Page 43 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

43

Loren

After a shared rinse-off, Indy dressed in pajamas and took a pick and a bottle of detangler to my hair. He was sleepy enough that I offered to let him rest in the trailer while I drove, but he insisted on riding in the truck, curled up under a fuzzy blanket with his head in my lap.

It was past midnight, and traffic was light. I consulted the map as I followed the highway leading out of the state. Streetlamps blipped overhead, flooding the truck’s cab with infrequent flashes of yellow.

I was the one reluctant to leave New York, never Indy. He used to gush about airplanes, cross-country bus tours, and cruise ships that could ferry us across the Atlantic. Part of me suspected he had travel in mind when we bought the Airstream. My truck would tow it, as we were proving now, moving the damn thing for the first time in two decades.

I could drive all night and all day tomorrow, too. It would take that long to get to Nevada, which was the state Indy had chosen for our first stop. He claimed he wanted to tour the Hoover Dam, but I knew how close that landmark was to Las Vegas.

Sin City should have been the ideal vacation spot for a hellhound, but the idea of lights that never turned off and tourists swarming the streets like roaches was a Hell all its own. But then there was the thought of walking the strip arm in arm with Indy, seeing things that were new and bright and even beautiful… Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

I’d also done as promised and come clean about everything. It was a longwinded speech about demons and tears and cages in Hell. Indy seemed to take it in stride but had been quiet since. So quiet that it startled me when he spoke up.

“Is that all I’m good for?”

I glanced at him. He had the last of his drive-thru dinner in his lap: a carton of French fries and a vanilla milkshake. The lid was off the shake, and he dunked a long fry into it then swirled it around before popping it in his mouth.

“Being a crybaby is a pretty lame superpower,” he added.

“You’re not a crybaby,” I replied.

He snorted. “It’s gonna take them a long time to get all the tears they want, then.”

I suppressed a grimace at the thought of what lengths Nero might go to siphoning tears from my phoenix. I wondered, too, how much Indy had to give. In previous lifetimes, using his powers taxed him. He would be tired for hours or days after. Once, he unleashed so much fire that it started to burn him, too .

He dipped another fry, then dangled it to drip melty ice cream into his mouth. The fry dropped in after, and he chewed it lazily. “But really, what else do I do?” he asked. “If the other hellhounds come after me, can I blast them with like… eye lasers or finger lightning or something?” He made his thumb and pointer finger into a gun shape and aimed it at the dark landscape outside.

I could tell he was anxious. He’d been pensive during my confession about the phoenix hunt, thinking beyond what I was saying. I’d thought beyond it, too, catastrophized about a future where Indy was as much a slave to Hell as I was, taken and held against his will, tormented, and I could do nothing about it.

My hand stretched across the bench seat to rest on his knee. “I protect you, Indy. Remember? That’s my job.”

He set the shake cup on the dash, then stuffed the fry carton into the open paper bag in the floorboard.

Shifting around, he took my hand and sandwiched it between his. “Do you have laser eyes or lightning fingers?” he asked.

I snorted. “No.”

“So, you’d be pretty boring in a fight.” Indy’s mischievous grin made my stomach flip.

I would fight for him. Tear through however many hellhounds it took to send the rest scurrying with their tails between their legs. I would delay the end as long as possible, and I would take him to the Hoover Dam, or Las Vegas, and maybe we could exchange vows in front of some Elvis lookalike. I would give Indy the life he deserved, even if it was a short one.

We fell into silence and, before long, he dozed off. I glanced at the map laying open across my thigh. The trip from New York to Nevada canvassed most of the United States. It would be the farthest I’d ever gone from home, and the scope of the journey was dizzying.

First Vegas, then where? We couldn’t settle anywhere. Couldn’t stop.

Anxiety and the dread of so much change snuck up on me. It lurked as a shadow in my rearview, reaching toward me with tendrils of panic that told me to turn back. I fixed my gaze ahead—only ahead—and kept one hand on the wheel while the other played with Indy’s hair. The feeling of his curls looping around my fingers kept me grounded. Wherever I stayed or went, I did it for him. We did it together.

Draining the fuel tank of my truck took about three hours, so we stopped often. The hounds could turn up anywhere, but I figured they would target populated areas, so I limited our pitstops to isolated service stations. I paid at the pump and only parked as long as it took to fill up, replace the gas cap, and return to the endless highway.

Indy dozed through the first two stops but, on the third, it was morning, and he roused with a yawn and stretch.

I hung up the pump and slid behind the steering wheel. Indy nestled in a mountain of fleece with only his head poking out. He smacked his lips, clearly cotton-mouthed, and peered at the scene outside the truck.

The sights were limited to dusty plains and the low-slung convenience store that looked to be forgotten by time. Sun-bleached posters for cigarettes and beer were plastered to the windows, and only one other car occupied the lot, property of the employee if I were to guess.

“Where are we?” Indy asked.

After starting the truck’s engine, I snagged the map from the driver’s door compartment and shook the wrinkles out. I already knew from the myriad highway signs, but I wanted to show him our progress.

“Ohio.” I laid the paper on the narrow strip of seat between us.

Indy’s glittery eyes flicked up to meet mine, and he grinned. “Is Ohio a good place to get breakfast?”

I eased into a smile of my own. “What do you want?”

His gaze rolled toward the headliner as he considered, then declared, “Pancakes.”

We merged onto the highway and traveled to the next exit, where the sign advertised attractions and restaurants, including a place called Brewed Awakening. Indy looked up the menu online and found that it offered breakfast fare and an artisan coffee bar. He rattled off the names and flavors of a half dozen lattes, oohing and ahhing over each one, before we pulled into the parking lot.

I got out and went around to open his door, where he slithered out of the blanket nest like a snake shedding its skin. He was still in his pajamas, a pants and button-down set that was modest compared to his usual fare, and he insisted on changing clothes before meeting me inside.

I got us a booth near a window. The restaurant was situated on a busy thoroughfare, neighbored by a shopping center and an auto repair store. People were out in droves. Not like the bustling streets of Brooklyn, but populated enough that I caught myself studying every face and watching passing cars as though a pack of hellhounds would lunge from one with their teeth and claws bared.

After five minutes, I regretted leaving Indy alone in the trailer and started to stand when he bustled into the café. He was fresh and bright in a sheer tank top embroidered with flowers and a pair of wide-leg jeans that swished as he walked. He hurried to our table and dropped onto the seat beside me before bumping me with his hip.

“Scooch over,” he said.

I slid nearer to the window, and he crowded in, then snagged my hand and clasped it on top of the table.

Indy drew attention everywhere he went, but this arrival attracted more notice than usual. Patrons tracked his journey from the door to me, and several people swiveled in their seats to stare as he pushed up and kissed my cheek.

My face burned hot, and I aimed my gaze at the folded menus on the tabletop.

“You said pancakes?” I asked.

Indy tipped his head against my arm to peruse the menu as I opened it.

I felt the weight of the other customers’ notice. My hound’s ears pricked to whispers, waiting for slurs like “queer” and “fag.” The world was kinder than it used to be, but I couldn’t quell the discomfort that filled me until it overflowed.

“Sit up.” I shrugged my shoulder beside Indy’s head.

He shifted off me and glanced over with a frown.

“Sit up,” I repeated. “Please.”

His frown deepened, but he obliged, straightening and sliding a few inches away while dragging the second menu along with him. He opened it and skimmed the breakfast all day options as our waitress arrived.

The middle-aged, graying woman wore a weary smile and an apron splattered with stains that looked to be from a disastrous encounter with the restaurant’s espresso machine.

“What can I get you boys to drink?” Her eyes swept over us. Between our proximity and Indy’s outrageous wardrobe, we were undoubtedly the most interesting things in this town at nine in the morning.

Indy seemed to sense her inspection, and he laid his hand on my thigh. It wasn’t subtle, but it would have caused more of a scene to ask him to move to the other side of the table, so I swallowed my protest and consulted my menu in earnest.

“Iced mocha amaretto latte, please,” Indy told the waitress.

“You don’t like coffee,” I reminded him.

“That’s not coffee,” he replied. “It’s milk with flavor.”

I glanced up to find the waitress waiting for my order. “Can you do a quad?”

“Sure can.” She bobbed her head while scribbling on her notepad. “Do you know what you wanna eat, or do you need a few more minutes?”

“I’ll have pancakes,” Indy announced. “Blueberry.”

The waitress turned to me. “And for you?”

“Same.” I closed the menu and slid it toward her.

She scooped it up, then took Indy’s, too. “I’ll get that put in,” she said before shuffling away.

Silence stretched between Indy and me. The other diners returned to their meals, and my focus drifted to the sunny scene beyond the window. Next door, two men stood outside the auto repair shop, discussing a parked minivan with its hood propped open. One of the men waved a bottle of lubricant while gesturing toward the car’s exposed engine.

My truck was overdue for a tune-up. I should have checked the fluids before starting a cross-country expedition. Maybe the brakes, too. It took a lot of stopping power to bring the three-ton C10 to a halt, and exponentially more with the fully loaded Airstream hitched to its bumper.

Several minutes later, our drinks and food arrived. Indy’s latte filled a stemmed glass cup, and my quadruple shot steamed from inside a small mug. I snagged a mini creamer from the bowl on the edge of the table and dumped it into the near-black brew, then swirled the mug before taking a sip.

Indy stabbed a straw through the cloud of whipped cream on top of his drink, then sucked down a mouthful. No sooner had the beverage hit his tongue than did his face wrench.

He made a gagging sound. “It’s not milk,” he rasped.

I chuckled and pulled it over for a taste. Not milk, but not coffee, either. Cloyingly sweet and cold, it reminded me of a melted chocolate bar.

“What’d you get?” He leaned to peer into my mug.

“You don’t want it,” I replied.

A pair of plates waited, laden with matching stacks of pancakes and piles of fresh blueberries. Indy attacked his with a vengeance, barely pausing to slice the pancakes into manageable cubes before stuffing them into his mouth .

“We could cut it off,” he said between chews.

I turned to find him staring at my neck. More specifically, he was scrutinizing the chain fastened around it.

“I don’t see a clasp,” he continued. “Is it supposed to be permanent?”

Reaching up, I rubbed my fingers over the steel links. “It is permanent.”

Like last night’s talk about my “owner,” we’d discussed this before. Indy was no fan of my eternal servitude or the symbol of the contract that bound me to the will of a demon, but decades of debating had gotten us no closer to a solution.

“Have you tried bolt cutters?” he asked.

His next bite left a speck of whipped cream stuck to the corner of his lips, and I smirked.

Indy glanced around, perplexed. “What’s funny”

With a quick check to ensure no one was staring, I swiped my finger over the whipped cream, then dabbed it to my tongue.

Indy’s cheeks pinked.

“No bolt cutters,” I told him. “Eat your breakfast.”

The rest of the meal passed with small talk and Indy’s palm seemingly affixed to my leg. After my nerves settled, I took his hand and held it on the bench seat between us. He didn’t move any closer, and I breathed easy until we paid our tab and exited into the glaring sun outside.

I was still fretting over the state of the truck’s engine and told Indy as much when he stepped off the curb into the parking lot.

“I’m gonna grab some coolant and a quart of oil.” I jerked my thumb toward the auto repair shop. “You want to come?”

His nose scrunched. “I think I’ll wait in the trailer. Fix my hair.”

I rolled my eyes. “Your hair looks fine, Doll.”

A smile teased his lips at the pet name, but it faded as he nodded toward the store in question. “Yeah well, that looks boring.”

Glancing around the lot and seeing no one nearby, I reached out and tousled his curls. He yelped and swatted my hand away before spinning to prance toward the Airstream. I watched his departure long enough to see him turn and stick out his tongue before he climbed the steps and entered the trailer.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and hung my head low as I walked across the lot. My hound sniffed the air that smelled so different than Brooklyn. It was cleaner, and the blue sky seemed to stretch on forever. No buildings were taller than a few stories, and trees were scattered around naturally rather than being framed in cement sidewalks.

Entering the automotive store, a bell tinkled overhead. The counter spanned one side of the building, flanked by metal racks of tires and aftermarket rims. It was chilly and largely uninhabited besides the clerk hunched over a computer who didn’t so much as grunt to my arrival.

I paused to check the aisle signs for coolant. Driving through the desert could wreak havoc on my truck’s aged system, and broken down on the side of a remote highway was the last place I wanted to be.

I located the coolant near the back of the store and tucked a jug under my arm. I was about to head for the oil when the front door’s bell rang again. Clamoring voices and shuffling steps disrupted the quiet in the store.

My attention roamed across the shelves as I continued my search, but my hound’s ears tuned in to the muffled conversation at the front of the shop.

“Not sure why it’s so damn important,” a male voice grunted. “Let Miss find her own lost pup. We’ve got better things to do.”

Cold washed over me, and I gripped the jug of coolant so tightly I was lucky it didn’t burst.

“How’d he get out, anyway?” another male asked. “I never could. Tried everything.”

“Doesn’t matter,” a third voice chimed. “The sooner we get him, the sooner we can get back to looking for the bird.”

There was no mistaking who they meant. Miss, the lost pup, and the bird. Less than a day on the road, and we’d already been found. Not because of Indy—Sully’s wards ensured that—they had come looking for me .

I should have known my release from the kennels wouldn’t go unnoticed. But in all my planning and scurry to get out of New York, I never considered that I was not only Indy’s sole protector, I was also his biggest liability.

The hounds grumbled amongst themselves while I stood rooted to the spot. I hadn’t yet seen them, and I could only assume they hadn’t seen me, either. With only four aisles in this place and their noses as keen as my own, it wouldn’t take them long to sniff me out.

I set the coolant on the floor and searched the shop for exits. Besides the windowed storefront with its single door, there was one other avenue for escape. A dented metal door provided employees access to the garage bays on the outside of the building. It had a numbered keypad above the lever handle and would no doubt be locked, but that was a much smaller obstacle than at least three hellhounds on my trail.

I moved slowly, softening my footsteps as I crept along the side of the store. The locked door was about thirty feet ahead, and progress was painstaking. The other dogs could hear as well as they could smell, and I hoped not to alert them to my movements till the last possible moment.

My heart pounded, driving blood into my ears and making me fight not to gasp for frantic breaths. I needed to get back to the truck, throw it in gear and speed out of here. Indy wouldn’t know what to think when his mobile home started rattling through the city at breakneck speeds, and I didn’t know what to do to keep this from happening again. Maybe I needed to be warded, too, which meant going back to Sully and undoing all the progress Indy and I had made. But maybe then we would be safe.

I reached the end of the aisle. Advancing to the garage bay entrance meant venturing into plain sight without a clear idea of where the other hounds had gone. I heard them talking and walking, but panic dulled my keener senses, and I hesitated until my taut muscles demanded that I move.

No sooner had I bolted from cover than a chorus of voices responded.

“Is that him?”

“Told you! ”

I grabbed the steel door handle and yanked. It snapped off in my hand and puckered the metal around the latch. Swearing, I stepped back and kicked, half-convinced I would put my foot through the damned thing before the hinges broke and sent the door tumbling away.

In the garage bay, the odors of motor oil and rubber thickened the air. Three cars were parked, one on a lift in mid-tire change, and a small flock of mechanics in coveralls turned toward my intrusion. Any other time, being the center of attention would have given me pause, but I didn’t even catch my breath before spotting the clearest path toward one of the open overhead doors and the parking lot beyond.

I made it two sprinting steps before a full-bodied force struck me from behind. One of the hounds barreled into me, knocking me to the ground where we landed, then rolled.

The mechanics shouted then scrambled in all directions while the rest of the hellhound pack charged into the garage.

Claws ripped my skin as I shoved at my assailant, baring my teeth and snarling. I barely got a look at the man while shielding my eyes from swiping strikes that could render me blind. Barring my arms and drawing my legs up, I kicked him off then got onto my hands and knees.

If I could get my glaive, I could establish a barrier. At least a threat that would make the other hounds think twice before closing in. But, like I’d told Abigail, I had a glaring weakness: I floundered in close combat.

Speaking of Abigail seemed to summon her. She was with them, standing aside and looking aghast while two other male hounds lurched toward me. They attacked in tandem before I made it to standing, only seconds after I’d taken count of the odds against me.

It was a pack of five, four males plus Abigail.

I didn’t recognize any of the others, didn’t have time to, before one of the attackers grabbed a handful of my hair and wrenched my head backward.

His accomplice piled on my back, driving me down onto the greasy concrete floor. My hound alternated between whines and growls as I scrabbled for purchase on the smooth ground. When the hound holding my hair shoved my head forward, my nose crunched against the cement in an explosion of dizzying pain.

More hands grabbed me. Claws slashed and teeth gnashed, rending my skin. Warmth leaked out and soaked my clothes. The smell of iron spoke of grievous wounds. Blood everywhere.

Curling into a ball, I tried to shield myself from my attackers. The onslaught of blows was like a pelting rain. But I couldn’t hide here. Couldn’t stay down. That would be cowardice, and I was trying so hard to be brave.

I squirmed and thrashed but connected with nothing. I was pinned facedown with knees grinding into my spine and driving the air from my lungs.

The sounds were the worst part. Animalistic, feral, and ferocious, they invaded my brain as angry noises with murderous intent. I wasn’t sure what Moira sent them to do. They couldn’t kill me, but they could capture me. Or send me back to the cramped kennel I’d barely escaped from.

If they managed to do either of those things, what would happen to Indy?

Treasure , my hound whimpered.

I couldn’t leave him defenseless and alone. Couldn’t live without him. I’d tried.

The hound gripping my hair slammed my face into the ground again, sending my thoughts scattershot. I was, effectively, blind and deafened to everything but the pinprick stars behind my eyelids and the roar of the hellbeasts heaped on top of me. Their combined weight proved crushing, immovable, and hot.

Burning hot. Scorching. More than mere body heat, this was searing and, when I peeked out through the blur of tears, I saw fire.

The once-menacing sounds turned alarmed, from growls to shrill whines and keening cries as the weight on me relented.

Blood clogged my broken nose, so smell came belatedly, but the wafts of singed hair and skin were potent.

I stayed on the ground. My battered body was reluctant to respond to what must have been a newer, greater threat. But something in the fire felt familiar. With a grunt of effort, I rolled onto my back. Yellow-orange flames curved above and around me, clearly channeled. The bodies of the attacking hounds littered the ground on my left and right, engulfed in tongues of fire that shouldn’t have been able to burn hellish creatures.

Unless…

Craning my neck, I looked toward the open garage door. A figure stood in its wide frame, so bright he seemed to glow from the inside out. Massive golden wings fanned around him, their plumage dripping with liquid fire.

“Indy?” I croaked, too quiet to be heard over the sizzling of hellhounds being reduced to ash while human mechanics wailed in terror.

I hadn’t seen him like this in decades. In his full power, or near enough to it. It was a staggering sight, and undeniably beautiful. Everything about him was alight, as bright as the sun, and I stared until my eyes ached.

When I blinked at last, the darkness was a welcome respite. I was still on the ground, bathed in blood and drawing rattling breaths. I wasn’t sure how long I stayed there, only that the world grew distant and increasingly quiet until someone grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

“Loren!”

I roused with a series of fluttering blinks to see Indy knelt over me. His hands quivered as he brushed blood-matted hair away from my face.

“Oh, god, okay. Okay… It’s okay,” he rambled, assuring us both despite his wide yellow eyes betraying rampant panic.

“Indy, how did you…?” The words lodged in my throat, and I coughed, jostling shattered ribs.

His worry eased, and he gave a strained smile. “Superpowers,” he whispered.

My huffed laugh brought another round of pain, and I cringed. If his phoenix powers were back, it was a miracle, but I was reluctant to celebrate when I noticed the sallow tint of his skin and the shadows smudged under his eyes. He looked weary, maybe even ill, and I couldn’t tell if his trembling was from nerves, exertion, or something else .

“Are they dead?” I asked.

Indy looked around the empty garage. The employees had escaped at some point in the chaos, and we were alone. “All but the girl,” he admitted sheepishly. “She ran.”

“Abigail,” I supplied.

I pushed up onto my elbows despite my body giving agonized protest. I would heal, but the damage I’d sustained would have killed a mortal man a few times over, so it would take time. Time we didn’t have. If Abigail ran, presumably back to Hell, she would report on our whereabouts, and reinforcements would come in droves. They’d found me, but worse, they’d seen Indy in all his fiery glory.

Working my way to standing was a balance of pain and my determination to endure it. I couldn’t see much of the state the other hounds had left me in, but I felt every bit of it.

Once I’d drawn myself to my full, albeit slouched, height, I said, “We need to go.”

“How?” Indy asked. “You can’t drive. You can’t even walk.”

“I can walk. And drive,” I retorted as he ducked under my arm to support me. His hand hugged around my waist, and I couldn’t help but lean against him. And, while it was hard to admit, I felt like I needed to say, “Thank you, Doll. You saved me.”

Indy swelled with pride. “We take care of each other.”

I hummed acknowledgment and kissed the top of his head.

All I knew about my plan was that I needed a better one. Driving through to Nevada was no longer a viable option. The hounds could track me until I got my own ward from Sully, and it struck me that protecting Indy might mean distancing myself from him. We could park the trailer somewhere in Ohio, and I could take the truck to New York alone. I could lead the hounds away from my treasure and hope I could get back to him.

Or I could strand him, alone and unguarded, and risk never seeing him again.

That fear was the only thing more powerful than the staggering pain, and it made me cling tightly to Indy as we made our journey back to the Airstream.