It's here that Venus' training gives her an edge. Human instinct says to get up, get on her feet, to unwittingly put herself in the way of De's swing. But the calculus of battle tells her to get low, and instead she slides between Sam's legs, under the blow, across the floor with a squeak that is simultaneously comical and chilling.

And then she's got the machete. It swings upwards, a flashing arc in light from the windows above. There's a spray of something wet and dark, and she doesn't know from whom or where. She just knows it isn't hers. She takes a step back, then another, putting a yard between her and the Winchesters.