So: here he was, on his way to the middle of nowhere, where he could let his hellhound run free while he pondered how to break this curse he had apparently found himself under. A curse that had apparently made every animal within a ten-mile radius fall hopelessly, desperately in love with him.
I’m a hellhound, for goodness’ sake! Fierce! Tough! Scare-people-on-sight! Not a Disney princess!
Here was really the only place he’d be safe – away from humanity, and free to stay in his shifted form as long as he needed to. He just hoped that whatever was happening would go away on its own – his family aside, he didn’t tend to associate much with other hellhounds, so he couldn’t ask them for advice. And the internet, perhaps unsurprisingly, had been less than helpful.
Up a mountain was really the best place for him.
But first, he had to get there. First, he had to –
Wait, is that shop called Sylvie’s Sweets and Bakery?
It took him a moment to realize that he had pulled over to the side of the road without thinking, inhaling the mouth-watering scent that suddenly permeated the entirety of his beat-up old Toyota.
It was…divine.
He’d never smelled anything so good in all his life. The heavenly smell of freshly-baked cake was the strongest component, but underlying it all was a range of delicate scents, and he breathed in, picking them out one by one: orangerind, violets, cardamom, sage, kumquat, matcha, pineapple, coconut…
First of all: he’d been wrong about country towns and their food, clearly!
Second of all: there was something odd about the smell. In a good way, but still. It was almosttoogood.
Third of all…
If I go off into the wilderness to live off canned meat without tasting one of these cakes, I will literally die.
His hellhound sneered at him.You are so predictable. If I could detach myself from you and go off and live by myself, I would. You’re a disgrace to hellhounds everywhere.
Like you can talk,he snapped back.I’ve seen how you get around cheese.
There’s nothing embarrassing about liking cheese!his hellhound blustered, but Henry could tell he had hit a sore spot. The hellhound reallydidlike cheese – the cheaper and nastier, the better.
I packed some canned cheese for you before we left,he said conciliatorily.I tell you what – I’ll get some cake, and maybe if you’re good, you can have some cheese once we’re up the mountain. Deal?
The hellhound sulked and didn’t reply – which, for a hellhound, was as good as an agreement.
Not wanting to waste a moment – after all, who knew when some lovestruck chipmunk or besotted bobcat might show up – Henry hopped out of the car and hurried across the street, keeping an eye out for rogue animals. He still seemed to be in the clear for the moment, but he wasn’t going to risk being out in public any longer than absolutely necessary.
He scurried up to the front door, aware that he looked a little too furtive for someone who was just going to buy some cake, but he couldn’t help it. Being set upon by animals on a daily basishad led to him adopting a somewhat stooped air when out in the open, as if he could make himself smaller and therefore provide less room for birds to perch upon him.
Entering the bakery, he could see that it was pretty nice: flowers and plants decorated the tables and the counter, with ivy creeping up the back wall. It was clearly a labor of love for whoever owned this place – Sylvie, apparently – and normally he would’ve taken more time to admire it all, but he was a man on a mission. The last thing he needed was a skunk crashing through the front door and hurling itself at him in this middle of this poor woman’s place of business.
There was also the slight air of things being… notwrong, specifically, but a bitoff. Different to what he would have expected, somehow, in a way he couldn’t quite define. An aura in the air he couldn’t quite place.
Henry frowned, but, he decided, he really didn’t have time to stand here and try to figure it out right now. Better to just get something to eat, and then get out of here.
He turned his attention to the display, which was almost dizzying in its sheer volume and range. The array of cakes here would have been enough to get people lining up around the block in the city – he didn’t know how this kind of business could survive in a small mountain town!
But clearly survive it did – and thrive, too, if the number of people seated at the tables was any indication. The place was bustling, which was always a good sign.The cakes here must taste just as good as they look, Henry thought, as, his mouth watering just ever so slightly, he approached the counter.
“Good morning!” a woman with dark hair pulled back into a neat bun trilled as she emerged from the back of the bakery, a little paper hat stuck on her head at a jaunty angle, an apron withSylvie’s Sweets and Bakeryemblazoned across it tied around her waist. “What can I get for you toda— oh!”
The woman cut herself off suddenly as she looked up at Henry, blinking. Henry wondered if she was the Sylvie of the bakery’s signage – a quick glance at the nametag on her apron told him it was the case. And as for her suddenly cutting herself off and staring at him, Henry was used to that.
It wasn’t so much because he knew he was taller and broader than the average human – though that didn’t help.
No. It was entirely to do with being a hellhound. It just came with the territory.
Hellhounds were, after all, known for it – people always found them scary in a way they just couldn’t define. Henry supposed that was why so many hellhounds ended up on the wrong side of the law. What was a liability in everyday life was an absolute advantage as far as criminal activities went. One look from a hellhound, and even the most hardened of mafia bosses’ knees turned to jelly. Most of the time, hellhounds didn’t even need todoanything – just showing up and glaring was enough.
