Page 6 of A Touch of Brimstone

I pressed against the side of the building and held my breath, as if that would render me invisible. The only weapon at the ready was the box cutter in my back pants pocket. Slowly, I retrieved it. With the size of the animal, would the cutter be enough to ward it off? It was baring its dagger-sharp teeth that looked capable of ripping apart anything it encountered. I stilled and melted against the building.

Even if it couldn’t track me by scent, my pounding heart would make me easy to find. Coaxing myself to take slow, even breaths, I pressed even harder against the wall. It came closer, sniffed my hand, and licked. With swift and precise movements, it stood. Its heavy paws pressed on my shoulders. I strained to hold its weight. Tilting its head as if to study me, it inched its nose closer. Then it dropped down to all fours and ran in the direction it had come from.

I doubled over with relief. By the time I’d slowed my breath and calmed, there was no sign of the dog or any sign of the illumination in the alley.

Retrieving my phone from my other pocket, I looked up the number for animal control. What would I say? “Hey, be on the lookout for a dog. What type of dog? Imagine one that looks like it would guard the gates of hell in every movie.”

Instead, I called, told them about the dog, and explained that it wasn’t aggressive but might be perceived that way because of its size. After giving them all the requested information, I stayed in the alley, looking out into the emptiness of it as I started to second guess what my eyes had clearly seen. It felt so surreal, I wanted to attribute it to restless nights and long work hours.

I spent the walk time to the store convincing myself that my eyes had deceived me.

Instead of immediately going home after my shift, I made a detour to the alley again, walking the length of it, phone in hand, recording my traipse down it.

Nothing.

No strangers inquiring whether I was a witch, no massive dogs who deserved an appearance in Supernatural. Things spiraled into the bizarre when I sniffed the air, remembering the stranger’s intoxicating scent. It had lingered in the coffee shop long after he’d left, so why not in the alley?

Could the stranger and the dog really be two unrelated events? There was no evidence that they were.

“What are you doing?” Emoni’s voice came from behind me. She must have seen me poke the air where I’d seen the shimmering wall.

I whipped around, embarrassment flushing my face. How do you explain poking the air?

“Nothing,” I said with a strained frown. It wasn’t good enough to fool a stranger, let alone the friend I’d known since undergrad.

Her brows inched together. She grabbed a tuft of her hair and coiled it around her fingers, still watching me. Finally, she blew out a breath. “Luna, I hang around with musicians, writers, photographers, and artists. I can’t have any more weird or”—she air quoted—“eccentric as they prefer to be called, friends. So get it together, girl.” She beamed, her long legs swallowing the distance between us in a few steps. She gave me a quick hug, wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and guided me back to the store. Her demeanor was light and airy but I didn’t miss the glint of concern in her eyes.

“I have exciting news. Guess who’s playing at the Kingmakers tonight!”

Emoni’s news did wonders for chasing away the encounter with the man from the coffee shop and the dog. Joining Emoni and her band’s last-minute booking was exactly what I needed: strong liquor, dancing, and supporting my friend while she played in one of the most successful and swankiest bars in the city.

Her excitement at playing at that bar was contagious. I was buzzing with energy. After only three years, the Kingmakers had become popular and known for showcasing up-and-coming local artists but more notably for when two chart-topping artists, to show the owner gratitude for giving them their first break, made several surprise visits to perform. As I looked around the crowd of people, my cynicism got the best of me, suspecting most of the patrons visited the club on the off chance they’d see a major artist for the cost of a watered-down rum and coke.

Emoni’s band, Night Ravage, was humming with excitement that I could sense from my seat at the bar as I sipped a Negroni.

“This is a surprise.” Jackson, a whiskey in hand, slid onto the stool next to me. My eye roll followed. It wasn’t a surprise that he was here, and he had to know I wasn’t naïve enough to think otherwise. He followed the band on social media and knew the chances were high that I’d be anywhere Emoni was playing. As usual, I’d arrived with the band and helped with setup as needed.

“Really?” I asked with a sigh of exasperation. “It seems like it’s about time for your bi-weekly request for us to work things out. Tell me, how does one work through you apparently accidentally falling into Ava’s cooter?”

To Ava’s credit, after her betrayal, she had the basic decency to leave me alone. She’d scuttled away and the one time we crossed paths, our eyes met for a brief moment only. She jerked her gaze from mine the moment they met. I wasn’t sure why. Was it difficult seeing the echo of pain that her betrayal had caused? Did she feel the need to hide her shame and remorse? Perhaps I was giving her too much credit. Seeing her was a sucker punch to the gut. But at least I only had to endure it once.

He laughed. “Cooter. You’re adorable.”

In that moment, I wasn’t enamored by his wide, charismatic smile or his lush mass of chestnut curls tapered at the sides. Or his round face with the pronounced dimpled chin and hooked nose. The combination of features worked for him, gave him character. Jackson was aware that his unconventional but striking looks drew women to him. It worked and he knew it.

“Obviously adorable isn’t what you want, which is why you looked elsewhere.” I smacked my palm against my head. “I forgot. You didn’t look elsewhere. What did you say? Oh yes, it was an accident. You accidentally slept with my friend.”

He huffed a sigh. “I’ve told you a number of times, that was a bad word choice. It wasn’t an accident. But a mistake. We all make them, and I think it’s something we can work through.”

“Does Ava know you’re here trying to ‘work things out’?” At each of his attempts, I wasn’t sure how I had ever loved such a self-absorbed, unrepentant jackass. I’d been seeing him through rose-tinted glasses. They were off now, though, and his personality was being seen through an unfiltered lens.

My knowledge that he was still involved with Ava didn’t faze him.

“Let’s say that I entertain this idea of working things out.”

Why not? I had time to kill. “What happens to Ava? Or do I become the side woman?”

His jaw clenched and he looked contemplatively into his glass of whiskey. “Not at all. You two are friends—”

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