Page 7 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

7

Loren

Sarah Sullivan—Sully, to her friends—met me on the sidewalk outside the Urban Easel Art Gallery. She wore a black tank top and a beige broomstick skirt, and her dreadlocks were tied back to showcase an assortment of beaded necklaces. She waved as I drew near, then rushed forward to throw her arms around my neck.

My shoulders sagged as she did her best to wring the air out of me.

Pedestrians milled past, the standard foot traffic for an afternoon in Brooklyn. I’d taken my time getting here and had changed clothes in my truck after parking it in the lot behind the gallery. I’d traded the scratchy suit for jeans and a cowlneck sweater to obscure the choke chain that served as Moira’s proof of ownership. I had also done my best to ease the anxiety sparked by the Howl for Hope gala and muscle down the ache of loneliness that had plagued me for weeks.

Sully pulled away, holding onto my elbows as she looked me over. “Well? How’d it go? ”

“I was late.”

“What?” Her grip on me tightened. “Why?”

In my century of life on Earth, I hadn’t admitted many people into my circle of trust. Really, my confidence was less of a circle and more of a one-way street between Indy and me. I was content with his company alone, but Indy preferred to branch out. He made friends with gas station attendants, dog walkers, strangers in parks, and Sully.

Sully was a witch, unsurprised by the existence of the afterlife or the creatures who inhabited it, and she took to Indy and me with curious enthusiasm. It felt natural, comfortable, in her presence. I could be more honest with her than with Indy. She remembered what he forgot, and I didn’t need to be strong for her.

In addition to running the art gallery, she also owned an impressive library of books on arcana and mythos, and she knew more about being a hellhound than even I did. She also knew about my mistress and the eternal contract that bound my soul to the demoness’s service.

So, when I answered Sully’s question with chagrin, she knew what I meant in saying, “Duty called.”

“That bitch,” Sully grumbled. “Did she know? Did she do it on purpose?”

“No,” I said quickly, then added, “and no.”

She sniffed and gave her head a toss, unsettling her bleach-tipped dreads. Some of the angry wrinkles smoothed from her face before she spoke again. “Okay, so you were late. Then what happened?”

“He made it home,” I said. “He was waiting for me.”

“And?”

Weeks spent anticipating Indy’s return had culminated in a letdown. Sully had been as excited as I had. Maybe more so since my enthusiasm had been heavily tinged with dread. She was new to this, having only met me and Indy in his last lifetime. I’d tried to explain how it usually went, but it proved impossible to prepare someone else for what I myself was never ready for.

I tugged on my sweater sleeve. The woolen material felt soft between my fingers. “I let him in the trailer, told him where the food was, gave him his keys, and left.”

“That’s it?” Sully pressed.

I nodded.

“That’s all?” she tried again.

Another nod.

“Doesn’t sound so bad.”

I shrugged. He hadn’t even been angry, and it surprised me to realize I would have preferred that to the apathy I got instead. Now, I was the one feeling apathetic, almost numb, but my face must have betrayed something deeper because Sully clucked her tongue.

“Oh, honey.” She drew me in for another hug, then stepped back and rubbed her hands down my arms. “It’s early yet,” she said. “He’ll come around. Doesn’t he always?”

He did, but it took time. I wanted him beside me now, close and safe. I wanted to hold him, to feel his body contour to mine, to hear him laugh and tell me he loved me… But Sully was right. It was early, too soon for me to need those things so desperately. I knew better. That didn’t make it any easier.

Using the hand affixed to my arm, Sully turned me toward the end of the sidewalk and the diner a block ahead. The neon sign in its window read Neighborhood Nosh.

“Dinner,” she declared. “Then we’ll figure out where you’re gonna sleep tonight. My couch is yours if you want it.”

I shook my head. “I have to go back. Indy might need something.” Though I couldn’t fathom what. The Airstream was fully stocked. I’d washed and hung all his clothes and outfitted the bathroom with every necessity.

In hindsight, I might have had too long to prepare for this. Too much time to think and worry that I had done something irreparably wrong last time, so everything had to be perfect now. I cringed at the thought of how imperfect it had been thus far.

“C’mon, Romeo.” Sully looped her arm around mine. “I’m gonna fatten you up with the best cinnamon rolls and the worst coffee in town.”

Dodging foot traffic and traversing a crosswalk, we reached the entrance of Neighborhood Nosh. It billed itself as “modern retro dining.” Inside, checkerboard floor tiles and the jukebox situated front and center were true to the theme.

A pigtailed waitress guided us to an empty booth and handed out laminated menus.

“Coffees, please,” Sully answered the unasked question, and the waitress stepped away only to return seconds later with a steaming carafe and two mugs.

She filled them while I studied the menu. Besides breakfast all day, Neighborhood Nosh offered the standard greasy spoon fare: burgers, a few sandwiches, and anything that could be cooked in a deep fryer. Plus, the cinnamon rolls that were their claim to fame were as big as salad plates and drenched in icing.

“Ya know whatcha want?” The waitress clicked a pen and put it to her order pad, clearly accustomed to regulars who didn’t need much time to peruse the offerings.

I stared but couldn’t focus. The lines of text and menu items were smears of black and white, background noise to my preoccupied mind.

Sully gave a little cough and nudged me under the table. “Something meaty and rare. How’s that sound, Lore?”

The waitress clicked the pen again. “We got chopped steak.”

“Sure,” I said.

Sully flashed a bright smile, then rattled off her order. “Patty melt with fries and two cinnamon rolls.”

The waitress scribbled on her notepad, then stuffed it and the pen into her apron pocket before collecting our menus and tucking them under her arm. She’d barely turned away before Sully called after her.

“Make sure you don’t overcook that steak! Just warm it or whatever. We’ve got a real carnivore here.” She giggled as she faced me.

“Subtle,” I muttered.

Grabbing a few sugar packets, Sully tore the tops off and dumped the contents into her coffee mug. She pulled a spoon from a napkin-wrapped set of silverware and clinked it around in the cup.

The repetitive tinkling sound made me twitch, and my teeth clenched at the clatter as she tapped the spoon dry. I was relieved when she set it aside .

“Do you ever chow down on, like, a slab of raw meat? Fresh from the butcher, blood and all?” Sully ran her tongue across her lips as though trying to make the idea more appetizing.

Sipping my coffee, I found it as terrible as Sully had predicted. It tasted burnt and was so watered down I wondered if they’d reused old grounds to brew it. My nose wrinkled.

“Is that a no to the raw diet thing?” Sully asked.

“Can’t say that I’ve tried it.”

She chuckled again, then pushed her mug aside and stretched one hand across the table to catch her fingers in mine. “Do you want to talk more? About today?”

Yes, but not the parts she was likely interested in. There wasn’t much to be done about my missed pickup or Indy’s indifference, but the Howl for Hope gala needed to be addressed.

“They’re making new hellhounds,” I said. “Lots of them.”

Sully tipped her head in an encouraging nod. “Is that a bad thing?”

I frowned. “Not sure. It’ll keep Miss busy, I suppose.”

“And off your ass.”

She seemed far more optimistic than I was. Seeing souls traded like currency, given over to eternal servitude, made me uneasy. More than that, Whitney and I didn’t mix well with other hounds. Most of Moira’s dogs were mute, mindless beings who barely remembered how to walk upright. They slunk around the depths of Hell, straining on chains and spiked collars and baring their teeth at anyone who strayed too close .

That was the fate Whitney and I had narrowly avoided, but it was never too late for our mistress to change her mind about what kind of pets she wanted on her leash.

The waitress returned bearing wide oval plates heaped with food. The savory aromas stirred my hound to attention, so much so that I didn’t mind the chopped steak being browned all the way through.

I took the serrated steak knife and my fork and set to work cubing the meat. Sully picked the crust off her marbled rye, then dredged it through a puddle of Thousand Island dressing.

The steak was dry and chewy, but the gravy made it palatable enough that I finished it long before Sully polished off her patty melt and began picking at her side of fries.

She sifted through them, pushing aside thinner, crispier cuts in favor of long square sections. With one pinched between her teeth, she spoke again.

“I have some exciting news. The gallery is hosting an up-and-coming artist for an exhibition at the end of the month. Joss Foster. Have you heard of him?”

“You know I haven’t.”

Despite having carried on a relationship with an artist for decades, I knew little about that field and the players who populated it. Most mortal business didn’t concern me. People came and went, lived and died. They rarely warranted my notice.

“Well, I promise Indy has,” Sully said.

“ Had ,” I corrected. “He’s different now.”

Sully’s brows scrunched .

The waitress sidled up to our table to deliver cinnamon rolls and the check.

I reached for the ticket, but Sully was faster, pulling it into her lap while she dug a patchwork coin purse from her skirt pocket. She stacked a pair of twenties on the bill and pushed it to the corner of the tabletop before turning her utensils on her cinnamon roll.

“ Regardless ,” she said with emphasis, “you should bring Indy to the show. It would make a nice date.” Her mischievous grin made clear that she reveled in the opportunity to piece together my fragmented love life.

“Free drinks, hors d’oeuvres,” she continued. “Not to mention it would give you a chance to peacock a little. I know how well you clean up.”

I looked down at my cinnamon roll and took a spoon from my silverware bundle, using its blunt end to cut lines through the icing pooled on the plate.

“We’ll see,” I said.

Polishing off the coffee in her mug, Sully set it on the table with a clunk. She swiped her napkin across her lips to reveal a smirk. “You’ll be there. I’ll tell Indy and let him drag you kicking and screaming if that’s what it takes. And you’ll thank me afterward when he’s putty in your hands.”

I chewed my lip while scooping globs of icing onto the tip of my spoon and watching them dribble off. My stomach had turned along with our conversation and was so stirred up now that I couldn’t bring myself to eat another bite.

“Loren,” Sully said, gently calling my attention.

With my head still down, I lifted my gaze to meet hers.

“He’s gonna love you.” She smiled. “He always does. How could he not?”

A deep breath filled my chest, but I didn’t reply as Sully set to work on finishing her cinnamon roll. When she was done, she scooted to the edge of the booth seat and stood, beckoning for me to rise as well.

We headed for the exit, where I broke out ahead to hold the door.

As she passed onto the sidewalk outside, Sully called to me. “You wanna come back to my place for awhile?”

“I have work,” I replied. A job that Whitney recently reminded me of. If he was irritated by my delay, then Moira was twice as much. I could only test her patience so far.

Sully brightened with sudden interest. “Who’re you after this time? Politician? Movie star?”

We waited at the intersection until the walk sign flashed. Other pedestrians wove around us in a hurry, and I waited until they were several feet ahead before responding.

“A cop.”

“Oof.” Sully winced. “Cops are civil servants. Pretty sure killing one makes you the bad guy, Lore.”

I paused mid-step and turned toward her, then swung my arm in reference to myself. “Demon.”

“Demon ic .” She ticked her finger. “You’re possessed. A vessel for a demon.”

“More like their junkyard dog,” I muttered.

We walked on, accompanied by the sounds of rushing traffic and passersby chattering on cellphones.

“Is he a bad cop, at least?” Sully asked, a bit breathless from rushing to match my long strides .

“He made a deal with a demon so,” my brow furrowed, “not a great cop.”

“ You signed a deal with a demon, and you’re pretty all right.”

It was complicated to be hunting and killing people who made the same mistake I had. Sometimes things were clean-cut, other times I tried not to think about it. A person could hardly enter a demonic contract by accident. My conscience was comforted by the assurance that my victims were well and truly damned long before I got to them.

“Sully, you know I don’t like to talk about this stuff,” I said.

She tipped her head to the side and replied with obvious sarcasm. “No problem. It’s only the most interesting thing about you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I could do with being a little less interesting.”

We arrived in front of the Urban Easel. Inside, dozens of artworks were on display. One of Indy’s watercolor pieces hung on the side wall. Pastel pinks and yellows swirled in an abstract design flecked with shimmering gold.

Sully and Indy could talk for hours about “the delicate balance between chaos and order” or “the sense of ambiguity that invites interpretation.” It mostly went over my head, but I was practiced at nodding at the appropriate times and giving opinions beyond blue being my favorite color.

Passing the gallery, Sully advanced to the door tucked between street-level storefronts. It allowed admittance to the brownstone apartments that occupied the second and third floors, including Sully’s flat.

I reconsidered her offer to stay. The sagging leather sofa in her living room promised a more comfortable night’s sleep than the cab of my truck, and I didn’t hate the idea of a reprieve from the last two months of solitude. But, while Sully made for pleasant company, hers was not the company I wanted most.

She pulled the door open, then propped it against her foot while fixing me with a sympathetic smile.

“I’m sure he’s a really bad cop,” she said, concluding a conversation I thought we had already finished. Her dark brown eyes met mine. “Be safe. Text me when you get home or wherever you decide to crash. My door’s always open.”

I dipped my chin in a nod.

She waved me close, and I bent to let her kiss my cheek. With that, she stepped inside, and the door fell shut behind her.

Stuffing my hands in my jeans’ pockets, I started down the street. What I’d told Whitney hadn’t been entirely true. I’d been distracted lately, yes, but not so much as to have forgone my responsibilities. I sniffed the cop out months ago, before Indy died. He worked the night beat a mile or so from here. With any luck, he would be on duty soon and sorely unprepared for a hellhound to come calling.