Dean stopped, and surveyed the landscape. “That's not possible,” he said. “The trail is pretty clear here.”

“Really? Because I can't even see it.” Sam crossed his arms. “Did you get some kind of special tracking lessons while I was at school? Something that you just haven't mentioned before now?”

Dean frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about how you're following a trail that isn't there, Dean.” Sam said.

“It's there,” Dean said shortly.

“Really? Because I don't see it.” Sam said.

<100>

“Well you're not a Dhampir,” Dean snapped back.

Sam stopped and stared at Dean. “What exactly are you tracking?”

“Signs,” Dean said evasively.

“Footprints?”

“No.”

“Rolled stones?”

“No.”

“Dude! What?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Blood, alright?”

Sam stopped, and raised his own eyebrows. “Blood?”

The older Winchester brother huffed. “Dude, I was a vampire. Chloe was injured. I can smell her blood. Okay?” He crossed his arms defensively.

“How long has this been going on?” Sam asked quietly.

“I don't know.” Dean snapped. “It's not like I walk around smelling people to see if they're bleeding.”

“So can you smell blood at any time?” Sam asked. “Like with girls when it's --”

“No.” Dean said shortly.

“No?” Sam asked. “No as in no? Or no as in 'don't go there?”

“Just . . . No, Sam. I'm not discussing this.”

“Fine!” Sam threw up his hands. “But how do you expect --”

“When we're in the Impala, do you hear the engine running?”

“Yeah?” Sam said.

“But are you aware of it all the time, or is it just white noise?”

“White noise, I guess,” Sam said.

“This is like that,” Dean said. “It's not like everyone suddenly smells like a 7-11 slurpee or something. I just remember what the blood smells like, and I can find it again.”

“Like a shark,” Sam suggested.

“I guess,” Dean said. Suddenly, he stopped, and looked around again. “I think your right. We've been going in circles.” He frowned. “Great. How'd we manage that?”

“People have been coming up into these mountains for centuries looking for mines and going away empty,” Sam shrugged. Beneath the brim of his hat, he shaded his eyes and stared at Weaver's Needle in the distance thoughtfully. “Maybe there's some kind of magic here that we're not aware of. Some kind of glamour or something protecting the mines.”

With a frustrated grunt, Dean sat on his heels. “Well, we're not going to get this figured out by going in circles. Any ideas?”

“Maybe,” Sam reached into the smaller pack that he'd brought for the trip, and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Jo sent us a list of mine claims for this area that she found at the Library of Congress.”

“Jo?” Dean tilted his head toward Sam. “You talked to Jo?”

“Uh, yeah. We are still friends.” Sam waved Dean's question off. “The shifter said something about Chloe being claustrophobic. Which probably means that it stuffed her into an old mine. Based on the trail it's been laying, we can probably narrow down where Chloe is by cross-referencing mine claims on this map.”

Dean nodded. “I can't think of anything better, so why not?”

While Sam worked between Chloe's map, and the pages of paper that Jo had faxed him, Dean hunted out moisture for the two of them to consume. He returned with a little bit of dampness preserved in an old handkerchief, which he passed to Sam.

Sam took it, and sucked on it without comment. Then he pointed out the map. “As near as I can tell, there were a cluster of mines here,” he marked them on the map with a pen. “Our camp was here. And we've been traveling in a more-or-less straight line.”

“At least we were until we got lost,” Dean muttered.

“You can still find signs of Chloe, right?” Sam said.

“Yeah.”

“Okay then,” He nodded and pointed to the line he'd drawn. “If we're all thrown off by a glamour, then let's go by the assumption that we're still somewhere on this line. Now, let's just keep traveling in that direction. And we'll only trust one-foot-in-front of the other. That way we don't let the glamour mess with our perceptions. Instead of following the trail bloodhound style, we'll use that as a reference point.”

“Sounds good,” Dean nodded. “When we get to the mines, we can start looking for Chloe there.”

“We're going to have to be careful,” Sam said. “Some of these old mines aren't that stable.”

“Well we won't exactly be going down one if she's not there,” Dean winked, and tapped the side of his nose. “Don't worry Sammy, the nose knows.”

Sam rolled his eyes at that. “I hope we find Chloe soon. She's the only one who can keep your sense of humor in check.”

* * *

Chloe let Coyote put his arm around her waist, and get under her shoulder to help her walk on the slowly-mending leg. As they hobbled along, she shut her eyes and tried not to think about the fact that they were walking through a mountain with tons of rock over them.

“So how long will it take for that to heal?” he asked as they hobbled down the tunnel.

“Huh?”

He looked at her funny. “You're afraid, aren't you?”

“I might be a little bit claustrophobic. But then again, we are under a mountain.”

“How did that happen?”

“What?”

“How is it that you're claustrophobic?”

“Long story.”

“I like long stories.”

“I've been buried alive, presumed dead and locked up in a mortuary drawer a couple times. And walled up in an alcove once,” She said shortly.

Coyote blinked. “Well that wasn't a long story at all,” he said petulantly.

“I may have abridged it, here and there,” she said.

“Gee, you think?”

“Sorry.”

“Look, you like to tell stories. I can sense that. And I love stories. Maybe if you tell me one, it'll help you to not think about your troubles.”

“Fine,” she said shortly. “A long time ago I was possessed by a slutty French witch.”

“You've lead a very interesting life.”

“You have no idea.”