***

There was a pizza parlor down the block from their motel, and there was a pay phone near the back of the dining room. Dean flipped through the pages as they waited for their pie. There were half-dozen businesses listed in the yellow pages under various names involving Murphy — some with pictures of the man himself, surprisingly jolly for a man who hired killers — but there was just one Murphy, Lorcan, in the white. Dean tore out the page and tucked it into his coat pocket as he went back to their table, where Sam was drinking a Coke and browsing the choices in the little jukebox.

“Found him,” Dean said as he dropped himself into the chair. “We can find the directions on Mapquest, right?”

“Yeah, it shouldn’t be hard. Dean, I don’t like this. Can’t we just tell Cas where it is and let him do it?”

“He asked us,” Dean said, tired of this argument. “And if you don’t want to go then I’ll go alone.”

“No, you don’t have to go alone,” Sam muttered. The girl behind the counter called their number and Sam got up to get their pizza. Dean drank his Coke and put a quarter into the juke box, and pressed the numbers for his favorite Johnny Cash. Sam was shaking his head as he came back to the table.

“You think I’m going to get in trouble if I go alone?” Dean said and took a piece of pepperoni from the pizza. He popped it into his mouth.

“I think we’re going to get in trouble no matter what we do. I think we’re going to regret this.” Sam took a slice for himself.

Dean sighed and took one too, and wished Castiel was there. They ate in silence through a few slices, and finally he said, “Something happened while I was interviewing the neighbor, Mrs. Fisher. She . . . she knew my real name.”

Sam lowered his slice and stared at him. “What’d you do, let it slip?”

“No, I used the alias just like usual. All these years I’ve never I’ve dropped an alias, Sammy, but she knew it. And she said . . . she said there would be monsters if we followed this road.” He drank his Coke, not looking at Sam.

“What did she mean by that, monsters?”

“I don’t know. She said there would be monsters and angels, and one or both might be our doom.” He tried to laugh — it was an exaggeration, right?

Sam didn’t laugh. “Who was she? How could she know?”

“I don’t know, but she freaked me out. She said we had to be strong and brave, and even if we were we might not get home.” He ate another bite.

“What home?” Sam said and pushed his plate away. “So what’s your theory?”

“I don’t have one,” Dean admitted. “There’s no way she could have known my name. There’s no way she could have known why we’re here. But she did — I think she knows more about this than we do.”

“We have Castiel to thank for that,” Sam muttered.

“Quit it. Eat your pizza.”

Sam bit in, his expression bitchy, but Dean was too annoyed to care.

***

Lorcan Murphy lived in a McMansion behind a brick wall and a wrought iron gate, far from the candy factory and industrial parks. Dean parked the Impala down the block and around the corner, and they sauntered past the gate, looking for signs of dogs or an alarm system. There was a small sign outside the gate, Protected by Wolfram Security, but when Dean tossed pebbles over the wall there was no resulting alarm or barking.

Dean nodded to Sam and they turned the corner, which faced another McMansion behind another brick wall. They boosted themselves over the wall and dropped to the ground as quietly as possible.

The house was dark and silent, the sloping lawn neatly trimmed but still brown and dry like all the others they’d seen in the city. The boys walked up the grass, avoiding the cobbled front path, and went around the house to the back. There was a small side door that led, from the view through the window, into the laundry room.

Dean wrapped his hand in his flannel shirt and broke the glass, and they waited for a few seconds — still no sound of alarm or dogs. “A lot of good that security system does,” Dean muttered as he reached through the window to unlock the door.

“He must just have it for show.”

“Or he’s got something else protecting the place,” Dean said. He looked over the door frames as they walked inside, but he could see no sign of herbs or charms.

“Dean,” Sam said softly as they walked through the laundry room to the enormous kitchen, “what exactly are we looking for?”

“A briefcase with EMF signature,” Dean said. “The hired thugs put the object in a briefcase, and I’m thinking it’s still in there.”

“And if it isn’t? Lorcan might be sleeping with it under his pillow, for all we know.”