Page 98 of Hounded: Ashes to Ashes

“Not us,” I replied.

“No,” he agreed. “Not us.”

We lingered in the stairwell, both accustomed enough to silence to find comfort in it. We stared at the grouted brick, the scuffed steps stretching upward, anything but each other.

“Very well,” Whitney said at last. “Another ascension, then. It’s only logical. Birds belong in the sky.”

The statement almost took me to my knees, but I nodded. I nodded and breathed and rubbed the cuff of my sweater against my palm until Whitney clapped his hand on my shoulder.

“Shall we enjoy it, then? Your remarkable thing?” He motioned to the gallery beyond the closed door, but I knew the gesture carried much farther.

He was asking the same thing I had. When Evander told me the end was coming, I wanted only to delay it. A few days. A bit more time. Whitney wanted to share that time. To experience his own version of life after death, and that was not something I would deny him.

So, I nodded again. Because I’d seen the way he was with Sully. Because he was willing to give his last for me. The losses yet to come weren’t just mine. Maybe, after Indy was gone and before Nero came with his vengeance, I wouldn’t have to mourn alone.

Indy

It wasan odd time to go bowling.

Loren suggested it, but he wasn’t even enjoying himself, sitting by the ball return wearing loaner shoes that made his feet look comically large.

While he mourned his loss of dignity, Sully was enthused, or maybe relieved, to be somewhere that wasn’t her apartment or the wrecked gallery. It had only been two days, and the police had cleared the place for insurance adjusters and contractors to make bids for repairs.

She and Whitney were past the point of subtlety. They sat side by side with their hands clasped in Sully’s lap. The blond Brit reminded me of Loren more and more. A little bit stiff, a little bit stuffy, but he looked at Sully with shades of the same quiet devotion Loren showed me every day.

At the end of our lane, Dottie held a swirled red ball with near professional poise. She had bragged on the ride over that she used to bowl in a league. Between that, her motorcycle hobby, and her penchant for styling her hair in pin curls, she was quickly becoming one of the most interesting people I knew.

With flawless form, she threw the ball down the lane where it crashed into the pins, leaving only two standing. Gunnar clapped delightedly, but Dottie scowled.

“A little rusty,” she grumbled while squinting at the overhead television displaying the scoreboard.

The bowling alley wasn’t crowded on a weeknight. The occasional clatter of balls and pins colliding combined with the faint background noise of people chatting and music coming from the arcade. Ours was the largest group in the place, and they put us against the far wall. Our semicircle of chairs set in a recess in the floor surrounding a table covered in pizza boxes and pitchers of beer. The beer tasted like piss water, but Gunnar was guzzling it like a frat boy.

Beside him, Abigail sipped daintily from one of the cheap plastic cups, frowning at the flavor but too polite to complain. I’d turned my own drink into more of a game than a beverage, having stuck a straw in it to blow an endless stream of bubbles.

The yellow liquid rose nearer the lip of the cup, shimmering and making sputtering sounds as the bubbles swelled and popped. When a pair of hands grabbed my waist and pulled me backward, I sucked in a surprised breath, almost inhaling some of the beer. My ass landed on a familiar lap, and I swiveled around to pin Loren with a grin.

“You’d have been pissed if I spilled this on you.” I waved my cup. “It stinks.”

He huffed and snaked his arms around my waist, pulling me tightly against him. Happy chills snuck up my spine as he rested his chin on my shoulder so we could watch as Dottie threw her second ball.

It was novel to get this kind of attention in public. I’d made a practice of reminding Loren that he didn’t need to be quite so prudish with his affections, but I tried to respect his boundaries.Boundaries I was certainly pushing now by wiggling my hips across his crotch, earning a pinch on my bare midriff.

“Just getting comfy!” I protested while stifling a giggle.

Loren puffed another breath, blowing warm air past my ear, and I nuzzled my head against his.

Dottie picked up the spare, and we all cheered. Then Sully passed her beer cup to Whitney before getting up to take her turn.

Tensions were lower than ever, and Loren wasn’t dishing out nearly as many venomous glares. They said nothing brought people together like a common enemy, and it seemed that had happened here. It was good. We’d never had many friends. None, really, besides Sully, and she was new. Living so long meant leaving a lot of things behind. People, places… though somehow it was always Brooklyn. Always Loren and me.

I rubbed my temple against his again, then turned and kissed his cheek. Still pushing my luck, but he didn’t stop me. Despite the attack on the Urban Easel, and despite me lacking the powers that could turn the tide in our favor, I felt oddly hopeful. I’d been clean for thirteen days and counting. They didn’t give pins for that, but I’d get there. The number sixty from Hopeful Horizons remained affixed to my duffel bag in the closet at home. I might put the damn thing on my shirt when I reached that milestone again. Throw a little party for myself.

Hell, I could have a party with everyone. A pack of hellhounds and a witch made for interesting company, but I wouldn’t trade any of them.

Sully wasn’t great at bowling. Laughably bad, in fact, which was only okay because we were laughingwithher, not at her.

“I think I need bumpers,” she muttered while her second ball rolled slowly down the gutter. Mahogany blush stained her cheeks as she wiped her palms on her skirt. “I’m gonna ask them to put them on my profile. Anyone else?”

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