Hellhound on My Trail

by D. J. Butler

  The light streamed up, out of Rafi’s body like a bolt of lightning in reverse, a column that shot straight for heaven, through the open top of the pyramid and into the stone overhang above it, and then was gone.

  Rafi thrashed as the light left him, then went limp. Adrian grabbed the boy, hauling him up, and Eddie—looking much healthier and moving better—got himself upright. Eddie ducked under the water again and grabbed his shotgun; Mike picked up the crescent of hoof-clipping, floating on the surface, and the three of them moved toward the edge of the pool and the cloud of Zvuvim surrounding Jim and Twitch.

  Eddie rested his elbow on the edge of the pool. He pumped the shotgun, aimed into the cloud and squeezed the trigger.

  Click.

  “I guess it’s knives, boys,” Eddie muttered darkly. “Unless one of you has that escape plan Raphael was blabbering about.” He started dragging himself out of the water.

  With a lightning-like backhand, the Baal finally landed a blow on Twitch, punching her with its enormous knuckles in her chest. Twitch hit the wall and sank to the floor in a spray of bright blood. Zvuvim swarmed her.

  Mike and Adrian dragged themselves out on Eddie’s heels. Adrian was already muttering something. Mike dug into his pocket for a weapon and came up with nothing but a pocketknife.

  “Phthonos!” Jim yelled again, his huge voice barely audible under the carpet of swarming Zvuvim. Mike thought he saw the singer, sword in one hand and a pinned Zavuv in the other, parrying attacking fly-demons with the body of their comrade and stabbing at the face of the Baal Zavuv. He looked bloody and tired.

  ROAAAR—CRASH!!

  With a final lunge, the Hellhound broke through the ceiling. It fell in a shower of bricks and flame straight toward the pool, and Mike scrambled to get out of its way. Adrian didn’t move—he struggled to incant something, heaving his chest and shaking his head like he was fighting to stay awake.

  Krakkkksh!

  The Hellhound landed on the edge of the cistern, its front paws and head out of the water, and its hind legs and tail landing in. It missed Adrian by scant feet, and the wizard stumbled sideways from the shock. Steam gusted up from where the water doused the Hound’s flames on contact.

  The Hound shrieked and snarled in furious pain.

  Grrrraaaaaraaargh! the Baal bellowed in answer.

  Jim leaned against the wall. He’d been hit by something, and didn’t seem to be able to stand on his own anymore. The Baal towered over him, claws lashing like bandsaws and tusks gnashing at the air.

  “Per Isidem—” Adrian collapsed to the floor.

  Mike snapped open the puny blade and followed Eddie, charging at the pile of Zvuvim crawling over Twitch. It’s over, he thought. This is where I die.

  I hope Chuy’s not waiting for me on the other side.

  He stabbed his little knife into the nearest fly-demon, waiting for his own destruction.

  The Hellhound lunged forward, roaring—

  and clamped its enormous crocodilian jaws around the waist of the Baal Zavuv.

  The Baal howled in fury and surprise. The Hound lifted it off the ground and shook it. Zvuvim buzzed around the two larger demons, whining in to slash with their mandibles at the Hellhound and bursting into flame on contact.

  Zvuvim stampeded away from Twitch, nearly knocking Mike over as they buffeted into and past him. The drummer was left in a heap on the floor.

  “Twitch,” Eddie and Mike said together.

  She raised a hand weakly and grinned. “Not dead yet.”

  “Let’s get you into the pool,” Mike suggested, and stooped to pick her up.

  Twitch slapped away his hands, suddenly animated. “Whoa, Mike, not me! I’ve seen what happens to immortals who get into that water!”

  “Immortals?” Mike scratched his head. “Uh, of course.” There was no of course about it, though. He had a lot to learn, and he knew it.

  Mike turned back to the battle that raged between the two demons. The Hound rushed at the wall of the chamber—

  the Baal sank its claws into the Hellhound’s shoulder—

  “Attack, Phthonos!” Jim yelled—

  and the Hound slammed the Baal into the wall, head-first.

  CRACK!

  Grwaaaaargh!

  Blue sparks crackled at the point of impact. Zvuvim swarmed the Hound with angry, frenetic buzzing, which was almost enough to make Mike feel sorry for the beast. When they struck its front half, which still flamed, they burnt and died, but when they attacked its hindquarters they drew blood. The Hound swung about, obviously in pain, managing to stomp on a few of the flies or catch them with its flaming forepaws.

  Meanwhile, the Baal Zavuv clawed at the Hound’s head. The Baal’s flesh smoked and scorched and stank, and with an enraged bellow it tore off one of the Hound’s ears.

  “Attack!” Jim yelled again.

  The Hound charged at the wall again, swinging its head to slam the Baal’s skull against the brick. One of the Baal’s eyes shattered on impact, spraying thick ichor on the wall and floor in another shower of fizzing blue sparks. The Baal shrieked and sank all its talons into the head and neck of the Hellhound.

  Mike noticed the gray pallor of pre-dawn early morning creeping in through the opening at the top of the pyramid. He almost chuckled.

  “Attack!”

  The Zvuvim swarmed the Hound so thickly Mike couldn’t even see its flames anymore, and the inside of the super-kiva was shrouded in thick shadow. The Hellhound charged the wall and smashed the Baal into it a final time—

  CRACK!

  The wall collapsed.

  Brick dust, bricks, and ancient timbers hidden inside the walls exploded in a spray of masonry chaos and waves of blue fire over the struggling demons. Mike staggered back, pulling Twitch with him away from the wall, which continued to tumble, one brick at a time, each brick exploding in blue sparks as it hit the floor. Finally Mike found the corner, coughing and spitting dust on the floor and wiping muddy grit from his eyes.

  And then there was silence.

  “Twitch?” Mike called. “Eddie?”

  He was rewarded with an answering cough. “I’m here,” he heard. It was Eddie’s voice. “I’ve got Adrian. He’s alive.”

  “I’m alive, too,” Mike heard Twitch say from somewhere very close, and then realized he was clutching her to himself like a scared kid would hold a rag doll. And she felt like a man.

  “Uh, sorry,” Mike said, feeling awkward.

  “Sorry you saved me?” Twitch asked.

  “No,” Mike answered immediately. He stood, and helped Twitch stand, too. “Sorry, I … uh, I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Sorry.”

  Twitch laughed. “Welcome to the band,” the drummer said, and kissed him on the cheek.

  Mike chose to think of Twitch as a woman, and to enjoy the kiss.

  Splash!

  The dust was settling enough that Mike could see Eddie dragging Adrian into the pool. When the wizard hit the water he woke up, spitting and cursing.

  Then he found Rafi. The boy lay under a fur of brick dust, breathing deeply like he was sound asleep.

  “What about Jim?” Mike asked. He approached the pile of rubble, finding himself standing in the weak light of morning among the bodies of what seemed like a hundred giant flies. He could see the tail and back legs of the Hellhound sticking out from under the bricks. There were no flames, and he wondered if the creature was dead.

  And then the tail swished.

  “Help!” Mike snapped, and jumped back.

  But then Jim was there, patting the big creature on its rump and talking to it. “Easy, Phthonos,” Jim said in his strange, booming voice. “Easy. Friends.”

  The Hound shook its big flaming crocodile head free of the rubble, dropping the torn and broken body of the Baal Zavuv into the dust. The front half of its body still burned, and as Mike watched, smoke began to rise from its hindquarters as well.

  “You’re talking,” Mike said.

  “Ward
s of silence,” Jim grinned. He was dusty and bloody and his t-shirt was destroyed, but he looked totally unconquerable. Then his grin fell off and he yelled to Adrian. “Please tell me there really are wards of silence in here, and they’re still intact.”

  Adrian rinsed off his lens in the cistern’s water and squinted through it at the chamber around him. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s all still there. But it’s starting to fall apart, so you’d better shut up and we’d better get moving. A stitch in time, you know.”

  “Stay,” Jim said to the Hellhound. It made a loud rumbling sound in its belly that sounded like the purr of an oversized lion. “Stay, Phthonos.”

  “The Hound obeys you,” Mike said. He felt numb, and wondered if he was going into shock.

  “Some of my father’s minions are too stupid to know any better,” Jim nodded. “And some have divided loyalties. That’s the problem with Hell.”

  “I don’t know,” Mike shook his head, thinking of Raphael. “It seems to be a problem with Heaven, too.”

  “Maybe it’s a problem with thinking creatures generally,” Jim agreed. “Or maybe it’s not a problem at all. Maybe it’s just the effect of free will. Will you join us?” He stood and held out his hand.

  Mike cleared his throat; he wanted to sound professional. “How many dates on the tour?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know. Probably Chicago, for one.”

  Mike nodded down at the Hound, purring at Jim’s feet. “Are we going to meet more friends like this one?”

  “Almost certainly.”

  Mike thought of his flophouse room in Santa Fe. He thought of Chuy, too, and then he shook Jim’s hand. “Sounds like a real crappy gig,” he laughed, a little bitterly. “But the alternative is worse.”

  “That’s how I make most of my decisions.” Jim smiled. “Phthonos, stay,” he repeated, and then he took the hoof from Mike’s hands and walked out of the crumbling super-kiva through the hole in its wall. The Hellhound stayed behind.

  Freakishly, it wagged its tail.

  Twitch followed right behind Jim, in her horse shape, with the boy Rafi slung over her back. Adrian walked next to her, holding the kid in place. He patted Mike on the shoulder as he passed. “Good to have a rhythm section again,” he said.

  Eddie brought up the rear. “Can you drive?” he asked.

  Mike nodded. “I’ve been a driver before.”

  “Cab, or limo?”

  Mike sighed. “Getaway car, mostly,” he admitted.

  “Perfect,” Eddie laughed.

  “I had a rough youth.”

  “Everybody does. Let’s go get the instruments and hit the road, before Fido here remembers that daddy sent it to fetch Jim.”

  Mike scratched his head and they both walked out of the kiva. Mike shot one last look over his shoulder at the Hellhound, and was rewarded with a lopsided crocodilian grin. A fresh, water-bearing breeze blew into the overhang from the canyon below, and he breathed deep. “Aren’t they burnt to cinders?” he asked.

  “All the band gear is fireproof and impact-resistant,” Eddie told him.

  “Wards of instrument insurance?”

  Eddie chuckled. “Something like that. Your bass is probably gone, but we have another one you can use.”

  “I saw it in the van,” Mike remembered. “I’ll try not to impale myself on it.”

  “That’d be good,” Eddie agreed. “That’d be a real good start.”

  ***

  About The Author

  D.J. Butler (Dave) is a novelist living in the Rocky Mountain northwest. His training is in law, and he worked as a securities lawyer at a major international firm and inhouse at two multinational semiconductor manufacturers before taking up writing fiction. He is a lover of language and languages, a guitarist and self-recorder, and a serious reader. He is married to a powerful and clever woman and together they have three devious children.

  Dave has been writing fiction since 2010. He writes speculative fiction (roughly, fantasy, science fiction, space opera, steampunk, cyberpunk, superhero, alternate history, dystopian fiction, horror and related genres) for all audiences. He has written and is writing novels for middle grade, young adult and adult readers. He is working on getting published via the traditional route; in the meantime, he is entertaining readers with Rock Band Fights Evil. Dave has always had a soft spot for good pulp fiction.

  Follow the band at http://rockbandfightsevil.com.

  Read about D.J. Butler’s other writing projects at http://davidjohnbutler.com.

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