Page 29

Loren

My stomach had been boiling with acid since I stepped on the stage at High Notes.

Really, it started before that.

It kept me awake all night while Evander’s words from the day before played on a loop in my mind.

Indy was dying.

I was losing him.

For the last time.

With his life cycle on a relatively predictable schedule, I often knew when the end was near.

I put a dot on the calendar.

A tiny speck of a mark he never noticed, but it loomed large to me.

It seemed we were always racing toward the end.

Counting down days. That was what I’d asked the angel for: a few days.

It wasn’t enough, but I planned to make the most of it.

Tears and grieving could wait until Indy was gone.

I would nurse my heartache privately next week, when the world would be less sunny, less whole.

I would mourn my treasure then.

For now, I needed to be present, and I’d managed that well enough until Sully’s phone call.

We didn’t ask who she meant when she said “they” found the gallery.

She may have explained, but I didn’t hear or register it over the rush of urgency that had me dropping bills on our table and dragging Indy out of the piano bar so fast his heels must have skipped over the pavement.

We drove across town, weaving through traffic and racing yellow lights all the way to the Urban Easel.

I saw it before we parked: the broken glass, the front door ripped from its hinges, the lights inside flickering and blacked out in places, the art…

Once we were inside, I got a better look.

Black blood splattered the walls, the floor, and the canvasses.

I recalled my thoughts of decorating the space with Joss Foster’s vital fluids a few weeks earlier.

Now I realized how macabre, how wrong, it would have been.

Partition walls had been toppled and their surfaces shredded by what must have been claws.

The smell of sulfur thickened the air, a lingering aura more powerful than what would have come from mere hellhounds.

I’d smelled it in the motel rooms where Nero kept me prisoner for weeks on end.

He’d been here. This close.

The bile churning in my gut surged upward, and I gulped it down, then pulled Indy closer to my side.

He hung on with his fingers dug in around my waist and his face slack in horror.

They’d come for him.

They found the gallery because I stole the witch’s bag.

I led them here so directly I may as well have drawn them a map.

We made our way across the floor, sidestepping splintered frames and ripped pieces of canvas.

For the first time, I was grateful Indy would be gone soon.

In Ohio and now in Brooklyn, I’d put him at risk of more harm than I’d spared him.

Maybe he was better off apart from me.

Permanently.

The gallery should have been empty this late at night, but it was packed.

Gunnar, Dottie, and Abigail huddled near the walls, away from the center of the room that bustled with uniformed police officers.

In the corner by her desk, Sully and Whitney conversed with a pair of cops.

Rather, Sully talked while leaning on Whitney, who stood as staunch and solemn as ever.

The four of them were wrapping up their discussion by the time Indy and I came into earshot.

Thank yous were exchanged as the policemen closed their notepads and shook Sully’s hand, then Whitney’s.

He looked settled in here, and I wondered when it had happened.

I’d trusted him enough to leave him unmonitored in Sully’s flat, but I didn’t expect their relationship to be anything more than platonic cohabitation.

I would have never anticipated the flirtatious glances they’d exchanged at Coney Island or the way he comforted her now, gently touching her arm and nodding as she sniffled through a mumbled string of words.

My hound wanted to growl.

Scare him off. Claim what had once been mine.

I was already losing Indy, surely I wouldn’t have to give up Sully, too.

But I swallowed the protest and stopped at a respectful distance to wait until they spotted us.

I should have expected Whitney would notice first. Even with the magical wards muting our essences, his senses were keen.

When he turned, Sully broke away from him to rush forward and throw her arms around Indy and me.

“We saw them,” she said, her face between ours and her voice as strained as it had been over the phone.

“The demon. The witch. And more hounds… Mean ones…”

She drew back, tears rolling down her cheeks and making me wonder if I’d seen her cry before.

Sully was typically unflappable and unbothered by things that would crawl under my skin and stick there.

I didn’t realize how much I relied on her for that until I saw the fear running rampant on her face.

“Lore, they’re not like you.” Her gaze panned wide, and I realized we’d been joined by Gunnar, Dottie, and Abigail.

“They’re not like any of you,” she added.

The cops continued picking through the wreckage, and I wondered what she’d told them about the splatters of black blood and dozens of art pieces ruined by savage claws and teeth.

Any excuse besides the truth would have been too fantastic to be believed, but humans had a way of weaponizing logic.

They used it to strike down anything that didn’t fit in the confines of “normal,” so the NYPD likely swallowed whatever lies Sully spoon-fed them without batting an eye.

She may not have been able to tell our mundane neighbors the truth, but she could certainly tell me, and I expected her to.

“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…

“ I can 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.

“I did have 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.

Had I intended to tell him?

Ever? Or just pass him off into Evander’s hands with the fondest goodbye I could manage, then let him process after the fact?

Alone in his grief like I would be?

“Unfortunately,” Whitney looked at Indy, “it doesn’t matter. Even with your fire, we would be overwhelmed.”

It wasn’t the answer Indy wanted—not one he was inclined to accept.

I sensed another protest or spiteful retort, but Whitney turned to me and put a stop to any rebuttal.

“Lorenzo, may I speak with you? Privately?”

Sully glanced at him inquisitively, but he offered no explanation as he led the way toward the door at the back of the gallery.

Conversation resumed as we departed.

The chorus of voices faded into a mumble as we entered the stairwell and closed the door, secluding ourselves in the cold, cavernous space.

Seeing Whitney in casual clothes was taking some getting used to.

He moved with the same grace he had in Hell, and he held his head with that haughty air he used anytime he wasn’t bowing to our mistress.

I caught myself trying to mimic his elegance even now, despite there being no one to impress.

Stopping at the base of the steps, he faced me.

“I think you’re aware—perhaps you came to this conclusion before I did.” He cast his emerald eyes aside.

“With the odds so heavily against us, it may be time to consider our losses.”

I folded my arms. “ My losses, you mean.”

My home invaded.

My love taken away. My life irrevocably changed.

Whitney’s expression soured.

“No, I mean ours. Surrender or defeat, this doesn’t end well for any of us. Nero has plans for the hounds now that Miss is gone. Assuming we aren’t reduced to less than that.”

He meant killed.

Destroyed. Stripped of our devilish spirits and left to rot.

We were both old men, long past our expectation of life.

I wasn’t sure what would happen to our bodies without the hounds’ immortal souls keeping our bodies moving and hearts beating.

Whatever my fate, I could accept it as long as Indy wasn’t around to witness it.

As long as Sully was spared.

So, yes, we needed to consider that.

Mitigating damage and protecting those we’d dragged into the line of fire.

The brick walls that boxed us in weren’t much to look at, but Whitney managed to make a study of them, staring at the grout lines like they were a maze he could navigate.

Find a way out. Recover the plan.

Salvage things somehow.

“This is,” –he paused, and a tight smile pursed his lips— “it’s been lovely. You’ve managed something remarkable: life after death. And, also, love. It’s enviable.”

His gaze met mine, and I remembered the rest of what he’d told Indy that day in the trailer.

The Airstream was small, and my hearing was good.

I didn’t miss much of what happened within my home’s four walls.

He’d claimed to be content with Moira, though that was no surprise.

He’d always seemed settled in Hell.

But to me, it had been a tether.

A slip lead I avoided for fear it would tighten like a noose.

“You could run,” he continued.

“You have… more than the rest of us. We could hold off Nero’s forces for a while. Buy you time.”

It was a kindness I didn’t expect.

I certainly wouldn’t have asked for it.

A chance to get away.

To turn a few precious days into more.

More museums. More piano bars.

Maybe even the Hoover Dam.

“Why would you do that?” I asked, my voice suddenly thick.

That tight smile pulled his mouth into a line, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“Outside of Miss, I had nothing and no one except you,” he said.

“I don’t wish you ill, Lorenzo. I never have. And, for all the things I couldn’t spare you before, perhaps I can delay this.”

The offer salved a wound I’d thought forgotten.

A hurt I’d held onto since the day he stood by and watched Moira steal my soul.

All told, Whitney’s short time on Earth had been a learning experience for us both.

I may have misjudged or at least underestimated the kinder parts of him.

“You said you didn’t want to lead people into an unwinnable fight,” I murmured.

He nodded. “I plan to give them the same choice I’m giving you. It would be their choice to stay or go.”

I fidgeted with my sweater sleeve, burdened with emotions I couldn’t name.

“I don’t think they’d risk destruction for me. I haven’t been very… gracious.”

Whitney snorted.

“You’ve been an ass.”

I shot him a narrow look, which he waved away.

“But I think you’re wrong,” he said.

“Something about damnation inspires change in people. The desire to do right or do better.”

Weeks ago, running away seemed like the best option, largely because it was the only one.

But now, it was a selfish choice.

One I couldn’t make.

“It’s too late,” I said.

“I talked to the angel. He’s going to take Indy to Heaven.”

Whitney drew up to stand tall and rigid.

“Seems they’re letting anyone in these days,” he grumbled.

“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.