There’s a headstone made out of dark blue nevermelt, carved with “Maven Amato” and dates showing my twenty-three years of not-life. A few random past belongings of mine sit at the foot of the headstone, like a pair of leather gloves, what’s left of the massage oil Everett gifted me, and the tiny vials of kraken ink I used to use to speed up my episodes.
The rest of the greenhouse surrounding the headstone is filled with thriving, ethereal white flowers that droop almost like they’re in mourning, too.
Snowdrops.
“Who knew he was poetic?” I grin, gently brushing one of the flowers with my finger. “I love it.”
Lillian smiles. “I thought you might. Are you hungry? I can make breakfast.”
I arch a brow knowingly. “Sure. Let’s invite my quintet. Just point the way to them.”
She knows the jig is up and sighs, glancing at my grave.
“They’re good matches for you, you know. I was worried when I met them. They were suffering so much from their curses, but I just…I’ve always hoped you would find people who loved you as much as you deserved. I can see that goes both ways,” she smiles. “It’s nice to see you so smitten.”
“Lillian. Where is my quintet?” I press, getting concerned.
She starts to answer, but a loud bark sounds outside, followed by vicious growling. Peeking out the greenhouse door, I see that Asher Douglas is fake wrestling a gigantic black hellhound that growls and snaps at him. He snaps back before tackling the infernal canine.
When Lillian looks out the door, her face brightens.
“I haven’t seen Dev for days,” she calls, slipping past me before I can stop and question her further. “I tried making dog treats for him. I’ll go get them.”
I protest, but she hurries out of the courtyard, leaving me to glower at the mercenary playing with his deadly pet. But speaking of deadly pets…
I have my own way of getting answers now.
Turning to the ravens still perched on the greenhouse, I focus on the big one. “Find out where my quintet is and report back.”
All three ravens squawk and flutter before winging off into the wintry morning sky. When a loud bark sounds much closer, I turn to see that Douglas’s hellhound is now standing in front ofme. He tips his big, hound-like head, red eyes pinned on me as slobber drips from his razor-sharp bared teeth.
“Devil won’t hurt you,” Asher Douglas assures me without need. He brushes dirt and snow off his winter clothes and moves to stand near me, reaching up to rub behind the creature’s ear. “He only kills whatever we’re hunting on a job.”
I examine the massive canine. Hellhounds are known for their single-minded focus, their near-perfect ability to track prey for miles, their unwavering loyalty to whoever they imprinted on, and their unmatched savagery even compared to other creatures from the Nether.
As far as pets go, I consider these ones an obvious choice.
But I’m not about to pet this thing when it was once hunting me across North America.
Glancing sideways at Douglas, I arch a brow. “My quintet and I almost got you killed in Manhattan. I expected you to quit. Why are you still working for Everett?”
“Money.”
“There are less deadly positions out there for a caster of your talents,” I point out.
“I like a challenge. Especially one with a fat paycheck.”
I roll my eyes. “After Manhattan, you could have demanded an early paycheck, cut your losses, and been on your merry way by now. Which means there’s another reason you’re sticking around.”
The redhead glances at me briefly before turning back to watch his hellhound chase his tail. “Okay, yeah. Maybe I thought about jumping ship after Manhattan, but I stayed because of Pietro.”
I do a double-take. “Explain.”
“I knew your dad,” Douglas admits quietly. “More than knew him. He was like a father to me when mine was nothing buta dick. Pietro tried to save my mother and I from a fucked-up situation.”
Oh.
Gods, whodidn’tmy father know? A more sentimental person might see my paths crossing with so many lives he touched as fate, but to me, I’m starting to think my extroverted birth father needed to get a hobby or something.
