Page 96

“Sully, what happened?”

And how did they survive it?

“They were looking for you,” Whitney answered in her stead. He was visibly unharmed, but closer inspection revealed tears in his sweatshirt and jeans where the fabric was stained with blood. If I could see it, the police must have, too.

“Made Nero pretty angry to realize this was another missed shot,” Whitney continued. “He would have dragged us all to Hell if he could have.”

“Why didn’t he?” Indy asked.

Whitney tilted his head toward Sully, who sighed. I hadn’t noticed before, but she looked drained and haggard, like Indy used to after using his phoenix powers.

“The wards are broken,” she said. “The other witch… she’s powerful. We were lucky they attacked us here. This place is a magical bunker. A safe haven…” Her dark eyes flicked around again, glistening with more tears at the sight of the destruction. She slumped, and Whitney placed his arm around her shoulders.

“At least, it was,” she concluded quietly.

No one else spoke. The others seemed shell-shocked. Abigail hugged her arms around herself, looking like she had that day in Hell’s training arena while she held together the pieces of her shredded dress. Dottie’s drawn-on eyebrows pinched together,creating a stony scowl. The fight was over, but the muscles bulging in her bare arms indicated she was ready for another round. Between them, Gunnar twisted the toe of his shoe against the floor, making tiny squeaks that sounded like scurrying mice.

Sully’s mouth twisted. “We may not be safe here, but I’m not sure where…”

Beside me, Indy stepped out, then turned a swift circle, ensuring all eyes were on him before he announced, “We need to make a stand.” With his fists clenched and his foot planted on the ground, he looked as severe as possible for a petite man in a pretty red dress.

“No more running away,” he continued. “Let them come, and we’ll settle this once and for all.”

The hounds heard him, and I hoped the police didn’t. Whitney seemed equally eager to silence the outburst as he hissed, “We don’t have the numbers or firepower to win any kind of fight.” He frowned. “Less a fight and more an extermination.”

Indy drew a breath to argue, but Whitney shook his head.

“You remember what I told you?” he asked. “About my deal? My troops?”

I’d heard their talk in the trailer, a story Whitney had never shared during our century in Hell together. I wished I’d known it before; it might have helped to have proof that he was fallible. Maybe even weak.

He raked a hand through his blond locks. “I know about unwinnable fights, and I’d rather not lead you into one.” His expression hardened as he added, “I won’t.”

It was sobering to hear the truth we’d been avoiding for weeks. No amount of thinking, planning, hunkering down, or running would change the inevitable. Our fates were sealed, but at least Indy would be spared. I might even thank the damned angel for taking him away.

Gunnar, Dottie, and Abigail shared sorrowful glances, and Sully wiped her eyes while the cops snapped pictures of the wrecked gallery. I worked the cuff of my sweater sleeve down into my palm and rubbed my fingertips across it once, twice…

“Ican lead us,” Indy blurted. “My fire destroys hellhounds. Permanently. I can end this.”

“Fire you no longer have,” I said flatly.

He whirled around with something like betrayal on his face. “Ididhave it. In Ohio?—”

“Indy, no,” I said.

His features hardened, and he sounded as petulant as a child when he replied, “Indy, yes.”

“No!” My shout echoed loudly enough to make him flinch.

I knew where this was headed. He would brag about having saved me by incinerating a small pack of dogs in what must have been a fluke. Perfect conditions that would never occur again and, assuming Evander told the truth in everything he said, the only thing keeping Indy alive was whatever scraps of his power remained. My precious few days would evaporate with one show of force, and Indy would become a wisp. A vapor.

“It’s gone, Doll,” I said, avoiding Indy’s bright, golden eyes. “Your fire is gone. Along with your wings, and your tears, and?—”

“You don’t know that,” he muttered.

I knew it would wound him further, but I had to insist, “I do.”

“How?” He stared at me, his parted lips stained as red as his dress and his plum curls tousled.