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“We’ll give you some privacy,” I told the girl hound. My smile didn’t do much to ease her apprehension, but I got the feeling that had a lot to do with Loren glaring daggers from the entry. When I left, I made sure to take him with me.

Grabbing his hand, I led him out and pulled the bedroom door shut behind us.

In the living area, Dottie and Gunnar sat on opposite sides of the coffee table, playing Go Fish while Whitney and Sully bumped elbows in the kitchen. It was strange seeing the apartment so full and noisy. Multiple conversations were underway, and everyone looked comfy cozy. Except Loren, of course.

We made our way to the kitchen to get a better look at Whitney who had somehow been convinced to don a red plaid apron and oven mitts. I snickered at the sight.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked as Loren and I approached.

Sully sidestepped to give Whitney space to pull a turkey out of the oven. With mashed potatoes and green beans already on the counter, it was a Thanksgiving-worthy spread. Having our resident Brit help prepare it made for a strange sort of irony.

“Thought we might make up for a few missed holidays,” Sully said.

It was nowhere near November, but I could appreciate a party for any occasion, even made-up ones.

“Is there room for two more?” I asked.

Sully grabbed a bottle of wine and began twisting a corkscrew into it. “Only because you’re my favorites,” she replied. “Though, if you keep bringing me roommates, I may have to downgrade you to distant acquaintances.”

She was kidding, but only just. Her living room was in a state of disarray with pillows, blankets, and clothing scattered around. Since the hellhounds didn’t have paying jobs, I imagined the new outfits and anything else Dottie, Gunnar, Whitney, and now Abigail would need came out of Sully’s pocketbook. It made me want to check the bathroom for the flock of toothbrushes that must have been accumulating in there.

Speaking of the bathroom, the apartment only had one, now shared by five people… It was a lot.

After making space for the stuffed bird, Whitney shed the mitts and apron and dropped them beside the sink. He rounded the island and came over to Loren, who drew to wary attention.

“I’d like to have a word with Abigail,” Whitney told him, then added, “Would you care to join me?”

“She’s getting dressed,” I told Whitney, who barely batted an eye at the protest.

“We’ll be sure to knock,” he replied.

“Indy, can you help me finish up?” Sully called over. “We need butter for the rolls and the cranberry sauce. They’re both in the fridge.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

I headed for the refrigerator while watching Loren and Whitney head toward Sully’s bedroom.

Opening the fridge, I retrieved the butter dish and a bowl of cranberry sauce, then moved to stand alongside Sully. She had uncorked the wine and filled a glass for each of us.

Taking mine, I swirled it, then took a sip. It was red and dry, the kind Loren preferred, but I wasn’t too picky to turn it down.

“What happened to her?” Sully tipped her head toward the bedroom door and our most recent addition inside.

“She said she was trying to get away, but the other hounds attacked her,” I said. “They were hurting her from the sound of it. I think they were trying to kill her.”

“Good thing they can’t do that,” Sully replied.

Speaking of Abigail made me realize how long she was taking to change. Safe to assume she wasn’t eager to meet everyone or suffer any more of Loren’s narrow-eyed glares. I assured her he was a nice guy, a real teddy bear once you got to know him, and that he wasn’t always this way. It made me feel even more like a record skipping, stuck on the same thoughts and half-truths.

He was always a little like this.

Some things didn’t change, but others definitely did. My loss of power remained at the forefront of my mind since I’d been forced to stand by and watch the hellhounds battle in the isolated alley. Sully’s reminder that the hounds couldn’t dispatch each other permanently presented a dilemma I had notyet considered. They could fight, bloody, and wound each other, but no one could ultimatelywin.

They were sent back to Hell for their own form of rebirth and could return to Earth from there. They would, now that they had proof we were in Brooklyn. Or at least that Loren was. I wasn’t sure they really noticed me.

But that begged the question of the strategy I’d told Abigail we had. If every hellhound fight was a war with no winner, then they were all simply warmups. Nero and his witch would be the ones to settle this. Their power would overwhelm everything else, and we had no way to stop it.

My fire had reduced the hounds in Ohio to ash. Permanent death. That was the power we needed to do more than merely delay the inevitable, and it was gone. Missing. Out of reach. Which made our odds of victory next to nil.