The two thugs glanced at each other, but left the room to stand guard outside the door. Lorcan sighed again and got onto the floor beside Dean, sitting cross-legged as Dean struggled to push himself upright. “There’s something you should know about me,” Lorcan began.

“I know enough about you,” Dean said. “I know you use black magic. I know it’s how you found us.”

“Black magic,” Lorcan said. “That’s fair. I prefer to think of them as the arcane arts, but it’s just semantics. And part of magic, of course, is blood magic.” He took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and unfolded it on his knee. “You should have cleaned up your blood, Dean Winchester.”

Dean swallowed. “That’s a lame-ass voodoo doll.”

“It’s better than voodoo.” He crumpled the handkerchief in his hand and the wound in Dean’s leg shot pain throughout his body, strong enough to make him collapse, sobbing. “See? Of course, a human stabbed with a demon knife, that’s bad mojo already, but I can make it do all kind of things. I can reopen it as much as I want.” He twisted the handkerchief and Dean thought he would pass out from the pain. “I can find you no matter where you go, and when I find you, I can do this.” He twisted the handkerchief tighter in his fist and Dean screamed. “So I’m going to ask you one more time, Dean Winchester, and then I’m going to get really nasty.” He lay down on his stomach so he could look into Dean’s eyes, and he yanked Dean’s head up by the hair. “Where is the cup?”

Dean stared at him, and then started to laugh despite the pain. “All that magic,” he said, gasping, “and you can’t find a piece of pottery.”

“That’s it,” Lorcan said, throwing down Dean’s head, and he got clumsily to his feet. “You are going to die screaming, boy.”

There was a quiet flutter of wings and gust of wind, and a soft voice said, “Stop.”

Lorcan whirled. Dean was close to weeping with relief when he saw Castiel, rumpled raincoat and all. “Who the hell are you?” Lorcan growled at him.

“An angel of the Lord,” Castiel said, “and Dean Winchester is in my charge.” Before Lorcan could shout or react Castiel reached out and touched Lorcan’s forehead, and the man disappeared. Castiel exhaled, and knelt at Dean’s side. “Are you in pain?”

“Yes,” Dean said, though Castiel’s presence helped ease that — even more so when Castiel wrapped an arm around him and helped him to his feet. “He’s got my blood. That’s bad news, isn’t it?”

Castiel nodded solemnly. “He can cause you harm with that.”

“No, really?” Dean sank into the bed, groaning. “Tell me you sent him to the top of Everest.”

“I only sent him home, he and his men.” Castiel regarded him, frowning. “Everest might be better. I will remember that if it happens again.” He sat on the bed and started stroking Dean’s back. “Where is Sam?”

“We had a fight.” Dean exhaled and arched his back a little. “He’s walking it off.”

“You should not separate. You’re not safe.”

“Yeah, yeah . . .” Dean lay down, hoping his head would stop spinning.

“You cannot stay here. Lorcan can find you too easily.”

“If he can find us anywhere –”

“No, not anywhere. Anywhere unprotected. Your friend Bobby’s home is safe. Go there for a while.”

“Okay. Bobby’s.” He closed his eyes, hoping the various aches would subside soon. “Hey, Cas? That beast that Lorcan sent after us, what was that thing?”

“Beast?” Castiel said in such a surprised tone that Dean opened his eyes.

“Yeah. This big . . . thing with hooves, that followed us to America’s Stonehenge. I thought that was his.”

“No,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “I know nothing about that. I will find out.”

Dean felt his mouth go dry, and he sipped hopefully at the cup for the last drops of water. “We’re in so much trouble,” he said quietly. “If you don’t even know what it was –”

“I will find out,” Castiel repeated. “I will not let you be harmed, Dean.” Before Dean could remark on that he added, “More than you have been, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Dean said and tried not to sound too sarcastic. There was another knock at the door, this one much softer than Lorcan’s earlier, and Dean started up. “That’s Sam.”

Castiel opened the door and there stood Sam, his head ducked and his hands in his pockets as if preparing to apologize. At the sight of Castiel and Dean, though, his face hardened and he demanded, “What did you do him?” as he crowded into Castiel’s space.

Castiel didn’t move, only gazed up at Sam mildly. “He was attacked. We were waiting for you. You mustn’t stay here, Sam.”

“He’s bleeding!”

“Yes,” Castiel said slowly, “he was attacked. You cannot stay here. Take him to Bobby’s.”