Page 142 of Shades of Silver City

“Comes in handy every now and again,” he mutters, brushing his hands together.

“One second,” I say.

Jumping over the broken glass, I run to Scathe’s side, bending down to inspect all four of his legs and paws.

Gently, I grab his soft head, inspecting his neck and scruff for any sign of injury.

I’m fine, he says in my mind.

“I heard you got shot. I was worried.” I wrap my arms around his furry neck, hugging him close. “Wait,” I murmur into his fur. “You’re not, like, a human dude or something, right?”

“Hellhound,” Godric says. “Let’s get out of here.” He hustles to the door, calling over his shoulder, “Explain everything. Starting at the beginning.”

Why couldn’t you fill him in? I ask Scathe.

No time. We just got here.

Jumping to my feet, I bolt after Godric to the door closest to the glass cell. We exit into an even larger room made of concrete with a labyrinth of pipes running overhead. Fluorescent light fixtures buzz above us, and more glass prisons sit empty around the room.

“What the hell are these?” I ask.

“Holding cells,” Godric says, words clipped.

“Is this a prison?”

“No—private property.”

His strides are long and confident. I figure he knows where to go, so I hustle to keep up with him. Scathe stays by my side.

How’d you guys find me? I ask him.

Scented you.

I make a contemplative sound. Can you speak to everyone?

Only fae.

“I’m not fae though,” I murmur.

Guess you’re close enough, Scathe replies. Would’ve tried striking up a conversation sooner had I known you’d hear me, human.

I might’ve had an aneurysm. A delirious giggle escapes me at the thought. I’m talking to a freaking dog.

Hellhound, Scathe amends.

You can hear all my thoughts?

Just the ones you don’t guard.

“Well, fuck.” I side-eye the hound as we burst through one final door and emerge into the bright morning sunlight. Warm air welcomes me. For once, I find it comforting. “Did you know about Archer?”

What part? That he’d lose the cool on his power for you?

“What? That’s not what—”

“If you’re done talking to yourself,” Godric says with a low growl, “can we hustle?” He points to his SUV up ahead, parked in an empty lot.

“I’m talking to Scathe,” I mutter. Squinting against the rising sun, I glance around. I’ve never been to this part of the city. The air carries a hint of salt. We’ve got to be on the east coast—near the Jacarinian Sea. The city’s skyline sits off in the distance in what must be the west.

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