Read Online Supernatural: War of the Sons by Rebecca Dessertine, David Reed - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rebecca Dessertine, David Reed
Tags: Fiction
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Try not to lose your pants.”
“Wait,” Sam spat out, “when are we meeting up?”
“Meet me back here when my shift ends. Eight o’clock.”
Sam heard Dean hang up.
He stepped out of the phone booth and back into the swirling storm of people outside. I guess Dean can handle himself for a few hours , Sam thought, turning south, away from the Waldorf and back toward the library.
Two hours later, Sam was no closer to speaking Aramaic. Being in one of the biggest libraries in the world, the texts were certainly available, but the language was far more complex than Sam had imagined. Without help, it could take months to get an accurate translation.
I wonder if Bobby knows Aramaic? It wasn’t that crazy a notion, since a large portion of the biblical lore books that Bobby studied were in ancient languages. Not that we have Bobby here , Sam thought. For a brief moment, he considered looking up the Singers in the phone book. Bobby was born in the fifties; it was possible that at that very moment an infant Bobby was first learning to scowl.
Sam again wished that he had gotten more information from Don before being sent back. What were they supposed to do once they found the War Scroll? Translate it in the past, or hide it Bill & Ted -style for their future selves to find?
The boys didn’t often get a chance to plan ahead, so when the opportunity presented itself, Sam decided he was going to take it. He found a phone book in the lobby and used his last ten cents to call the American Bible Society—apparently it was home to the greatest concentration of biblical texts outside of the Vatican. It was as good a place to start as any.
SEVEN
The benefits of Dean’s job were manifold. The women he helped to their rooms were uniformly stunning, from which Dean surmised that even in 1954, enough money could buy you beauty. They were also generous. The twenty dollars a week the manager had quoted turned out to be on the very low end. Dean had no idea how much his tips could actually buy, but he imagined it was a lot. He wondered if most people knew such arcane facts—had Dean been out hunting demons on the school day when the kids learned about inflation rates?
The most obvious benefit to the job was access, but that was also the downside. He was tantalizingly close to the scrolls, but he was now under the close supervision of the more dickish of the two desk clerks. After several hours of work, he still hadn’t been able to venture down to the vault.
His opportunity came shortly after sunset, when the clerk finally left the front desk. Dean pushed his luggage cart into the elevator and asked Rick to leave it on the top floor, hoping that nobody would come looking for him this time. Slipping into the employees-only corridor that led away from the ornate lobby, Dean marveled at how quickly the hotel went from world-class to low-class. Water stains ran down the cheap wallpaper, bringing to mind the Winchesters’ usual stomping grounds. While Dean enjoyed the change of pace that the Waldorf represented, the drab familiarity of the hallway helped put him in hunting mode.
Not taking a chance on the service elevator being in use, Dean took the back stairwell. Calling it dank would be an understatement. The bare-bulb lighting was hardly enough to see by, but probably helped cover up the unfortunate state of the stairs themselves.
Toward the base of the stairwell, he heard a low scraping noise and slowed his pace. It sounded like something was being dragged across unfinished cement.
“My God, I...” intoned a man’s voice, before fading to a murmur. Glass clinked against glass, followed by the sound of a bottle slowly pouring out its contents.
Dean padded down a few more steps and craned his head around the corner. He was glad, for once, that Sam wasn’t stomping his heavy feet beside him. There were advantages to being the less muscle-bound Winchester. Despite that, the stair he was perched on felt less than
“Wait,” Sam spat out, “when are we meeting up?”
“Meet me back here when my shift ends. Eight o’clock.”
Sam heard Dean hang up.
He stepped out of the phone booth and back into the swirling storm of people outside. I guess Dean can handle himself for a few hours , Sam thought, turning south, away from the Waldorf and back toward the library.
Two hours later, Sam was no closer to speaking Aramaic. Being in one of the biggest libraries in the world, the texts were certainly available, but the language was far more complex than Sam had imagined. Without help, it could take months to get an accurate translation.
I wonder if Bobby knows Aramaic? It wasn’t that crazy a notion, since a large portion of the biblical lore books that Bobby studied were in ancient languages. Not that we have Bobby here , Sam thought. For a brief moment, he considered looking up the Singers in the phone book. Bobby was born in the fifties; it was possible that at that very moment an infant Bobby was first learning to scowl.
Sam again wished that he had gotten more information from Don before being sent back. What were they supposed to do once they found the War Scroll? Translate it in the past, or hide it Bill & Ted -style for their future selves to find?
The boys didn’t often get a chance to plan ahead, so when the opportunity presented itself, Sam decided he was going to take it. He found a phone book in the lobby and used his last ten cents to call the American Bible Society—apparently it was home to the greatest concentration of biblical texts outside of the Vatican. It was as good a place to start as any.
SEVEN
The benefits of Dean’s job were manifold. The women he helped to their rooms were uniformly stunning, from which Dean surmised that even in 1954, enough money could buy you beauty. They were also generous. The twenty dollars a week the manager had quoted turned out to be on the very low end. Dean had no idea how much his tips could actually buy, but he imagined it was a lot. He wondered if most people knew such arcane facts—had Dean been out hunting demons on the school day when the kids learned about inflation rates?
The most obvious benefit to the job was access, but that was also the downside. He was tantalizingly close to the scrolls, but he was now under the close supervision of the more dickish of the two desk clerks. After several hours of work, he still hadn’t been able to venture down to the vault.
His opportunity came shortly after sunset, when the clerk finally left the front desk. Dean pushed his luggage cart into the elevator and asked Rick to leave it on the top floor, hoping that nobody would come looking for him this time. Slipping into the employees-only corridor that led away from the ornate lobby, Dean marveled at how quickly the hotel went from world-class to low-class. Water stains ran down the cheap wallpaper, bringing to mind the Winchesters’ usual stomping grounds. While Dean enjoyed the change of pace that the Waldorf represented, the drab familiarity of the hallway helped put him in hunting mode.
Not taking a chance on the service elevator being in use, Dean took the back stairwell. Calling it dank would be an understatement. The bare-bulb lighting was hardly enough to see by, but probably helped cover up the unfortunate state of the stairs themselves.
Toward the base of the stairwell, he heard a low scraping noise and slowed his pace. It sounded like something was being dragged across unfinished cement.
“My God, I...” intoned a man’s voice, before fading to a murmur. Glass clinked against glass, followed by the sound of a bottle slowly pouring out its contents.
Dean padded down a few more steps and craned his head around the corner. He was glad, for once, that Sam wasn’t stomping his heavy feet beside him. There were advantages to being the less muscle-bound Winchester. Despite that, the stair he was perched on felt less than
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