Page 25 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

25

Loren

I didn’t tell Indy about the art exhibition, and we never did get that ice cream. After the near-miss with Whitney, I took him home, then spent the next few days worrying.

Of course, the other hellhound had seen us. There had been nothing else to look at besides the muscle car racing out of the abandoned lot. That was damning enough. And Sully’s scent-blocking wards did nothing to refute what Whitney could confirm with his eyes.

I needed to tell Indy the truth.

Knowledge was power, and he had none. I didn’t have nearly enough, but I owed him what little I had. It was too much to expect him to stay in the trailer, suffering in solitude. I didn’t want to keep him caged.

When I arrived at the Urban Easel Friday night, I had resolved to do exactly that. After I fulfilled my obligation to Sully and took care of Joss Foster, I would go to Trailer Trove and come clean.

Parking around the gallery was scarce. Art aficionados strolled the sidewalks, wearing black tuxedos and colorful cocktail dresses. I’d scavenged a bit of semi-formal wear from one of the plastic totes in the back of my truck: a gray wool sweater and silver vest with a white Oxford shirt. I went sans tie out of necessity—buttoning anything over my collar made me feel choked—and finished the outfit with gray tweed slacks. Moira would have complained about too many layers, and I was crossing my fingers she didn’t call on me tonight. If she did, I had a legitimate excuse to refuse her: I was working.

Strolling into the gallery, I found the showroom fuller than I’d ever seen it. People crowded shoulder to shoulder to survey the walls and standing displays overtaken by mixed media art pieces. Bottlecaps, antique keys, pieces of sea glass, and scraps of fabric studded canvases smeared with neon paint. I studied them as I wandered through the horde, imagining what Indy would have to say about it.

“Avant-garde.”

“Innovative.”

“Provocative.”

I heard the words as clearly as if he’d spoken them aloud, tugging on my arm while pointing out the elements and exhibits he found most exciting. I imagined it so vividly I thought I manifested it when my hound’s ears pricked at a familiar voice coming from across the room. I turned, sifting through the sea of people to find Sully smiling at me.

“Look who made it!” she exclaimed, fooling no one with her exaggerated look of surprise.

Beside her, Indy stood. Swaths of hot pink tinted his eyelids, and a long, black tulle skirt fanned around his legs. “Loren!” he said. The excitement in his voice made my heart skip a beat.

He looked stunning. Besides the skirt, he wore clunky combat boots and a white crop top with a patched denim jacket. A necklace hung to his exposed navel, strung with keys and soda caps like the ones affixed to the paintings on display. His hair was freshly dyed in two-tone; his roots were stained deep blue that bled into the brighter teal.

I would have given anything to be on his arm, or to have him on mine, but the shock at finding him somewhere he should not have been stalled me.

Grabbing Indy’s hand, Sully pulled him through the crowd on a swift approach. As she drew near, her smile strained, and I knew I must have looked as disconcerted as I felt.

She released Indy and moved into the space between him and me. “Hi, honey,” she greeted, wrapping me in a hug I failed to return. When she pulled back, her expression was losing the war of worry over cheer. “Glad you could make it. What do you think?” Her arm swung in a gesture to the gallery, transformed to compliment Joss Foster’s apparently eclectic style. Salvaged items hung from the ceiling, including tarnished brass instruments, bicycle wheels, and kitchen utensils.

“Looks like he brought the entire local dump,” I grumbled.

Indy snorted.

“It’s eco-art,” Sully said defensively. “It makes a statement about sustainability and our impact on the environment.”

I scanned over her, noticing her usual skirt replaced by one made of what looked like braided plastic bags, and her suit jacket was stitched together with strips of silver duct tape.

Grunting, I nodded to the table of hors d’oeuvres on platters and in chafing dishes against the side wall. “Is the food garbage, too?” I asked.

Sully’s lips pursed. “I can tell you need a minute. I’ll introduce Indy to Joss, then we’ll circle back.” Stepping away, she took Indy’s hand again.

He offered feeble protest as Sully led him through the throng.

I watched them go, then expelled a hot breath. Joss Foster had the same stink as the rest of my victims. It was pervasive in the room like every piece of his art carried his curse. It amused me to think of him as some talentless hack who got his inspiration from a demon, and that the inspiration was to parcel out recycled goods and call it art.

I meandered over to the food line, less interested in the shrimp cocktail and caviar than the wine assortment. Stemmed glasses were arranged from white to burgundy red but were only half full, so I combined two cups of what my nose informed me was a Merlot, then tipped the drink back for a series of greedy swallows.

My enhanced healing abilities made it impossible to get drunk, and I would have to work for it if I wanted enough of a buzz to soothe my frayed nerves. I was about to polish off my third glass when Sully reentered my field of view. Her commitment to the theme continued in details I hadn’t noticed before. Polished flatware had been attached to her dreadlocks, and her earrings were made of soda can tabs.

She passed by the end of the food table and picked up a glass of white wine, then swirled it as she approached. I thought to tell her she looked like a mermaid who got beached on a trash barge, but bit my tongue instead.

Squeezing in beside me, she leaned against the wall while spinning her drink.

“Where is he?” I asked. The “he” in question required no further description.

“Mingling,” she replied. “I’ve told you. He loves it here. He knows his people.”

I sipped my wine again. Music played, which would have been soothing if not for the occasional clang of what sounded like a mallet striking a metal trash can. Given the theme of the party, that may have been exactly what it was. I needed to get a look at this Joss Foster character and see if he embodied a homeless scavenger as much as his art channeled one.

But first, I had Sully to contend with.

I worked my jaw a moment before commenting, “You told me I had a choice.”

She nodded slowly. “I did say that.”

As I rounded on her, my features pinched in a scowl. “And then you took it away. You know how I feel about that, Sully. I don’t control a single thing in my life—”

“Before you crucify me, listen.” She faced me with her hands raised. “Indy called while I was setting up yesterday,” Sully explained. “He asked what I was doing, so I told him. I really thought you were gonna invite him.”

The statement made my skin prickle. “He called you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Sully turned her still-raised hands toward herself with an incredulous look. “I’m a likable person, Lore. People call me all the time.” In a lower voice, she added, “And, last I checked, his options for social contact are pretty limited.”

I didn’t know enough about the people in Indy’s phone directory to remove them selectively. Drug dealers and fellow addicts were slotted in amongst better influences, and I refused to take any chances.

“He could’ve called me ,” I muttered.

“Why didn’t he?”

It could have been because my time had been monopolized by a needy, greedy demoness. Or perhaps our clashes in the bathhouse and in his trailer had driven a wedge between us. Indy told me I ran cold, and I was not unaware of the chill.

The next song started, a pinging melody that had all the intonation of a toy xylophone. My hound grumbled, wanting me to cover my ears and muffle the racket.

My expression soured, and Sully asked, “What’s going on, hon? Indy was thrilled to see you just now and don’t pretend you weren’t checking him out, too. Little drool there.” She swiped a teasing finger over the dry corner of my mouth.

I flinched away from her, frowning.

“Go get him.” She motioned to the room spread out before us, then paused to give me a suspicious squint. “Unless you’ve decided that’s not what you want.”

“I haven’t decided anything.”

Sully nodded. “Well, don’t let me get in the way. I’ll be here, there, and everywhere. All night.” With a pat on my arm, she ventured into the fray .

I lingered, staring into the shallow pool of wine in my glass as though it held the answers I sought. I needed to find Joss and get the job done before I got tangled up in anything else.

Pushing away from the wall, I downed the last of my Merlot, then offloaded the glass onto a passing waiter’s tray. I paused to sweep my hair off my shoulders and push up the sleeves of my sweater before walking forward. My vision tunneled as I navigated the crowd, following my nose toward the source of Joss’s cursed stink.

But I didn’t find Joss. I found Indy, straight ahead through a gap in the horde, and the sight stopped me. He looked animated and alive. His eyes shone while he chatted enthusiastically with another patron. I studied his sweeping gestures and the way his face crinkled with every smile. He was uninhibited and happier than I had ever been because he was my joy. My comfort. My heart. And living without him was misery.

Sully said I had a choice, but I wasn’t so sure. Right now, staring across a crowded room, it was like Indy stood in spotlight. Inevitable. Undeniable.

But Joss…

I walked forward again.

Coming into range, I picked up snippets of the conversation in progress. Art terms were being thrown around, and I realized this was another thing Indy hadn’t forgotten. Sully was right: he knew his people. I was almost reluctant to insert myself in the discussion but, when Indy spotted me, he turned my way with a grin.

“Hey, Legs,” he greeted.

Warmth crept up my neck as I closed in and forced a tight smile and nod to the man Indy had been visiting with. No sooner was I within reach than did Indy hook his arm around mine and step into my side, casual as could be. Heat blossomed everywhere then, and my fingers twitched, craving the feeling of his hand in mine. But the sight of the presumed stranger now standing across from me silenced all pleasant thoughts.

His hair was shaved in a salt and pepper burr, striking above a field of russet brown skin. He wore a khaki suit with a tie the same powdery blue color as his eyes. Angelic eyes.

He recognized me, too, and his lips fell apart several seconds before he said, “Lorenzo. I should have expected you.”

“Evander.” I left it at that while Indy’s head whipped back and forth between us.

“You guys know each other?” He looked pleased about the fact, but I was far from thrilled.

Evander was one of Indy’s acquaintances and a fixture in our lives over the last several decades. He was homeless, from what I could tell, and made his living doing speed paintings for crowds and garnering commissions from tourists. He was also immortal—an earthbound angel—and everything about him perturbed me.

In response to Indy’s question, I gave a brusque nod while my hound growled so long and low it made my whole body vibrate.

Evander chuckled. “Down, boy,” he said, but my hound only snarled louder. “It’s a free show. Open to the public and everything.”

“And I bet you feel right at home.” I indicated the collection of trash being sold as art all around us. “Like finds like.”

Indy’s arm cinched around mine. “Geez, you’re spicy tonight,” he muttered.

“His kind always runs a little hot.” Evander motioned to me while smiling smugly. “It comes with the territory, I think.”

I bristled. The angel knew more of my secrets than I’d ever told him, and I didn’t trust the mischievous glint of his cerulean eyes. My apprehension increased as he continued.

“How is the territory, by the way?” he asked with meaningful emphasis. “How’s work?”

My lips bent in a menacing scowl. He could out me here and now or make enough leading comments to give Indy questions he shouldn’t have had. I needed to cut this interaction short.

“In progress, actually,” I replied.

Evander arched his pierced brow. “Really?”

“Really,” I grunted. “So, I don’t have time to chat. Come on, Indy.” With a tug on Indy’s elbow, I wheeled him around.

“Find me later, Indigo!” Evander called after us. “I’d love to catch up.”

Indy gave a parting wave as I tugged him through the crowd. Once we’d put some distance between ourselves and the angel, he bumped his elbow into me.

“So, am I supposed to believe you’re repossessing something here?” he asked. “Or are you finally ready to tell me what you really do for a living?”

“Repossession is as good a description as any,” I answered, and Indy rolled his eyes.

If I hadn’t needed to pin down Joss Foster, the unexpected meetup with Evander would have sent me scurrying home. My hound remained on high alert, pacing and swishing his tail, making me anxious. I spotted a waiter wandering past with a tray of fresh wine glasses and flagged him down for another serving of Merlot, then grabbed some rosé for Indy.

While dodging traffic and people parked in place to marvel over the garbage art, I stole glances at Indy. He was as close as I’d wished he would be, tucked to my side where he belonged, and everything felt right. My hands wanted to roam, to cup his hip or brush along the curve of his waist, to gather him up.

“This is fun,” Indy said as we circulated the room. “Does she have these kinds of events often?”

“Not very.”

Tearing my attention away from him, I sought out the foul odor of Joss’s contaminated soul. The thought of the condemned man made me think of the other unsavory fellow we’d so recently encountered.

“You shouldn’t associate with Evander,” I said.

Indy scoffed into the bowl of his wine glass. Tilting it back, he swallowed another mouthful. “People think you’re grouchy.” He shot me a sideways glance. “Ever wonder why?”

“I’m not…” I began, but Indy’s dubious look silenced my rebuttal.

He pulled away from me and crossed his arms above his bare midriff. “And I’ll associate with whoever I want.” His expression held a reprimand I did not miss. “You’re my friend, but not my only one.”

He’d called Sully. Gone to the club. Reunited with Evander. Old habits were resurfacing, trends I’d observed over lifetimes. Maybe we should have moved. My truck could tow the Airstream. I could have picked him up from rehab and driven across the country, only stopping when we ran out of gas. Maybe this place was as much a problem as the people in it.

“Did you meet Joss earlier?” I thought aloud.

“Yeah.” Indy bobbed his head. “Nice guy. Real down to earth.”

I snorted while I scanned the horde again. “Think you could introduce me?”

My plan was, as of yet, unformed. I couldn’t pull out my glaive in the middle of a party and behead the guest of honor, though Joss’s work might benefit from a little blood splatter.

Indy fixed me with a suspicious squint. “Not gonna tell him what you think of his art, are you?”

A laugh slipped out of me, and Indy’s expression went slack. He stared, on the brink of a smile until I asked, “What?”

Color tinted his freckled cheeks, and he shook his head. “Just… you.”

I swayed back, looking myself over in search of what had given him pause. “What about me?”

His eyes flashed gold beneath the bright pink shadow. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.” Sidling up to me again, he took my hand and wound it around his waist. The tulle skirt rode low across his hips, leaving ample space for me to press my fingers into his side. I didn’t fight it—didn’t want to. It felt too good to dig in and pull him to me. He sighed as he laid his arm across the small of my back.

If Sully saw this, I would hear no end of it. I could see her now rubbing her hands gleefully together like some kind of matchmaking mastermind.

Indy’s grip on me tightened as he pointed toward the far corner of the room. “There he is,” he declared.

Short as Indy was, I didn’t know how he saw what I had missed: the mob grew dense the closer it got to a modern-day hippie who was a soapbox short of being a sidewalk preacher. I could all but guarantee he was waxing poetic about the icebergs and polar bears and how straws were killing sea turtles by the dozens.

Giving my wine glass a slosh, I downed what remained of it, then muttered, “Time to get to work.”