He took the cup out of the briefcase and Sam put Ruby’s knife in his waistband. “Do you think this will be enough?” Sam said to him, glancing over his shoulder at the visitors’ center. “We don’t know what we’re going to find up there.”

Dean put the cup in the inner pocket of his jacket, and put a silver knife in his waistband as well. “It’ll have to be.” He picked up a flashlight, too, and a small bag of salt. Sam took both as well, and they went into the visitors’ center.

The staff member — Cynthie, according to her name tag — greeted them cheerfully, took their entrance fees and told them they’d be alone on the hill. “You should have been here on Friday,” she said. “We always get a big crowd for astronomical events. Our biggest are the solstices, of course.”

“What was Friday?” said Dean. He expected to see a malachite ring on her finger but the only jewelry she wore was a plain gold wedding band.

“Vernal equinox,” Cynthie said, smiling at them brightly. “It’s officially spring though you wouldn’t know it to look outside.”

“It’s a long winter everywhere,” said Sam.

There was an introductory video to watch, about the history of the hill and the theories about its functions and purpose. Dean leaned his arms on his knees and watched with a frown, worried about how his leg would take the hike as much as what they’d find once they were at the site.

Not for the first time, he wished Castiel were there, just to make things . . . bearable. Just to be there.

“Can I ask you something?” Sam said to Cynthie when the film was finished. “Has anyone ever reported anything unusual happening up there?”

“Oh, all the time,” she said. “They report red eyes are watching them from the woods, or just a feeling of being watched.” She looked amused at this, however. “And the usual for supposedly haunted places — lights, mist, noises.”

“Our friend who told us about this place, she said it was spooky,” Dean said.

Cynthie hesitated a moment, then said in a confidential tone, “It gets spooky at night sometimes, when the sun gets low. All those shadows. But it’s just the age of the place, I think. You know how it is with old places. They just feel . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“They remember,” Dean said softly, and Cynthie gave him a wondering look.

“Yes. Exactly. They remember.” She gave them their maps. “Enjoy yourselves up there. You may learn something about yourselves.”

The boys thanked her and left the visitors center, and made their way through the snow to the head of the trail. Dean steeled himself as they started up — the path wasn’t a steep incline, but the way was rocky and his leg was still sore. He had a feeling if he looked down at his inseam there would be a small patch of blood.

Sam tried not to get far ahead but those long legs kept up a strong pace, and he had to continually stop and wait for Dean to catch up. “How are you holding up, Dean?” he said worriedly about halfway up.

“I’ll sleep like the dead tonight,” Dean muttered, doggedly putting one foot in front of the other.

They passed a historical marker, touting the use of the site as a lunar calendar, and then the trail ended and they were at the walls that marked the perimeter of the complex. It was like an abandoned village, stones stacked to make walls and hallways, lining long trenches, built over the entrances to caves. It was utterly silent except for the sound of wind and snow falling from trees.

“That’s the oracle,” Sam said as he consulted the map, and they walked through the formations to where two stacks of stones marked the opening to an underground chamber. “What do you think?”

The cup warmed against Dean’s side. “That’s our spot.”

Sam put the map away in his back pocket and took out his flashlight. Dean zipped up his jacket, gave the cup a touch through the fabric, and followed him between the pillars and down into the chamber.

Steps made from stone slabs took them deeper underground. Dean slid his hand along the mossy wall to keep his balance, watching Sam’s flashlight as he cast it around. Once the ground leveled out Dean took out his flashlight as well and turned it on, and shined the beam along the walls and the path ahead. The owners had built a wood sidewalk along the hall, and it creaked under their feet as they walked. There were pillars of stacked stones throughout the hall, dividing it into smaller rooms.

“Dean?” Sam said softly, his voice echoing. “What are we looking for?”

“I have no idea.” He thought about his dream, and said, “A dish. It’ll be big and silver.”

“Somebody would have found it long ago,” Sam said, shining his light at the chamber’s stone ceiling.

“I don’t think so,” Dean said. “I think it’s waiting for us.” He thought about his dream, trying to remember if there were any clues or hints in what had happened. But there was no river, no drawings on the walls . . .

Sam took out the map again and squinted at it, the flashlight in his mouth. He took it out and said, “At the back there’s what they call the secret bed.”