Supernatural: War of the Sons by Rebecca Dessertine, David Reed Read Free Book Online Page A

choked. It was as if he was vomiting in reverse, with oily bursts of black smoke flying into his mouth and down his throat.
    Barney gaped as his uncle reached out toward him, and then everything went dark.
    Sam and Dean sat on a hard fake leather couch outside the Waldorf’s general manager’s office. The rickety side table next to Dean was piled with magazines. He slid one off the top and showed it to Sam.
    “Yum. Eva Marie Saint.” Dean leered at the picture of the young starlet with her blonde hair swept back, very nicely filling out a blue sweater. “From TV stardom to the movie Waterfront ,” Dean said, reading off the cover.
    “She’s an old woman.” Sam said, rolling his eyes at his brother’s incredible capacity for horniness.
    “Not now she isn’t.” Dean almost jumped in excitement. “Marilyn, I want to meet Marilyn, do you think she stays here?”
    “We didn’t travel over five decades back in time so you could sleep with a couple of starlets,” Sam replied.
    Dean furrowed his brow. “It wasn’t my idea to travel here, period. Besides, these women are icons, Sam. Completely different. If we have any free time after we nick the War Scroll, I’m going to find Marilyn.”
    “Okay, Dean.” Sam shook his head.
    “Sam and Dean Winchester?”
    Dean flinched at the sound of his own name before quickly remembering that Sam had given it to the receptionist when they applied. Apparently, being this far removed from their own time meant that caution could be thrown out the window.
    The man who had spoken wore a three-piece suit and was holding open a door that lead into an interior office.
    “I’m Ernest Harold, General Support Manager at the Waldorf. Please come in.” The man graciously swept his hand toward his office.
    Sam and Dean settled into a couple of leather chairs on one side of the man’s very messy desk.
    “Terribly sorry about the clutter,” Mr. Harold said, shuffling some papers around. “I have 200 employees to oversee and I can’t seem to manage all the paperwork. As you know, this is a prestigious establishment, with a rich history of providing impeccable accommodations to the most discerning travelers, statesmen and royalty throughout the world.”
    “And Marilyn Monroe,” Dean offered.
    Mr. Harold frowned. “The privacy of our clients is of the utmost importance in this position. You will work closely with people that you see on the silver screen every day. We do not allow any... fraternizing with the hotel’s guests.”
    “Of course not.” Sam leaned forward. “We completely understand. My brother is a fan, but he’s a very reserved fan. Aren’t you, Dean?”
    Dean smiled tightly. “Yes. Haven’t fraternized in months, myself.”
    “Of course. So, tell me a little about yourselves,” Mr. Harold said, leaning back in his chair. “Whatever you would like to share.”
    This struck Dean as sort of funny —What could they possibly share with this over-stuffy dope? He decided to be straightforward.
    “Sir. Mr. Harold—Ernest. My brother and I are new in town. And, frankly, we don’t have any money. But we are hard-working, strong, and charming. We can do anything you need us to.”
    The dude seemed to be impressed.
    “You remind me of someone,” he said, peering at Dean. “Have you been to the pictures and seen On the Waterfront yet?”
    Dean leaned back, smiling. “Classic Brando.”
    “Classic? He’s a very new actor. At least, I believe he is.” Ernest looked confused.
    Dean stuttered hastily. “I meant to say a new, classic- looking actor.”
    “Ahh, you’re right. I do love a good picture.” Ernest swept his hair out of his eyes, then turned his attention to Sam. “And you.”
    “I’ll do whatever you need me to do, sir,” Sam said.
    “Well, you both are fine fellows.” Ernest got up and moved around his desk. “But I have only one position available. Congratulations, Mr. Winchester.” He stuck his hand out toward Dean.
    “Thank you, sir,”