Wayward ➳ Edward Cullen

18. Histories

But what was really interesting was the thick, dark liquid inside it. The thin amount clinging to the side was a deep ruby red. "Is that—"

"Blood. Dead man's blood," Dean confirmed. He picked up the container, ignoring the water streaming off the outside, and held it out to me. "This, and a few spells, are all we'll need to break through that diamond flesh of theirs."

"What kind of spells?" Sam asked from beside me as I took the container. It was still cold to the touch.

"The usual mumbo jumbo." Dean plucked a book up and tossed it Sam's way.

Sam caught it with a sour glare before he flipped the cover open and started thumbing through.

"Machetes are good for the finishing blow, but we can turn anything we can write on into a weapon. Knives. Axes. Big enough bullets." He picked up the box of forty-fives and the large ivory handled colt affixed to the fake bottom.

I blinked at the gun. "So why bother with the machetes at all?"

"Because we have to dismember the bastards and burn the pieces to kill them," Dean replied. "Machetes are the best tool for the job." He frowned at the pistol as he turned it over to examine the slide. "But anything that pierces their flesh'll hurt." His gaze lifted to Alice and Edward. "Isn't that right?"

Alice blinked at Dean, her small mouth pulled into a frown. Edward kept his face blank. "Depends on where you hit," he said diplomatically.

Dean snorted before turning back to the gun. He ejected the colt's magazine clip and looked at the bullets inside. "Last used this for that coven of witches we found back in Tennessee." He shoved the magazine back in with a click. "It'll need reloading."

He placed the gun into his back holster. Unhooking the stand that held up the false bottom, Dean guided it back down and shut the trunk. "Grab those bags."

Sam closed the book and set it under his arm. He and Dean took up two of the duffels, leaving the last one to me.

"What if we just set him on fire?" Sam wondered.

"He'd stop, drop, and freaking roll, Sam," Dean replied as we carried the bags across the drive and onto the sidewalk.

Sam's brow crinkled in thought. "What if we poured gasoline on him first?"

"Might do the trick if you're in a pinch..." Dean shrugged. "But better be ready for a pissed off vamp to come after you down the line if it doesn't work." His gaze slid to the two vampires leading us up the sidewalk. "And these bastards hold grudges."

To be fair, anyone who was set on fire would probably hold a grudge. I knew better than to voice that thought to Dean, though. I was on thin enough ice as it was.

Alice pulled open the door to the house. Edward led us past the threshold then stopped, thrusting an arm out in front of me.

Dean, already on edge, dropped the bags and looked ready to take a swipe at Edward. That halted when a familiar figure paused on the other side of the room next to Carlisle.

"Laurent." I'd have moved forward but Edward held me back.

"Wait!" Carlisle said, holding out a hand. "He came to warn us about James."

"You said they didn't kill humans," Dean accused, moving his jacket aside and gripping the machete's handle. "Those eyes say otherwise."

Carlisle shifted in front of Laurent. "Laurent is a guest. He came in peace," he insisted, calm and patient as he met Dean's hard stare head on. "He'll leave in peace," he finished firmly.