Page 17 of Hounded: Ashes to Ashes

She glanced at me to confirm, and I nodded. I couldn’t burn a bitch, but I could cry. In fact, I was welling up now, frustrated and frightened and fucking overwhelmed.

Moira smiled. “You do that.”

When the candle died, the room felt dark despite daylight beaming through the windows. I looked at where Moira had stood, but she had disappeared with barely a wisp of smoke to herald her exit. Sully and I lingered in silence.

I touched the sweater yarn tied snugly around my wrist.

Moira said she would consider our offer. While she did, we would wait. Loren would wait another agonizing day, increasingly assured no one was coming for him. Afraid he’d been forgotten because I excelled at forgetting. But now, he was the only thing I could remember.

Loren

He said I was a liar.

I thought a demon would appreciate that.

He called me a bad dog. A useless cur. A mongrel.

He used to say I was too civilized but, after being dragged across state lines on a weeks-long hunt and spending my nights muzzled and stuffed into tiny motel room closets, I was less civilized than ever before.

I knelt, wedged between an ironing board and a tiny wall safe. My arms were bound behind my backto prevent me from creating a portal to escape or harming my new master. He was smart to do that because, if I could have killed him, I would have. I would have cleaved him in half and sent us both to the darkest depths of Hell. Better there than here in this hot, stuffy box waiting until he finally broke me, and I told him what he wanted to know.

Indy wasn’t in Ohio. Or Pennsylvania.

He was with Sully in New York, and I would never lead Nero there. We would canvas the United States or the world before I would take the archdemon anywhere near Brooklyn. Near home.

My hound whined, and I shifted, trying in vain to ease the ache in my knees. I hadn’t stood upright in days. Hadn’t left this closet in… I didn’t know how long. The sun had slipped under the gap at the bottom of the door three, maybe four times? Nero didn’t like to stay put for long, and I wasn’t sure what had caused this delay.

The motel room door beeped, and my ears pricked to the sound. I watched the narrow sliver of light beside my feet, waiting for the archdemon’s shadow to cut through the daylight.

Voices came first. Something besides Nero’s rumbling bass. A female joined him. She spoke in a murmur I strained to discern. I leaned forward, fighting the sting of numbness that had settled in my legs.

The chatter remained a jumble of noise until the closet door slid aside and light burst in, framing Nero’s towering silhouette.

He was taller in Hell. Taller even than me. But during our time on Earth, he had donned a human disguise, having traded his red skin and curved horns for the visage of a 40-something businessman with a side part and perpetual sneer. That last part suited him, at least.

The archdemon scowled down at me, and I snarled behind the stifling leather muzzle.

My eyes adjusted quickly enough to catch the vein jumping at his temple as he lunged forward and grabbed me. His fingers knotted around my collar, and he hauled me out of the closet to fling me face down on the musty carpet outside.

I struggled toward sitting, but Nero was quicker. He hooked the toe of his shoe under my side and gave a kick that rolled me onto my back, crushing my bound hands while I glowered up at him and, finally, saw the woman who’d joined us.

She reminded me of Sully, and the familiarity strummed a lonely chord in my heart. She wore earth-toned clothing made of natural fabrics, beaded bracelets stacked up both wrists, andginger-orange hair hung to her waist. I couldn’t tell for sure with the muzzle covering my mouth and nose, but I imagined she smelled like nag champa.

My hound whined, aware as I was of what might have been a friend. The woman was clearly a witch, but her association with Nero made me wary.

“He’s not what I expected.” She hung back while looking me over, then she glanced at Nero. “You said he can talk?”

“Can,” Nero grumbled. “Won’t. He’s too stubborn. Or stupid.”

I squirmed, feeling vulnerable and exposed while lying prone. It took some effort to get my feet under me, and I half-expected Nero to pin me down before I worked my way to kneeling.

The motel room was in a state of disarray. The bed linens were tangled, and the small table by the desk had been overturned. On the opposite wall, the curtains were parted over a set of sheers that admitted a fan of golden light. It was stuffy with the window AC unit choking and churning, and I felt keenly aware of the sweat that dampened my clothes and pasted my hair to my temples.

Semi-upright, I locked eyes with the witch. She looked as nervous about me as I was about her.

“It might help if you took that off,” she told Nero while gesturing to the strip of leather secured across my face.

Nero scoffed. “Go ahead. Watch your fingers, though. He bites.” His scornful look made me bristle.

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