Page 12 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

12

Loren

The Firebird smelled like wontons and sweet and sour sauce, and I imagined we did, too, as we pulled into the private lot behind the Urban Easel. I’d texted Sully a heads-up about our impromptu visit, which explained her excitement and the post she’d taken on the curb outside the gallery.

She barely waited for us to park before racing toward the passenger’s side of the vehicle and bouncing on her toes while Indy opened his door. No sooner had he stood than did she tackle him with a bone-creaking hug.

I exited the coupe and came around toward them as Sully gushed.

“Gads, Indy, you look so cute! Love the boots.”

Indy’s startled expression relaxed into tentative ease. He moved back and struck a pose, flaunting the outfit and the shoes that boosted his height by at least three inches.

“Thanks,” he replied. “Your coveralls are cool, too. Do you paint?”

She laughed softly. “Not nearly as well as you, but I dabble. ”

“Me?”

She hesitated, clearly thrown, but recovered quickly. “Yes you, honey.” She touched a hand to her chest. “I’m Sully, by the way. Did Lore tell you?”

“Yeah,” Indy replied.

I’d shared the barest details. Sarah Sullivan. Art gallery owner. Friend. Let him decide what he thought of her from there.

Sully nodded. “Why don’t you come inside? I’d like to show you a few things.” She took hold of Indy’s elbow and steered him toward the street in front of the Urban Easel. They went ahead while I lingered in the lot, sniffing the air for a trace of Whitney. I didn’t expect him to have followed us here, but I didn’t want to be caught unaware again.

Satisfied we hadn’t been tailed, I caught up to Sully and Indy inside the gallery. They walked arm in arm around the perimeter of the room.

The building was bright and cool. Stained cement floors ran through the space, and partition walls provided display space for dozens of framed works. It was quiet in the middle of the day, but not vacant. Two customers loitered in the corner, paying no mind to me or Sully and Indy as they traversed the room.

Sully’s tour seemed innocent enough. She pointed out canvases and sculptures while throwing out terms like “impasto” and “color theory.” Indy chattered back. He was engaged, enthused, and enamored with the oil still lifes and pastel landscapes. When they arrived before his watercolor—the one I’d glimpsed through the windowed storefront last night—Sully hesitated. She waved vaguely toward the artist’s signature in the bottom right corner. The letters N.D. were distinguishable even at this distance. Indy smiled and bobbed his head, then moved on to the next piece while Sully stayed in place, a shade paler than she had been moments before.

She glanced back and caught me watching. Her lips parted as though she wanted to say something, then thought better of it and rejoined Indy down the wall.

The gallery was small enough that it should have only taken twenty minutes to see everything it had to offer, but Sully and Indy carried on for almost two hours. I retained my post, used to holding space and silence while Moira conducted business in Hell. I didn’t want to interrupt, anyway. Sully seemed happy, and Indy was vibrant. He came alive in places like this, among people who understood a part of him I didn’t.

Finally, Sully broke away and left Indy admiring the art. Her cheerful demeanor gave way to a more somber mood as she drew closer to me. When she came within arm’s reach, and I got a better look at her, she seemed drained.

She wrung her hands together as she said softly, “I didn’t expect it to hurt like this.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied.

Sully shook her head, and her necklaces rattled. “No, honey, I’m sorry. It’s your pain more than mine.” She moved to stand beside me, pressing her back against the brick wall and laying her head on my arm.

“Do you think he’ll paint again?” she asked.

For decades, Indy’s art had funded our lifestyle. As two men invisible in the eyes of the United States government, our options for employment were limited. Sully coming into our lives was a boon in more ways than one. She marketed Indy’s paintings and paid us under the table. No taxes and no unwanted attention from Uncle Sam.

Across the room, Indy straightened the hem of his crop top. The stretch of smooth skin around his midriff and the dimples on his lower back made something in me ache.

“I hope so,” I replied. “But, if not, I have enough pieces in storage to keep you stocked.”

“That’s good, I guess.” Sully threaded her arm around mine and clasped my hand.

I checked the street and the sidewalk to quell the latent fear that Whitney might be lurking. The apprehension prompted me to speak.

“Sully, I need to tell you something.”

“About what?”

Slowly, I confessed about my clash with Whitney, and the kennels full of hounds, and the poor muzzled girl who had wanted me to save her. I explained Indy’s scent, that alluring aroma that would draw the dogs to him like predators to prey. I didn’t admit it was my fault Whitney came to Earth in the first place. That was a truth I could not yet stomach, even to myself.

“I may be able to help,” Sully said once I’d finished.

A sigh petered out of me. I’d hoped as much. Counted on it.

“I can put a ward on Indy,” she said. “It would mask his smell. It’s part of his aura. Everybody has one.” She tipped her chin toward where Indy had returned to his watercolor and was studying it with renewed interest. “You may not be able to see it, but Indy’s is the most vibrant gold,” she said.

A wistful smile pulled at my lips, and Sully slapped my arm.

“You sap,” she teased. “What do I have to do to get somebody to look at me the way you look at him?”

I raked my fingers through my hair, pulling it over my cheek to hide the color that bloomed there.

“Maybe you can introduce me to one of those new hellhounds,” Sully added.

Panic flashed like fire in a pan. My shadowy claws threatened to emerge, and I bared my teeth in a snarl.

“No,” I snapped.

Sully recoiled, and her face washed pale. “Geez, Lore, I was kidding. Kinda.”

As I relaxed, she did, too. I thought she’d moved on until she asked, “Are any of them hot, though?”

I remembered Karst leering and Moira unsubtly bragging about how she fucked Whitney and me. “Some humans are more aesthetically appealing than others,” she’d said. It made my skin itch.

“They’re animals, Sully,” I replied. “Dangerous. Demon ic .” The emphasis was for her benefit. I wasn’t up to being corrected on semantics again.

She nodded while appearing unconvinced. Fortunately, she was willing to change the subject. “But a ward might work. Possible downside, though: if the other hounds can’t sense him, neither can you. But it’s not like you don’t know where to find him.”

I snorted. “As long as he stays put. Which he won’t. ”

One of the things about Indy that never changed was his restless nature. He was intrepid, easily bored, and prone to misadventures that frequently required my intervention. The only time he sat still was to paint. He could do that for hours, but not forever.

The idea of severing my strongest tie to Indy terrified me. But, if I relied on his scent to track him across the city, so could anyone else.

“It won’t hurt him, will it?” I asked.

Sully shook her head. “It’s something he wears. I can even put it in jewelry.”

The statement gave me cause to consider the numerous necklaces and bracelets I’d never seen her without. I’d assumed they were purely for fashion; I hadn’t considered they might have magical applications.

After a moment’s study of Sully’s beads and bangles, my brow scrunched. “Can you just… give it to him?” I asked. “As a gift? I haven’t told him about… us.” Or anything about the supernatural world. Witches and demons and hellhounds and phoenixes. It was all rather fantastical, and it opened doors I preferred to keep closed. For now.

Sully’s features twisted into a look of vague scorn. “But you’re going to,” she said.

My eyes dropped to the floor.

“ Loren ,” Sully pressed.

I didn’t reply before Indy came strutting toward us. I used his approach as an excuse to push away from the wall and greet him.

“Ready?” I asked.

“I think so.” His gaze flicked from me to Sully, then he nodded. “Nice to meet—er, see —you, Sully.”

A pained look crossed her face, but she chased it with a smile. “You too, Indy. Don’t be a stranger. And put my number back in your phone.” She shot me a meaningful look while Indy bobbed his head and pulled his cell from his pants pocket.

While he input her information, Sully tagged on, “I’ll come by your place later tonight. I have a gift for you.”

When Indy turned toward the exit, I mouthed silent thanks to Sully.

We left the gallery and made our way to the car. Climbing in, I found the interior hot and stuffy, so I started the engine and cranked the A/C.

Before I reached for the radio dial, Indy spoke up. “So, Sully. Is she your friend, too? Or are you guys… yanno?”

I arched a brow.

“Hooking up,” he explained. “Is she your girlfriend?”

Every lifetime came with repeats. Familiar conversations and encounters. Some because I wanted to recreate favorite memories, others because Indy seemed to gravitate toward particular lines of discussion. Since Sully was a recent addition to our lives, he’d never asked about her before. Certainly not in a way that made me wonder if he might be jealous.

“Not my girlfriend,” I replied.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Indy asked.

“No.” I shifted into reverse and craned my neck to check out the rear window as we rolled backward.

“How about a boyfriend?”

“No boyfriend,” I said .

Indy grinned. “You want one?”

A mix of pain and anger churned in my gut. If only it were that easy. If only I could scoop him up, call him Doll, and pretend we weren’t lifetimes apart.

“It’s a bit soon for that, don’t you think?” I asked.

Indy posed in his seat to make his 5’6” frame stretch long and lean. “You tell me. How long have we known each other?”

Turning out into a narrow gap in traffic, I kept my eyes on the road. “A while.”

“And I still haven’t managed to tap that?” Indy crossed one leg over the other and bounced his platform boot. “Am I not your type or something?”

I looked over at him, deadpan. “You had to ask me my name yesterday. Twice.”

Indy folded his arms and settled into the leather bucket seat with a huff. “Maybe I already have a boyfriend. Maybe he’s hotter than you. Six foot forever tall Italian guy with luscious locks and skin like cocoa butter…”

I chuckled.

Indy shifted before continuing. “I gotta ask, though. What’s with the neckwear?” He extended a finger toward my collar as though planning to grab hold of the links. “You into some lifestyle shit?”

I dodged his advance, using my retreat as an excuse to roll my window down and lean out into the sun.

“It’s a lifestyle, all right,” I muttered. “Not sure I’m into it, though.”

Indy’s hand hovered in the air between us. “How do you take it off?”

“I don’t. ”

Indy let his hand fall into his lap, then nodded. “Kind of a green flag, I guess,” he said. “You don’t have issues with commitment—”

“Indy,” I cut in, eager to redirect.

We’d stopped at a red light, and I took the chance to look at him and study the face I knew so well. Coils of brown hair spilled over his brow, almost curtaining his glorious golden eyes.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“How was rehab?” I asked.

I’d feared and fretted for weeks, and I felt like he deserved a chance to tell me the truth whether I was ready to hear it or not.

Indy blinked, clearly thrown off his pickup game. “It was good.” He frowned. “I learned a lot. Learned everything since I forgot it all.”

His attempt at humor fell flat, and my hound whined softly inside me.

“Were you scared?” I asked.

“Kind of.” Indy paused. “Yeah.”

Traffic thinned the farther we got from Brooklyn. The Pontiac’s engine purred, and I considered turning on the radio. Indy’s favorite stations were on the numbered presets, mostly oldies from lifetimes past. Like his collection of ‘80s films, some things stuck around from one reincarnation to the next.

As I reached for the dashboard dial, Indy piped up. “Why didn’t you visit?”

There was no missing the pain in his voice.

I should have gone by. It was selfish to avoid him and indulge my hurt feelings. But I was protecting him, too, because I had questions he couldn’t answer and anger I couldn’t trust not to leak out like poison and contaminate everything.

“I don’t know,” I lied.

Indy swiveled to stare out his window as we drove along. The silence grew weighty, and I cranked the radio on. The chorus of a Journey song thrummed through the car’s speakers.

Our view changed from brownstones and busy sidewalks to greener stretches of the suburbs. The classic rock station was on a marathon, so we listened to “Don’t Stop Believin,’” “Wheel in the Sky,” and “Faithfully” before Indy spoke again.

“Sully seems nice.”

I adjusted my grip on the leather-wrapped steering wheel. “She is.”

His reflection was pensive as he added, “You seem nice, too.”

We turned into the lot of Trailer Trove to find Indy’s parking spot vacant and waiting. I steered into it and brought the car to a stop, then killed the engine while Indy reached into the backseat to collect his bagged items.

After coming around and opening his door, I motioned toward the plastic bags looped around his wrist.

“Need help with those?”

He looked down with a lopsided smile. “All three of them?”

I shrugged.

“I think I’ve got it.” He held out a hand for his keys.

Taking them, he stepped out of the vehicle, then stood close enough that I could have hugged him. I wanted to .

“I’m sorry if I ever… did anything to you.” He met my eyes. “We talked about that in therapy. Addicts tend to hurt the people they’re close to. So, if I hurt you—”

“You didn’t.” I realized immediately how much of a lie that was.

He held my gaze a moment longer, then bobbed his head. “Well, good.”

When he stepped back, I pushed the car door closed. A cool breeze whipped between us, causing my hair to flutter. Indy’s head hung low while he nudged a pile of gravel with his boot.

The quiet grew until Indy cleared his throat and looked up. His expression was restored to its usual cheer. “I’m gonna get started on this.” He raised his armload of bags to indicate the hair dye inside. “Maybe you could show me your place next time. Lemme get a nice, long look at your bed.”

I rolled my eyes, and he laughed before heading up the sidewalk toward where the Airstream shone silver in the daylight. Eventually, I would show and tell him everything. But, for now, it was more important to keep him safe than informed. Between Sully’s ward and my constant vigil, it would have to be enough.