Page 97 of Hounded: Ashes to Ashes

Had I intended to tell him? Ever? Or just pass him off into Evander’s hands with the fondest goodbye I could manage, then let him process after the fact? Alone in his grief like I would be?

“Unfortunately,” Whitney looked at Indy, “it doesn’t matter. Even with your fire, we would be overwhelmed.”

It wasn’t the answer Indy wanted—not one he was inclined to accept. I sensed another protest or spiteful retort, but Whitney turned to me and put a stop to any rebuttal.

“Lorenzo, may I speak with you? Privately?”

Sully glanced at him inquisitively, but he offered no explanation as he led the way toward the door at the back of the gallery.

Conversation resumed as we departed. The chorus of voices faded into a mumble as we entered the stairwell and closed the door, secluding ourselves in the cold, cavernous space.

Seeing Whitney in casual clothes was taking some getting used to. He moved with the same grace he had in Hell, and he held his head with that haughty air he used anytime he wasn’t bowing to our mistress. I caught myself trying to mimic his elegance even now, despite there being no one to impress.

Stopping at the base of the steps, he faced me. “I think you’re aware—perhaps you came to this conclusion before I did.” He cast his emerald eyes aside. “With the odds so heavily against us, it may be time to consider our losses.”

I folded my arms. “Mylosses, you mean.”

My home invaded. My love taken away. My life irrevocably changed.

Whitney’s expression soured. “No, I mean ours. Surrender or defeat, this doesn’t end well for any of us. Nero has plans for the hounds now that Miss is gone. Assuming we aren’t reduced to less than that.”

He meant killed. Destroyed. Stripped of our devilish spirits and left to rot. We were both old men, long past our expectation of life. I wasn’t sure what would happen to our bodies without the hounds’ immortal souls keeping our bodies moving and hearts beating.

Whatever my fate, I could accept it as long as Indy wasn’t around to witness it. As long as Sully was spared. So, yes, weneeded to consider that. Mitigating damage and protecting those we’d dragged into the line of fire.

The brick walls that boxed us in weren’t much to look at, but Whitney managed to make a study of them, staring at the grout lines like they were a maze he could navigate. Find a way out. Recover the plan. Salvage things somehow.

“This is,” –he paused, and a tight smile pursed his lips— “it’s been lovely. You’ve managed something remarkable: life after death. And, also, love. It’s enviable.”

His gaze met mine, and I remembered the rest of what he’d told Indy that day in the trailer. The Airstream was small, and my hearing was good. I didn’t miss much of what happened within my home’s four walls. He’d claimed to be content with Moira, though that was no surprise. He’d always seemed settled in Hell. But to me, it had been a tether. A slip lead I avoided for fear it would tighten like a noose.

“You could run,” he continued. “You have…morethan the rest of us. We could hold off Nero’s forces for a while. Buy you time.”

It was a kindness I didn’t expect. I certainly wouldn’t have asked for it. A chance to get away. To turn a few precious days into more. More museums. More piano bars. Maybe even the Hoover Dam.

“Why would you do that?” I asked, my voice suddenly thick.

That tight smile pulled his mouth into a line, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Outside of Miss, I had nothing and no one except you,” he said. “I don’t wish you ill, Lorenzo. I never have. And, for all the things I couldn’t spare you before, perhaps I can delay this.”

The offer salved a wound I’d thought forgotten. A hurt I’d held onto since the day he stood by and watched Moira steal my soul. All told, Whitney’s short time on Earth had been alearning experience for us both. I may have misjudged or at least underestimated the kinder parts of him.

“You said you didn’t want to lead people into an unwinnable fight,” I murmured.

He nodded. “I plan to give them the same choice I’m giving you. It would be their choice to stay or go.”

I fidgeted with my sweater sleeve, burdened with emotions I couldn’t name. “I don’t think they’d risk destruction for me. I haven’t been very… gracious.”

Whitney snorted. “You’ve been an ass.”

I shot him a narrow look, which he waved away.

“But I think you’re wrong,” he said. “Something about damnation inspires change in people. The desire to do right or do better.”

Weeks ago, running away seemed like the best option, largely because it was the only one. But now, it was a selfish choice. One I couldn’t make.

“It’s too late,” I said. “I talked to the angel. He’s going to take Indy to Heaven.”

Whitney drew up to stand tall and rigid. “Seems they’re letting anyone in these days,” he grumbled.

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