Page 8 of Hellhounds Never Lie

Van and Hayden had assigned each volunteer a specific area to patrol, and I was getting insanely bored of the one they’d given to me. Not for the first time I wished my BFF Jeremy was here with me. He could fill silence easier than anyone I knew. There were only two problems with that idea: one, Jeremy lived a couple of hours away, and two, he didn’t know anything about supes.

Could I even call him my best friend when he didn’t know I was a mage? Then again, was I even a mage if I couldn’t work magic anymore?

These were the kinds of questions that chased me up and down this dull stretch of road.

My phone beeped.

I pulled to the side of the road to check my messages. There were two.

MyBestestBFF4ever: When a shifter changes, do they keep the same mass? Like if my dad was a shifter and changed into a housecat, would he be a 200-pound housecat? Because that would be awesome.

Me: ROFLMAO

MyBestestBFF4ever: And what would happen to his beer belly and his bald spot? Would those traits carry through? Imagine it: a gigantic, pot-bellied housecat with a bald spot. He’d look like the feline version of Friar Tuck.

Me: I will never look at your dad the same way again… *laughing emoji*

The other text was just Van checking in again, like he did every fifteen minutes. He was back at the police station, keeping track of everyone, and on standby for the moment someone saw something. I sent back a thumbs up emoji, then got back on the road again.

We’d already been out for a couple of hours, and I was beginning to doubt tonight would be any different from the last few nights. How many nights would we come out here? Sure, I’d volunteered to do this, but I hadn’t expected it to be so… lonesome. And the quiet of the nearly moonless night along a monotonous tree-lined road wasn’t helping my mood.

I usually kept busy so memories couldn't find me.

I filled my life with people and noise and activities. I worked every shift I could at the Flying Rowan Café, hung out at the Willow Lake Pub more often than some of the town drunks, ate out for both lunch and dinner, and sat through the same movie at the Larch Theatre night after night, even though the ones they showed were already available on Netflix.

And when those things didn’t work, I called my mom, my brother, or my best friend—like actually called them, not texted. Just to fill up the quiet. Jeremy and Birch didn’t even answer half the time, but I still tried. Which meant I spoke to my mom way more than any other guy my age, but I couldn’t stop. I didn't handle being alone well and no amount of therapy was going to change that. Thankfully, my mom was a social creature and hadn’t seemed to realize what I was doing. If she had, she’d have insisted I move back home more doggedly than she already did.

Would it be so very bad if I pulled over to the side of the road and scrolled through social media for a bit? Maybe send a few memes or thirty to Jeremy? I couldn’t do either of those things while driving, but they’d both distract me for a bit. I frowned. No. I shouldn’t. Getting lost in cute cat videos wasn’t what I was out here for. Unfortunately.

I chewed on my bottom lip. If we had to come out here another night, maybe I’d download an audio book or something, anything so it wasn’t so terribly quiet. That would be perfect, actually. Why hadn’t I thought of that six days ago?

I rolled down my window. That should help, right? More noise, more scents, more fresh air sweeping over my skin. If I were a shifter, I’d hear things out there—howls or panting breaths or pounding paws. Hell, even if I was a better mage—an undamaged one—I’d be able to send my magic into the forest and sense for supernatural creatures. But, yeah, that wasn't going to happen either. The familiar ache in my chest flared to life. I rubbed it and the scar tissue absently with the heel of my palm. Then that irritating pressure built up inside me until I let out a little burp.

I groaned.

Why did this always have to happen when I thought about my magic?

The hair on my forearms rose as the air from outside rolled over me. I knew it wasn’t truly cold, not when every single person in Willow Lake was complaining it was too hot at night to sleep, but I shivered anyway. I cranked up the heater.

Yeah, yeah, it was stupid to keep the heater on when I had the windows down and hot air streaming into the cab, but I wasn't about to turn it off. Not even on a hot night like tonight.

Another shiver rolled over me, as if to reinforce the point.

Fuck it. I couldn't do this. I rolled up the window, then reached for the radio. The first station that wasn't just static was playing country music. I could live with that. A lot of the locals listened to it, so I’d gotten to know some of the songs since moving here. The current song had the singer loving how his woman thought his tractor was sexy. Yeah. Country music didn't always make sense to me, but the tune was catchy enough to keep my thoughts from straying.

I tapped the steering wheel absently in time with the song as I scanned the tree line.

A hellhound would be bright, right? I should check to make sure. I slowed the truck and scanned the texts, just like I had twenty minutes ago. And ten times the night before. And fifty times the night before that. I know. I probably shouldn’t look at my phone while driving but needs must and all that. I scrolled through the messages until I found the text I was looking for, and, yeah, the hellhound would be lit up like a bonfire. Van had said as much. I mean, I knew that, but the dark and the quiet of the night were messing with me, making me question things. Even really obvious things.

Something flashed in the darkness to the left, like lightning except the sky was clear.

I eased down on the brakes. Was I seeing things?

No. There it was again. I leaned forward and stared into the trees. Yes. That was the creature. The hellhound. Which meant…

A series of angry howls rose in a chorus from deeper in the woods, audible even over the music, the engine, and the hum of the heater. Fear skittered down my spine. This fear, it was different from the fear I’d experienced when my magic had been attacked, maybe because the part of my brain I’d inherited from some long-ago ancestor recognized the threat in those howls, making my survival instincts kick in.

Whereas when my magic had been threatened, I hadn’t known any fear until it was too late. My hind brain hadn’t registered the threat because witches weren’t supposed to harm one another. The attack on my magic shouldn’t have happened.