by SJ Himes
Simeon made sure he was just behind Angel and to the left, able to guard his front and back. Angel was vulnerable when he performed structured casting—his attention focused fully in the working, and he tended to be oblivious to what was going on around him.
The early evening was quiet, so still a tableau that the snow covered cobblestoned street could have been a painting. Simeon could hear the hiss of snowflakes falling and the hum of cars a few blocks away. The sky overhead was brighter than a clear sky would be—the low-hanging cloud cover reflected the ambient light from the city below. He was suited to hunting at night, and so the street, the alleys, even the shadows in storefronts were all penetrable to his gaze, though to Angel it would be dark and shadowed.
Angel’s hand, the one holding the whistle, rose higher, chain swaying. He held it just over his head, and Simeon watched, curious. Vampires and practitioners rarely mixed, and the majority of spells Simeon had seen over the centuries were usually cast in battle, or at him and his clanmates.
“Canes infernales,” Angel whispered in Latin, eyes still shut, lips barely moving. “Exaudivit vocem meam. Audite sermonem meum. Ut praeda offeratur, et sanguine.”
Hounds of hell, hear my voice, heed my command. I offer you blood, and prey.
The sidewalk beneath their feet vibrated. The fresh snow hissed, and a thick cloud of steam escaped as the snow melted so swiftly Simeon had trouble seeing it happen. Cobblestones in the street shook, stones cracking, the sounds sharp as gunfire in the quiet.
A shape rose from the street a few feet in front of them. Simeon held his ground, trusting in his mate to have whatever entity he summoned under control, though every instinct he had said danger. Green flames, indistinct and flowing as water, snapped and hissed, the hellfire solidifying as the figure grew higher, wider. A long, wide muzzle cracked open by white fangs was the first to appear from the twisting flame and shadows, followed by a large head, thick neck, powerful, high shoulders and a sloping, long back that ended at powerful haunches. A long, scraggly tail with mane-like feathers of fur completed the image, and Simeon was rocked to his core, equilibrium lost for a short moment.
“Cú Faoil,” Simeon whispered, and the hellhound shook out its fur before taking a step toward him, nose twitching as it scented him. He risked extending his hand, and the beast licked his fingers, grumbling, pleased with him. The hellhound stood waist-high on all four large feet, and if it were to stand on its hind legs, Simeon had no doubt the beast would be taller than him.
It was bigger, slightly bulkier than its modern descendants, the Irish wolfhound—the beast looked as it would have two thousand years earlier. The hellhound shook itself out again, fur settling, green hellfire sparking amidst the longer strands of dark gray fur. Its eyes were depthless voids of embers and flame, green to match Angel’s magic and the hellfire that danced in the air as it moved across the stones.
“Do you like him?” Angel asked, and Simeon gave Angel an awed nod.
“He is a Cú Faoil, my love. Such a sight, I thought never to see. They are the forebears of the wolfhounds of today, last seen centuries before even I was born,” Simeon placed a hand over his heart, and gifted Angel a short bow, his mate flushing a lovely red across his cheeks at the gesture. “Thank you for the chance to see such a marvelous beast.”
“I used the death magic I get from our bond,” Angel said, and held out his hand holding the whistle. Simeon took it after a short glance, and Angel nodded. “The magic came from within you, and shaped the hellhound that answered my call. He’s yours.”
“Mine?” Simeon asked, fingers tracing the designs etched into the metal. “Will he not disappear once the spell is done?”
“Well…” Angel smiled at the hellhound sniffing at his sweater. Eroch poked his head out, took one look, and ducked back inside Angel’s sweater. “Usually with an artifact like this, the hellhound will answer to whoever holds the whistle and can maintain the manifestation of the hound’s form on this plane. Usually they are used for hunting prey that can’t be found by mortal means—like a fae lord, for instance. Then the spell is released and the hellhound returned from whence it came. But this time, I tied the beast’s form and the whistle to the death magic that cycles through our bond, and once you use the whistle, the artifact and the beast it summons will be bond to you specifically. He’s yours, if you want him.”
“Your incantation, it offered blood and prey?” Simeon said, brows furrowed. The hellhound padded across the street, sniffing curiously at the ground. Simeon was surprised to see snow melt under its paws, large, clear imprints left behind. Steam rose under its paws as it strode over snow, and Simeon tightened his hand on the whistle.
The beast was powerful, dangerous. The magic his mate could wield again left Simeon in awe.
“Once it finds the fae lord and Stone, either one of us can cut our palms and let it drink, or...” his voice trailed off, Angel watching him, as if for his reaction.
“Or?”
“You can set it to the prey, and let the hound attack. He will attack until you call him away or the prey dies.”
“If I summon it again?”
“If you want to summon him again, only if you set him a task will he need to be paid in blood or prey, or both. If you summon him to hang out and watch TV, then you can dismiss him again without paying a price.”
Simeon eyed the beast, its fiery eyes staring back at him. It was waiting. Its purpose was to hunt, and to kill. Simeon stroked the whistle with his thumb, almost able to feel the hum of magic in the artifact.
“Thank you for the gift, a ghra. I will wield it wisely.”
“You’re welcome,” Angel said, and blushed as he said it. “It’s just a spectral beast long extinct on this plane, bound to serve you and destroy things. And hey, he looks badass.”
Simeon laughed outright and pulled Angel into a hug, kissing his lips. Angel chuckled before melting into their kiss, moaning quietly as Simeon thanked him with lips and tongue. He gently eased back, Angel blinking at him, lust having blown his thoughts askew.
Angel coughed, and then put his hands in his pockets. “Um, right. Let’s go make puppy-chow out of bad guys.”
Simeon’s reaction to the hellhound was making Angel’s year. The hound came to heel prettily, Simeon murmuring to it in Irish Gaelic, a dialect older than the one spoken in modern times. Seeing the beast cavort on dancing paws and whine eagerly when Simeon petted its head made Angel snort out a laugh, grinning so wide his face hurt.
“Blow the whistle already,” Angel said after a minute or two of hellos. It was cute and all, but the big, slobbery demon-dog had a troll to find. Simeon sighed in a forlorn manner, but winking at him, put the whistle to his lips and blew. No sound emerged that Angel could hear, but he felt the magic stirring.
The reaction was instant. The beast’s behavior went from joyous companion to bringer of death. It went stiff, head held high, tail straight, eyes focused ahead. Angel held out the scrap of cloth with Stone’s blood on it, and the beast snuffled at it, nostrils flaring as it dragged in breath after breath from the cloth. Eventually it shook its head, body quivering. Angel put the scrap back in the bag and tucked it away safely.
“He’s ready,” Simeon said, putting the whistle on its chain around his neck and tucking it out of sight.
“This outta be fun,” Angel quipped, and his jaw dropped when Simeon said a short, sharp word in Gaelic—and the hellhound leapt forward, a streak of light and flame. “Shit!”
Simeon’s arms came around him, and he found himself being carried, Simeon chasing the hellhound as it tore through the streets, braying. The sound was deep and sonorous, echoing off brick walls and shaking windows. It was a haunting wail, eerie and disturbing. He wanted to hide from such a sound, more than grateful for the safety of Simeon’s arms.
Simeon put him down in a narrow alley, just off the street. The walls were high
and narrow, and the hellhound snuffled at the dirty ground. Rats squeaked, tumbling over themselves in abject terror as the beast ambled deeper into the alley. Light glowed at the far end, and Angel could make out the silhouette of bare tree branches and iron fences.
“Where are we?” Angel whispered, their journey too swift for him to keep track of every turn.
“The end of Court Square,” Simeon said softly, his whisper loud in the heavy silence.
“Then that’s King Chapel ahead of us at the end?”
Simeon nodded, and Angel frowned. They were out of Beacon Hill, by about a block, and a thirty-minute walk from the apartment. A handful of moments via vampire-piggy back, but still disturbingly close to where he lived.
The hellhound woofed, a gentle booming noise that drew their attention. Angel hurried forward. The hellhound wagged its tail and jumped in place, about halfway down the alley, and it went back to snuffling when Angel drew near. The beast was pawing at the ground, slush and mud going everywhere. Simeon said something in that melodic language of his, a short chiding word, and the hellhound whined, but backed away. Angel knelt, and with a regretful sigh, ran his hands through the muck.
“There’s something here,” Angel murmured, fingers running over a metal seam in the stones and cracked concrete. “Wicked! I think it’s a door.”
“Let me, my love,” Simeon bade, and Angel scrambled over a couple feet. Simeon ran his fingers through the mud, and stopped at one spot. He paused, then curled his long fingers down deeper. “Get ready. I cannot hear below us. There may be dangers I can’t sense.”
“Dangerous things in a dark hole under a back alley in one of the most supernatural cities on the planet? Nah, I think we’re totally safe,” Angel quipped, crouching on his feet, Eroch chirring around his neck. Simeon shot him a look, and Angel shrugged, grinning. “I’m ready.”
He tugged on the death magic singing through his soul, and the pure tone that echoed make made his heart race. Shield or fireball, depending on what may be waiting on them in the dark.
Simeon pulled. At first, nothing happened, and Angel’s breath caught in his throat. A long moment passed, then there was a rumble, a sigh of sound. An air pocket pushed through the mud and erupted, splattering them with gunk. Then a wet rushing noise came from the hole that opened up as Simeon lifted what must have been several hundred pounds of stone and concrete. The slab was thick, over a foot, and about five feet across. The hellhound whimpered happily, and leapt into the void, green hellfire lighting up the darkness below them. Simeon pushed, and the slab crashed to the alley, shaking the ground. Angel gaped, and had to adjust himself, his cock stiffening behind his zipper. Simeon didn’t even break the vampiric equivalent of a sweat. “Holy shit.”
Simeon gave him a slow grin, and Angel found himself wishing they weren’t hunting bad guys. Eroch chirped, and Angel jumped, startled.
Simeon took out his cell, and tapped the screen a few times. “I’ve told the Master about this entrance. I think we may be in danger of losing cell service.”
“Good idea.” Angel took out his cell, tagged his location, and sent it to Milly, with instructions not to tell Isaac unless they weren’t in contact by dawn. He had no idea how deep the hole went, or where, but the city wasn’t that big. They were either going to end up in farmland or the cape.
The hellhound barked impatiently, and Simeon gave him a sly wink before leaping into the dark. “Are you coming?” Simeon voice called up from the black after a long moment, and Angel chuckled.
He jumped.
Chapter Fifteen
Unintended Evil
Solid, thick arms stopped his descent, and Angel pressed a kiss to the corner of Simeon’s mouth in thanks as he was lowered to his feet. He looked up at a rectangle of light, blinking. It was a drop of about twenty feet, and he gulped. “Really glad you went first.”
Simeon chuckled, and helped him straighten out his gear.
The tunnel was made of cut stone, dripping with moisture and moss. The floor was curved, the tunnel circular and looked to be a few centuries old. Angel looked back up, then ahead, and guessed the tunnel went straight, matching up with the alley. Eventually, depending on how long it was and if there were no turns, they would end up at King’s Chapel. He looked behind them, and saw nothing but utter black.
Angel held up his hand, and snapped his fingers. A green ball of hellfire appeared, and he tossed it into the air. About the size of a grapefruit, it hovered a foot or so above their heads. A miniature green sun, it illuminated the tunnel, casting their shadows on the walls.
“Dead end that way,” Angel said quietly, pointing behind them at the solid rock wall. He turned back around, the tunnel stretching out ahead of them into the darkness. The hellhound paced a few yards away down the tunnel, easy to see now in the deeper dark that it glowed with an inner fire of its own. Its eyes were brilliant in the shadows, and Angel grinned, still pleased he was able to use the huntmaster’s whistle after all these years. “Can you see?”
“I can. I don’t need the light, a ghra, but it doesn’t hinder me. Be ready to put it out if I say so, though. We may need to remain hidden so as not to give away our position.”
“Say the word, and it’s out,” Angel said and gestured ahead, letting Simeon take the lead.
Simeon took his hand, and led the way into the tunnel.
The stone underfoot was wet, but not frozen, and the temperature was still cold, though warmer by a few degrees. The hound’s snuffling and the scratch of claws on stone was as loud as his breathing. Simeon made no noise, and if it weren’t for the larger hand holding his, it would be impossible for Angel to know he was there if the light went out.
Eroch stirred and climbed out of Angel’s sweater, perching on his shoulder, one front hand-like paw clutching at his ear to steady himself. “A necromancer, a vampire, a hellhound and a dragon all walk into bar…”
Simeon made an inelegant noise, and squeezed his hand. “Are you nervous, my love?”
“Walking in the total darkness in some subterranean tunnels beneath the city? I’m fine,” Angel said with a smile, though his heart was beating a bit faster than normal. Simeon didn’t call him out on it though, just held his hand and kept walking forward.
Eventually Angel detected a slope, the tunnel angling down, and the rocks under his feet grew slick. Simeon held out his arm, and Angel had no trouble swallowing his pride and borrowing some of Simeon’s balance. The hellhound had no need to worry about such things as slipping, its wide paws and huge claws giving it traction no boots could match. It thankfully wasn’t tracking at a headlong pace this time, its nose to the ground and its long tail out. Occasionally it would lift its head, sniff the air, and then continue onwards. There was never a light ahead—it remained dark.
They walked. For what felt like ages. Angel knew from checking his watch that it was less than an hour, but the intensely close surroundings of the tunnel and the deprivation of light made it seem longer. The angle became even more extreme, and Angel gave a serious amount of thought to just sitting on his ass and sliding down the tunnel. At this degree of descent, they were going deeper more than they were going forward, and Angel had a feeling they were somewhere beneath King’s Chapel.
Ankles aching and his legs burning from the angle, Angel moaned in gratitude when the tunnel leveled out, and the walls on either side opened up. They paused, and the hellhound whined, tail wagging.
He sent the light in front of them, and breathed out in amazement. “Fuck me.”
Columns rose from the ground, carved stone that depicted odd creatures and foliage. Angel counted, and from what he could see, the thirty-foot ceiling was supported by a dozen columns, two neat rows of six marching down evenly the length of the room. The walls, just out of view until he increased the light, were smooth, flat, and appeared to be made of unbroken stone.
“Are we alone?” Ange
l asked as quietly as he could, his whisper echoing in the cavernous space.
Simeon tilted his head, listening, and grimaced. “I cannot tell. I hear no heartbeats, but that doesn’t mean much. The subway runs nearby,” Simeon said, pointing to the left wall. “It’s the Park Street entrance, and there’s still trains running.”
“Ask Fido,” Angel whispered, and Eroch chittered in amusement. Simeon called to the hellhound, and it waged its tail before loping ahead down the length of the room. “What does that mean?”
“It’s your spell, a ghra,” Simeon replied. “But I’m certain there must be someone or something here.”
Angel sent the green light ahead, feeding it energy, making it grow in size. His eyes ached at the increase of light but he was able to see the vast room more clearly. The dull gray stone now shone a vibrant shade of green, and the columns were even more disturbing. Simeon took the lead again, and Angel followed behind.
He approached one of the columns, and the artistry was astounding. Fae females and males lay entwined in beds of flowers, with forest creatures frolicking amidst trees and bushes. Words in languages he’d never seen before were chiseled into the roots of trees, along the petals of flowers, amid blades of grass. He walked around the column, the scene unending, with other scenes he could not make out stretching above his head toward the ceiling.
Angel walked to the next column, his footsteps echoing, and found himself looking at a new scene, the relief carved in stone of two fae males, features identical, standing on the prow of a ship. They were dressed in armor and leather, swords on their backs, both of the men staring straight ahead. The waves of the sea, the sweep of a gull’s wings, even the long braids in their hair were carved so delicately, so perfectly, that Angel was left awed. It was art, at a level he’d never seen before. Such work must have taken several lifetimes.