"She definitely had her moments," Jo answered, keeping her eyes on the prize. Ellen Harvelle had been a badass. Head Bitch in Charge when it came to Harvelle's and the men and women that filtered through — hunter and civilian alike. Jo hadn't seen it in the beginning, feeling smothered and claustrophobic in that Roadhouse... but when it was gone and the two of them had gone out on the road and hunted together a lot changed.
Jo changed.
It was no longer about being the best to be the best. It was no longer about hunting to be close to her father. Under her mother's tutelage and partnership, it became about doing the hard thing in order to do the right thing. It became about the actual reason for the job.
Jo did come to a stop when she noted that the woman held out her hand and — what the hell? Did she just yeet a hellhopper without touching it?
It wasn't telekinesis, Jo could see the waves of whatever came off her hand. But it was something.
Deciding that a break was in order for the moment, Jo straightened up and leveled out Ash so that the gun wasn't in danger of going off and accidentally wounding someone.
"Well ain't that a nifty little trick? Jo Harvelle. What do you call that because it ain't telekinesis. I've seen enough poltergeists in my time to know the difference.