Page 112 of Hounded: Ashes to Ashes

“Come along, Indy.”

Evander reached for me again, and it was then I noticed this room had no doors. Just the window, and I wondered if we were about to launch ourselves through it. Gazing across the field of white and blue, I imagined—or maybe I remembered?—how it would feel to cruise on a heavenly breeze. To dip and dive between clouds. To be so fucking high and never come down.

When I lowered the tray and let that solitary teardrop slide off onto the carpet, Evander grabbed my arm. We didn’t go out the window or anywhere that would constitute as up. We dropped as swiftly as through a trap door, plummeting toward wherever Heaven stored their pieces of Hell.

Indy

So,Heaven was an office building. At least this part of it. And, like, any office, it had a file room way down in the sublevels. The holy basement, as it were.

I managed to stay on my feet this time, and I landed with that stomach-dropping thrill-ride sensation that cemented my belief that I liked flying much better than falling.

The sights were mundane. Flickering fluorescent lights cast a bluish glow across rows and columns of clunky metal file cabinets. It was crowded, with only enough room between them to open the drawers and rifle through. But no one was doing that. The room appeared to be abandoned. It should have been caked with dust and crowded with cobwebs, but since cleanliness was next to godliness, the heavenly housekeeping staff clearly couldn’t allow that.

Evander started walking down a narrow aisle, and I trotted after him. It was far from a hurry, more methodical in his advance toward the other end of the room. The far wall that was so distant I couldn’t be sure it existed, or if the labyrinth of filing cabinets stretched on eternally.

Loren is fine, I repeated that assurance but found myself unable to dismiss the unnerving qualifier of,For now.

How long until it wasn’t now anymore? A day? An hour? A long-ass walk through the bowels of Heaven?

Our footsteps echoed in the cavernous quiet, and I was about ready to ditch my angel escort and make a break for it. Find the nearest window and take a nosedive toward the Earthly plane. And die? Burn up in the atmosphere? I puffed an agitated breath. Evander was right. I could do no good like this. I couldn’t even get back to Brooklyn unassisted. But that knowledge didn’t keep my brain from churning through ill-fated escape plans while my shoes squeaked across the linoleum.

I got tired of following and sped up to come alongside Evander at the same moment he decided to turn and nearly crashed into me. Staggering back, I collided with the cold metal side of the nearest file cabinet. I cringed, imagining one of the boxy things toppling into the next, then the next like massive dominoes. Fortunately, it only rattled and stayed upright, and I sighed in relief.

When I looked at Evander, he was frowning, but pointing, too. One finger aimed down the row where a desk was situated facing us with a person seated behind it. Well, not quite seated. More like slumped across the desktop, head down with their arms spread in a pathetic sort of flailing gesture.

I crept forward, simultaneously eager to see someone besides Evander and unsure whether the person behind the desk was dead or sleeping.

It didn’t occur to me—the obvious pieces didn’t click into place—until I’d drawn very close, and the scuffle of my approach caused the person behind the desk to stir. She sat up, showing a pale face framed by slick black hair and red lips bent in a scowl. When her ruby eyes fixed on me, I lurched backward.

“Y-you!” I stammered.

Moira’s mouth slanted upward as she settled in the chair, sitting upright with her arms folded under her breasts. “And you,” she replied, sounding amused. “Should I take this to mean you managed to evade Nero?”

I glanced at Evander who now stood beside me, then faced the demoness with a tentative nod.

For being redeemed, Moira didn’t appear any different. She still fit the standard for a demonic entity, and she didn’t seem sorry, either. My tears may have changed her, but I didn’t see it.

Her smile was cold and as unsettling as her voice as she murmured, “Clever bird.”

A chill washed over me, and I rolled my shoulders in an attempt to shirk it. I didn’t feel clever. I felt cowardly. Not to mention confused.

Moira shifted in the chair, and I heard something metallic clink. Leaning forward, she propped her elbows on the desk and cushioned her chin in her hands. “Tell me, how are my boys? How is Loren?”

“He’sfine.” I blurted, then swallowed. I didn’t owe her any explanation and didn’t intend to give one until her gaze bored deeper into me.

“And Whitney?” she pressed. “Has he been a good pet for you?”

It crawled all over me: the dehumanization, the casual degradation, and the keen awareness that this bitch hadn’t changed one bit. Purified, my ass.

But she cared about them. Somewhere in her wretched heart, she held space for the men whose lives she stole. I’d seen it when she left Whitney in my care. Her affection, however twisted, was real enough, and I wanted to wound her with it.

“He’s dead,” I said. No sooner had the words left my lips than did they boomerang back and hit me instead. The image from the bowling was too visceral, and I was too raw to process it.

The demon mistress dipped back, and that metallic clatter rang out again. Her brows pinched, and her eyes darted about as though searching or processing the truth she had clearly not expected.

“How?” she asked, quiet but harsh, almost a hiss.

“Nero removed the hound soul,” Evander interjected, explaining what I didn’t fully understand.

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