The closest thing we could find to a dock on Seguin Island was the remnants of a long-ago collapsed pier, so Cale took us as close to the beach as he could get. I hopped out into a foot of frigid water, carrying both of our bags, as well as his clothes and gun—but only after I’d promised to give them back to him.
While I waited, he took the boat back out into the cove and tied it to one of the available moorings. Then he jumped overboard and swam ashore. In October. Apparently half-breed water nymphs don’t feel the cold like mostly-dead women do. Lucky him.
He emerged from the water like King fucking Triton, moonlight glistening on every water droplet clinging to his perfectly sculpted chest and arms, his hair slicked back against his head, and in that moment, I almost volunteered myself as his human towel, ready to rub myself all over him and lick off every drop.
Though that would only makeoneof us dry.
On the beach, Cale got dressed, then we hiked toward the center of the island, which turned out to be quite a chore. Most of Seguin Island was elevated more than one hundred fifty feet above the beach we’d landed on and was accessible only by a steeply pitched foot trail running alongside a supply tram that probably hadn’t been touched in years.
I bitched and complained while we hiked up the trail, and Cale told me to shut up and keep walking every few minutes. If I’d had the energy to spare, I’d have told him where he could shove his stoic attitude. I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in several days, and my energy reserves had largely been used to heal a bullet wound. The only thing that made the hike bearable was the fact that my arm had quit hurting, though I would have sworn it would take several days to heal completely.
At the top of the foot trail, we followed the tram tracks to the highest point of the island, where a picturesque white stone lighthouse towered over the building housing both the caretaker’s residence and a small museum. Both were unoccupied, due to the season, so there was no one to catch us when Cale pulled out his wire cutters and removed the small padlock from the lighthouse door.
Inside, we climbed a spiral staircase to the lantern room at the top, despite my aching thighs. From there, the heavily wooded north side of the island—where I’d determined the box should have landed—was visible, thanks to a largely cloudless night and a nearly-full moon. After several minutes of staring at the treetops, I spotted what appeared to be a break in the dense foliage. Thathadto be where the box had broken through the trees.
Please let that be the place, I begged fate as Cale took a reading with his trusty compass.
On the way down the stairs, the cold and my own exhaustion combined to render my legs heavy, my head foggy, and my fingers stiff inside my gloves. But we were close. So damned close to taking Xaphan out of the equation that I could practically taste the sleep I planned to reward myself with. I could almost feel the mattress beneath me. After another short hike, then a field trip into the sound, I’d be free to relax. To sleep, even if only for a few hours. And after that? Devich—oops,Dever
Cale and I would have to figure out how to take out a demon.
At the foot of the steps, I squared my shoulders and pushed open the door, then stepped out into the frigid October-in-Maine night—where I nearly jumped out of my own skin when a large shape stepped out of the thick shadows to one side of the tower.
“Orthus, you worthless mutt!” A relieved smile snuck up on me. “Where have you been? And how thehelldid you get here?” Swim from the mainland? No, wait, I’d last seen him in Nova Scotia…
“Is that the goblins’ hellhound?” Cale hovered several feet away from the dog. Like that would do any good if Orthus decided to eat him.
“Not anymore. Come on, mutt.” I took off toward the woods, assuming they’d follow. And I was right—about the Orthus.
“Lex, he can’t come with us. That’s not a pet; it’s a fuckinghellhound. He’s here to claim some poor soul in the name of eternal torture.”
“Nah.” I shrugged with a grin. “He’s been following me around for couple of days now and hasn’t tried to drag anyone into the hereafter. I think he just wants company. Stay out of his way, and you’ll be fine. Come on.”
Cale didn’t move. “Why the hell is he following you?”
“I have no idea, nor do I know how he got here,” I called back over my shoulder, Orthus at my heels. “But he would already have hauled me into hell, if he were going to. You comin’?” I stopped, turning to shine my flashlight at the angry nymph. “I’d like to be long gone with the box before the sun comes up.” Which gave us less than two hours.
Cale glared at me, but finally he started walking. “Howthe hound got here is pretty clear. It’swhythat’s worrying me.”
My feet crunched on dead grass and the odd pinecone, making our trek absurdly loud in the pre-dawn hush. “Yeah, well, thehowis still a mystery to me. Spill.”
He jogged to catch up with me, claiming the spot on my left—as far as possible from Orthus, on my right. “Hellhounds are creatures of the afterlife. They walk the shadows, just like Devich.”
“What does that mean, ‘walk the shadows’?”
My light found his face, and Cale squinted against the glare, favoring me with a dramatic how-can-you-possibly-know-so-little sigh. Which I chose to ignore. “Creatures of the afterlife can pass through the shadows. Having never done it myself—elementals are creatures oflife, notafterlife—I’m not sure how it works. They walk into one shadow, then walk out of another. Could be in the next room, or on the next continent. Wherever they want, I assume. That’s how Devich can spread disease in Mozambique and still make it to the three pm boardroom meeting in Memphis. Pretty convenient, huh?”
Waaaaytoo convenient andun-fucking-fair. Though it certainly explained how Devich had gotten into my apartment without breaking the lock. “How exactly is a demon of pestilence a creature of the afterlife?” I asked, keeping a scowl out of my voice by sheer will.
“You keep walking, and I’ll keep talking,” Cale said, stomping off without me, though it must have made him uncomfortable to turn his back on the hellhound.
Grumbling beneath my breath, I followed. “Talk.”
Cale’s light bobbed on the ground ahead, highlighting dead grass and crunchy piles of brown leaves. “Devich may be in the mortal realm at the moment, but like all demons, he belongs in hell, torturing the damned for all of eternity. Because he’sfromthe afterlife—hell, in particular—so he can walk the shadows, just like your pretty pooch, here.”
On my right, the hellhound growled, and Cale jumped.
“I don’t think Orthus appreciates being called ‘pretty.’ And he isn’tmine, a fact he goes to great lengths to make sure I understand.”
