Page 5 of Hounded: Ashes to Ashes

“Nothing for me?” She grinned. “Don’t you know it’s rude not to bring enough to share with the whole class?”

I pushed the door closed, then cheeked my half-chewed food to reply, “Got the last one. He was closing up.”

Sully hummed a dubious sound as I crouched to unbuckle the ankle strap of my stilettos. Stepping out of them onto the plush, tasseled rug was a welcome relief, and I scrubbed my toes against the carpet on my way through the living area.

When she wasn’t running the art gallery downstairs, Sully was a practicing witch. Her flat had all the hallmarks of the arcane: taxidermized animals, aged books, and piles of rocks and crystals that tantalized my bird brain. She also knew a fair amount about the supernatural world and was more willing todiscuss it than Loren had ever been, which had made the last near-month a cram study session on phoenixes, hellhounds, and everything in between.

Besides an incidental journey of self-discovery, we spent a lot of time researching things Sullydidn’tknow. Like the ins and outs of demonic contracts and how to locate a soul that was likely, hopefully, trapped in Hell.

Depressing to think that was our best-case scenario.

Passing into the kitchen, I dropped the hot dog wrapper in the trash, then tugged open the refrigerator door. The bottle of rosé I’d nicked from the storage closet downstairs waited on the bottom shelf, nicely chilled. Sully kept cases of the stuff around for schmoozing her high-end clientele or stocking the open bar at exhibitions. I set the bottle on the counter, then dug into the nearest drawer for a corkscrew. I was still rifling when Sully cleared her throat from the other side of the granite-topped island.

I glanced over my shoulder with one brow raised.

“How was your meeting?” she asked. Her expression was simultaneously sincere and skeptical.

Shrugging, I returned to the drawer where I spotted the corkscrew at last. “More of the same,” I replied.

Far more interesting than the confessional-worthy speeches given by my fellow addicts about their lowest lows and highest highs had been my encounter with Evander, the self-proclaimed angel. He said he knew me, and he must have known Sully, too. At least enough to realize she was a witch.

I opened the wine with a muffled pop, then took the bottle by the neck and lifted it to my lips for a gulp that turned quickly into a guzzle.

Sully’s frown deepened. “No glass or anything, huh?”

I swallowed. “Why dirty a dish? I’m gonna finish it.”

“You’regonnaneed to open a bar tab if you keep drinking through my stock.” She crossed her arms over the strands of glittering glass beads that hung down her chest.

“It could be drugs,” I muttered and took another lengthy sip.

Sully squinted at me for a long moment, then pushed her dreadlocks over her shoulders with a huff. “Regardless, I’m glad you’re back. I may have a lead on something.” She tipped her head toward the living room and the mess clearly hours in the making.

The shelves on the far wall had been ransacked and their contents added to the piles of parchment and reference materials arranged haphazardly on the floor. The scene reeked of desperation so palpable it burned my tongue.

She hadn’t given up. Neither had I, but the idea of spending another night staring at pages scrawled in dead languages till my eyes crossed made me cringe. Every time, it got my hopes up and, every time, the letdown dragged me deeper than before.

“What is it?” I asked with a sigh.

With a beckoning wave, Sully led me into the living area. I dragged along after her and moved a leatherbound tome off a floor cushion to clear a spot where I sat cross-legged with the wine bottle nestled in my lap.

She retrieved a book from a stack beside a cluster of candles and ferried it over to me. The pages were as thin as onionskin and penned with lines and rows of Cyrillic symbols. Demonology in some form seemed to span time and space. Ancient knowledge and beliefs contained secrets forgotten by modern man. Truths got buried over time, so we dug.

Plucking the glasses off her face, Sully dropped them onto my nose, and the words immediately changed. I skimmed the text—they crammed a lot in there, but I wasn’t about to admit it made my eyes cross—until Sully explained succinctly.

“Hellhounds can’t be summoned, but demons can.”

“Right,” I said. “And?”

It was hardly news. We’d discussed summoning circles and demon traps ad nauseum over the past few weeks. Since we couldn’t venture to Hell ourselves, it seemed the only other way to get to Loren was to bring him to us.

Sully dragged up a cushion and sat while pinning me with meaning in her dark eyes. “Loren’s mistress,” she said. “We get her, she gets Loren.”

The mention of the demoness made my gut churn. “Why would she help us? She’s the one who locked him up.”

And abused him. Put scars on his body and a chain around his neck. Those were the things I imagined she was doing now, punishing him for protecting me.

“I was thinking of a trade,” Sully replied. “We know she’s a contract demon. She makes deals. Why not let her make one with us?”

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