Page 33 of Fire Bird

“Oh, I’d say that’s a given,” Luther replies. “Took the S.D.B. almost twelve hours to get here after The Slice opened. Who knows how many demons escaped in that time.”

The Slice is what we’ve not-so-affectionately named the giant hell-mouth that now splits Phoenix Falls in half. Part gaping crater, part portal to a hell dimension; it burns, blows smoke, groans, and gurgles during the day. And at night, the creatures climb forth.

“We should start keeping a record,” Rev suggests. “Of the ones we encounter. Their characteristics. Their weaknesses. Sarah recognized the Farquuze demon, but I’ve seen ones that are totally alien. If it becomes a case of tracking them down after this—”

Luther cuts Rev off with a loud vicious laugh. “You think there’s going to be an after?” he says, looking at us over his coffee cup. “The demons are already turning. They might have started off wanting human blood, but they’re so hungry now they’ll eat anything. So, either we’re eaten by demons, or the S.D.B. and the U.S. Army annihilate this place. Bomb us to hell—pardon the pun—and save the rest of the world.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Sarah says, shaking her head. “Would they?”

Luther shrugs. “Not sure I give a fuck either way.” He downs the last of his alcohol-laced coffee then stalks toward the bedroom. “I need to sleep. I’ll share with the Viking.”

“If he needs to be sedated again—” Rev says, raising her eyebrows.

“I’ll give you a call.” Luther waves a dismissive hand at her and disappears into the bedroom, closing the door tight behind him.

“Jerk,” Rev mutters. “Has he always been so…?”

“Spiky?” I shake my head then push my hair back from my face. “Yep. For a few glorious weeks, when he finally admitted his feelings for Nova, he was different. Happy, almost. Without her…” I trail off. I’ve been trying to shut out my own feelings and everyone else’s. During the day, it’s easier. But when night falls, and The Slice purges itself of another enclave of demons, and evil quivers in the air—well, then it becomes impossible. Then I feel like I’ll go mad. Thoughts that aren’t my own haunt me. Fear solidifies in my belly and turns to rust in my veins. Terror scrapes my insides.

Rev is opening the fridge, looking for something—anything—edible when there’s a clattering sound in the stairwell.

We rush to the door. I put my arm out and tell Rev and Sarah to stay back. Sarah is holding her wand. Rev’s good hand is poised, but her bad hand hangs limp at her side.

“Rev? Tanner?” Feet ascend the stairs. Fists pummel the door. “It’s me, it’s Sam.”

Slowly, I pull back the door. Sam is alone. His face is flushed, and his hands are shaking. Sweat decorates his brow, and his hoodie is stained with it too. “We need your help.”

“We?” Rev asks, crossing the room to stand at my side.

“I found Mack,” Sam pants. “But I found something else, too.”

He beckons for us to follow him. Leaving Sarah in the flat, Rev and I pound down the stairs after Sam. He heaves open the heavy door that leads to the street.

We blink into the hazy red light. Snow is standing in front of us, and he has a Hellhound in his jaws.

* * *

“What the fuck?” I breathe as Snow drops the beast to the floor. Instead of running or trying to lash out, it simply lays there like a submissive puppy, breathing heavily.

“Tanner…” Sam grabs my arm. “I think it’s Nico. Can you find him? Can you see if he’s in there?”

The sun is dipping lower in the sky. I look up and down the street. “Not out here. Bring it into the building.”

“Not my apartment,” Rev says, shaking her head.

“Just the stairwell,” I promise her.

Snow nudges the beast. It staggers to its feet and follows Sam inside. As we watch the scene unfold, Rev meets my eyes. What the hell is happening?

The door closes with a thud. Rev stands on the second step, staring down at the Hellhound. It is sitting on its haunches, its bright red eyes following Sam as he moves. He beckons me over, and I kneel in front of it.

Behind it, Snow takes up almost all the space there is. His fur is dirty, and matted, and there are blood stains on his paws. “Good to see you, buddy,” I tell him.

He huffs at me in reply.

The hound reeks. Its smell fills my nostrils and makes me gag. “If it is Nico,” I mutter, “he needs a fucking bath.”

“Tanner—” Sam’s voice brims with desperation.