“Well, if you’re willing to make the drive, you might like America’s Stonehenge.” She clicked her pen.

“America’s Stonehenge?” said Sam.

“Over in New Hampshire, near Salem. It’s a tourist attraction — standing stones, caves, that kind of thing. Some people say it was a temple, like the Druid Stonehenge over in England.”

“Is this one supposed to be Druids too?” said Sam.

She shrugged and waved a hand, and Dean noticed she wore a silver ring with three green stones, just like Mrs. Fisher back in Bethlehem. “I don’t know. Nobody knows. But I’ve been a couple times and I think it’s beautiful, no matter who made it. Spooky, but beautiful. Peaceful.”

“Spooky how?” Dean said.

“It’s just a feeling. It feels old and mysterious — it used to be called Mystery Hill, and I liked that name better.” She winked at Dean again, and then said, “So, food?”

They both ordered pancakes, and when she walked away Dean leaned back in his chair to watch her go. Her legs were sturdy and long, curving in the most interesting way up into her skirt that covered her round, shapely ass. He sighed, knowing no matter how pretty her legs were he wouldn’t even ask for her number. His heart lay elsewhere.

“Is that our stop?” Sam said. “America’s Stonehenge?”

“Might be. It’s worth a shot, right? I mean, we were told to watch for signs and portents.”

Sam looked around them. “What portent? What sign?”

“The cards, dude. The cards on the walls.” He gestured to the decorations. “Just like at Joseph Temple’s.”

Sam looked at them, uncertain. “Seriously? They’re just playing cards.”

“Which have their roots in Tarot,” Dean said, annoyed. “Seriously. Just trust me, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” Sam said, looking at the place mat again. “You think we’re going to find clues about the Holy Grail at a Paleolithic temple in New Hampshire. Sure, why not.”

“If the cup belonged in England, I’m sure we’d be sent there.”

“Traditionally,” said Sam, and Dean settled back for a lecture on lore, “the Grail is said to rest at either Glastonbury Tor or Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland.”

“I’m not flying to Europe just because of tradition, Sam.” He considered. “Though it’d be cool, wouldn’t it? England? Isn’t there a rock festival at Glastonbury in the summer? That’d be a hell of a vacation.”

“We’re not on vacation, Dean,” Sam said with a sigh.

“No, of course not. We’re going to New Hampshire.” The briefcase between his calves warmed a little, and he felt reassured. It was the right thing to do.

“Be right back,” said Sam as he pushed himself up from the table, and he went into the men’s room. Dean studied the map some more — none of the names jumped out at him.

Maya returned with their pancakes and coffee, and Dean said, “Can I ask you a question? Where did you get that ring?”

She smiled and held up her hand so the light glinted off the silver. “It’s a family heirloom. My grandmother gave it to me. It’s nice, isn’t it? It’s malachite. It’s supposed to protect you from bad dreams.”

“Yeah?” Dean said. “Does it work?”

“My dreams are pretty good,” she said, and he knew that a year or two ago he would have asked her about her dreams. “Knowing Gran, she dug it up at a crossroads at midnight.”

Dean swallowed and tried to get his smile back. “Not something to joke about there, sweetheart.”

“Oh, we’re fine. We’re protected. No making deals we’re going to regret.”

The hairs on the back of his neck pricked. “How do you know about that?”

“Oh,” she said again, “I know a lot of things. Gran said to keep an eye out for you, so I am — setting you on the right path, showing you the way. That’s what I do.”

“Who are you?” Dean said with no flirtation in his tone.

“Maya,” she said, pointing to her name tag. “Your waitress.” She leaned closer and said, “Do you have it with you?”

“Yeah,” Dean whispered, trying not to look at her cleavage. “Under the table.”

“Good. Don’t let it out of your sight. Monsters come in many shapes and forms, Dean Winchester,” she said seriously, “and sometimes in very attractive packages. Sometimes with faces you know.”

“Mrs. Fisher,” Dean said. “That’s your grandmother. And Dr. Fisher, that’s your mom?”

“Close enough. They both like you a lot. Of course, pretty Grail guardians, they’re Gran’s weakness.”

Dean said seriously, “But how is it us, Maya? We’re not knights and we’re definitely not monks. We don’t anything about all this.” He looked around, making sure no one was watching them, and said more softly, “How are we going to find the castle?”

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