Page 82 of Hounded: Ashes to Ashes

Thanksgiving in Julywas a big hit. Abigail came out and joined the others, no worse for wear after her chat with Whitney and Loren. When I questioned Loren about it later, he told me Whitney wanted to make sure she could be trusted.

“Can she?” I’d asked.

To that, he’d offered a noncommittal grumble, and I wasn’t sure why I’d expected anything different.

As for my conversation with Sully, not much came of it. She offered to keep looking into my disappearing powers, though neither of us had high hopes for answers.

My mission to introduce Whitney to junk food proved to be the beginning of a trend. Whitney, Gunnar, Dottie, and Abigail had spent decades in Hell, in captivity. Their freedom seemed like something worth celebrating. Loren’s, too, for that matter, and I was eager for him to see more than the differences between himself and his fellow hounds. They were pack animals, after all. They could be a team. A family. And with group dinners becoming a trend, it was time to implement another familial tradition: vacations.

Okay, not so much a vacation. We were being hunted, and neither Loren nor Sully were big fans of my propensity to wander the city, aura-blocking wards or no. However, they relented to my idea of a group outing due to the undeniable truth of safety in numbers, and because Gunnar got so damn excited when I mentioned Coney Island that no one had the heart to keep him from it.

Getting dressed in the trailer bathroom, I struggled to strike a balance quick and cute as I dressed in an off-the-shoulder crop top and low-rise pleather pants. All black, which made my hair a pleasant shock of color, still plum but all I could think about was Evander saying Indigo, Indigo.

I grabbed a pair of foam earplugs from the drawer under the sink, then trotted out into the living area where Loren was waiting.

Walking over to him, I held up the earplugs in a wordless offer.

Any amusement park on the weekend was bound to be buzzing, which made for a chaotic atmosphere Loren did not enjoy, but Coney Island was sentimental to us both. We’d visited regularly since shortly after it opened and, while I wouldn’t dream of dragging him to Disneyworld or Six Flags, he had a certain fondness for Luna Park.

That didn’t mean we went without accommodation. Besides this being an opportunity for him to bond with the other hellhounds, it was also a chance for me to make up for our failed ice cream date. And to prove I loved him. Declare it boldly.

With a brief squint at the earplugs, Loren gave a nod.

I smiled and palmed them in one hand, then used the other to push his hair over his shoulders. He stooped to let me slide the plugs into place, then roll my thumbs along the shells of his ears.

“All good?” I asked as he straightened.

He nodded again and, with a parting glance around the trailer, we headed out.

We drove into town, then took the subway to the Stillwell Avenue station where Sully and the others were waiting. Loren was quiet most of the trip. It wasn’t the silent treatment of last week, though, and I didn’t feel like I was in trouble anymore, but I wasn’t out of the woods, either. That would take time, and I was more impatient than ever.

The sun was setting when we made it to the boardwalk.

Dottie and Abigail stood slack jawed, gawking at the food stands, umbrella-topped tables, and the dusky sky studded with banners and balloons. As night crept in, lights flickered on, defining the edges of every structure including the towering Wonder Wheel.

While the other girls stared, Sully hung on Whitney’s arm. They looked formal, almost posed, and I wondered about his absent mistress. Was that how he and Loren accompanied the demoness in Hell? Like broody prom dates or bodyguards?

Whitney looked less impressed with the carnival sights than the others, but I was beginning to realize that was his default setting. Some people had resting bitch face; Whitney had resting stern face.

Beside him, Gunnar had that same puppy dog energy I’d seen before, tongue lolling and tail wagging. Not literally, but it wasn’t hard to imagine. It was funny to think he was the most intimidating of the bunch at a glance: brawny buzz-cut dude who could probably bench press me two times over. He seemed sweet. Kind of like Travis except with the bulk in his biceps instead of his belly.

“This looks just like it did inThe Warriors,” Gunnar said in an awed voice.

I grinned and cast my gaze ahead. “I know that movie! The costuming was epic.”

Gunnar’s smile stretched, and he cupped a hand to his mouth before throwing his head back to crow, “Warriors, come out to play!”

A handful of pedestrians glanced our way, and Loren grimaced. I patted his arm, then leaned in to tell him, “You know, we’re kind of a gang now. Maybe we should get uniforms.”

His brows dipped low. “Not a gang.”

Despite my soft tone, Whitney heard—all the hounds must have thanks to their supernatural senses—and his features twisted with uncertainty. “A militia, perhaps?”

“Military uniforms!” I could picture it already. “Double-breasted jackets and tasseled epaulettes!”

Sully raised her hand. “If anything, matching outfits would make usmoreobtrusive. Let’s focus on blending in and having a nice, quiet evening.”

Odd instructions for a night full of rides, games, and greasy food, but I was too happy not to be cooped up in the trailer or her apartment to argue. So, I bobbed my head in reluctant agreement as Sully addressed the group.

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