a disguise other than a soul-sucking hag."

"Hang on," Dean said. He lunged for the table, snatching a paper off the surface.

"What?" Sam asked. I discreetly dropped my tissue in the trash bin. 

Dean pointed to the page in his hand; a map of Fitchburg. "Check this out. I marked down all the addresses of the victims. Now, these are the houses that have been hit so far, and dead center--" He jabbed his finger on a structure in the middle of the houses. I peered down at it.

"The hospital." Sam and I spoke in unison, and the three of us shared a look.

"The hospital," Dean confirmed. "When we were there, I saw a patient, and old woman."

Sam paused. "An old person, huh?"

"Yeah."

"In the hospital?" Dean looked at him. Sam took a deep breath. "Whoo. Better call the Coast Guard."

I snorted, which triggered another coughing fit. I grabbed another tissue and covered my mouth.

The boys ignored me. "Well, listen, smart-ass," Dean snapped, "she had an inverted cross hanging on her wall."

Sam stopped laughing. Dean raised his eyebrows.

I tossed the tissue away. "Okay. This hag isn't gonna catch herself. Let's head down to the hospital and--"

My breath caught. Sam put a hand on my shoulder as I doubled over, hacking into a new tissue. Every time I tried to breathe, I started coughing again.

"Gray, are you sure it's a good idea for you to be around all those sick people?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed. "You know, with your--"

"I'm fine, Sam." I tossed the soiled tissue and straightened. "It's probably just dust from the motel sheets. Come on, we wanna get there before she can start hunting again."

I shrugged off his hand and stole a couple more tissues from the box on the nightstand. When I turned around again, both boys were staring at me.

"What? We going or not?"