And they did. Three hellhounds, each capable of leveling city blocks, sat in a semi-circle with hopeful expressions. The youngest still held its tennis ball with delicate care. The middle one had found its own stick. The largest waited patiently by its offering, flames banking to a gentle glow.
Marcus looked at her, then at the hellhounds, then back at her.
He picked up the branch.
“If anyone asks,” he said, testing the weight of it, “this never happened.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
He threw the branch with perfect form, sending it sailing far into the trees. The largest hellhound bounded after it with ground-shaking enthusiasm.
Within minutes, they had a full game going. The hellhounds were terrible at fetch. They kept incinerating the toys or bringing back the wrong things. The middle one proudly presented Hazel with what appeared to be most of a deer carcass. The youngest got distracted chasing falling leaves. The largest kept bringing progressively larger trees, apparently engaged in some size competition with itself.
And Marcus… Marcus was laughing.
He threw sticks with the same precision he brought to legal briefs, offering helpful suggestions about proper fetch etiquette that the hellhounds completely ignored.
“Your form is atrocious,” he told the middle hellhound, who had just crashed into a tree while chasing a pinecone. “You’re telegraphing your trajectory.”
“Are you coaching hellhounds on fetch technique?” Hazel couldn’t stop grinning. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.
“Someone has to. Their current approach lacks efficiency.” But he was smiling too, the kind of smile that reached his eyes.
The young hellhound bounded up to her, tail wagging hopefully. She’d run out of tennis balls three throws ago.
“Sorry, buddy. All out of…”
It coughed up a ball at her feet. Covered in hellhound saliva and slightly charred, but intact.
“Did you just… produce a tennis ball?”
The hellhound’s tail wagged harder.
“That’s disgusting and impressive.” She gingerly picked up the slobber-ball. “Good boy? Girl? Terrifying entity of indeterminate gender?”
She threw it again, watching the hellhound chase after it. When she turned back, Marcus was looking at her with an expression she’d never seen before.
“What?”
“You beautiful, insane witch.”
A portal opened behind the hellhounds, red light spilling across the clearing. The largest barked once, a sound like a small explosion, and all three began moving toward it.
“Playtime’s over,” Hazel said, her voice only slightly unsteady.
The hellhounds filed through the portal with apparent reluctance. The youngest looked back, tail wagging hopefully.
“Same time next week?” she called after it.
The portal closed with a sound like tearing silk, leaving them alone in the sudden quiet of the forest. Leaves rustled overhead.
She turned to face him fully. He stood motionless, hands at his sides, looking at her with an intensity that pulled her one step closer before she’d decided to move.
“You meant it.” Not a question.
“Every word.”
“Marcus…” She took a step closer, drawn by the same magnetic pull that had been building for seven days. “This is…”
