The Hour of Dust and Ashes

now, up to your office?”

“I don’t know. Think I might head home and get something to eat. Check on Em, see what kind of trouble Rex has gotten himself into … The usual,” I said with a shrug and a wry smile.

She let her head fall back against the plastic wall and her eyes closed. “Well”—a crooked smile that seemed out of place appeared on her face—“have fun.”

I slipped through the open door, my chest going tight and uncomfortable. Bryn was in another world, it seemed, so I shook the odd feeling away and left the cell quietly.

My boots echoed loud and slow in the stairwell as I climbed one flight to the ground level of Station One. Seeing Bryn sitting in that cell made me tired, weary of this whole thing, and, to be honest, a little hopeless.

Mynogan, Tennin, the Sons of Dawn … their push to start a war and regain control of Charbydon had set in motion a bundle of obstacles that continued to ripple across the city’s inhabitants as well as my professional and private life. If I could end this somehow, stop the insanity, then maybe my life, my family’s life, and the entire city could return to normal.

Instead of going up to the office, I texted Hank to let him know I was headed home for a bite to eat and then I’d be back. With our ash victims secure, and before the fire sylph leapt out from around the next corner, I wanted just a moment of quiet time in my own environment to think and regroup and feed my crazy metabolism.

12

After I hung up my jacket and secured my weapons in the closet, leaving my sidearm on, since it didn’t bother me as much as the shoulder harness, I went into the kitchen and grabbed Rex’s leftover soup from the fridge and a clean bowl from the dishwasher.

As I filled my bowl, I heard the low voices of my child and Rex coming from the backyard. From the window above the sink I could see that the floodlights were on, but not where they stood.

I placed the bowl in the microwave, hit the timer, and then stepped out back to say hello. As soon as I crossed the brick patio, Emma jogged over, her face lighting with excitement. “Oh my God, Mom! You have to see this!”

She grabbed my hand and tugged me into the grass. “Slow down,” I said as she dragged me, chattering so fast I couldn’t understand a word she said, my main focus on trying not to trip.

Then she stopped in the middle of the yard. I looked up.

Oh.

Her hand slipped out of mine as goose bumps sprouted all over my legs and arms. For a moment I couldn’t wrap my head around what I was seeing. I gaped, knowing in the lucid part of my brain that surely I was facing something most people, off-worlders included, had never or would never see in their lifetimes.

Warhound.

The floodlights beamed off polished armor plating. Red eyes glowed through holes of the skull plate, which had spikes running down the center. Brimstone stood in a wash of bright white light. In full battle gear. Looking like he’d just stepped out of the ancient past.

A loud whoosh of air finally breezed through my open mouth. I gulped and recovered enough to say, “Wow.”

“Gives you goose bumps, doesn’t it?” Rex came up behind us.

“Uh-huh.” I couldn’t take my eyes off Brim. He stood there strong and tall, balanced and ready, like a warhorse waiting for the command to surge into battle. “This is really how they used to look?”

“From what I can remember.” Rex’s voice held a quiet kind of reverence. “Hellhounds accompanied the jinn in every battle. The armor is really light, made of typanum and something else—can’t remember … Once the nobles came and started taking over, they killed entire bloodlines, ancient ones. And after we lost the Great War, the jinn weren’t allowed to train hell-hounds for battle or protection; weren’t allowed to have them at all. The jinn set them free. The young ones and the pups stayed away, but the trained ones kept coming back. The nobles slaughtered so many …”

There was a time when I feared hellhounds, when I believed they were mindless, vicious beasts intent on killing anything in their path. I stood there ashamed of myself for being so narrow-minded. As an officer I’d been taught to either kill them on sight, depending on the danger, or leave them to Animal Control. Same as if a lion or bear got loose from the local zoo. I’d believed the hype and the fear, until Brimstone came into our lives. “Where did you find all this stuff?” I asked.

“eBay.”

“It’s my Christmas present from Rex,” Emma said, removing herself from my side to go stand next to Rex, putting him beteen us.

“Had to wait for the final piece,” he explained. “So that’s why she’s getting it late. It’s just a replica, of course—nothing from that age would’ve survived this long—from one of those stores that make reproduction weapons and armor.”

That age being thousands of years in the Charbydon past.

Emma nudged Rex; he nudged her back. They erupted into a jabbing session and an under-the-breath argument, which consisted of: “You ask her.” “No, you ask her.”

“Fine, you little tyrant,” Rex huffed and then turned to me. “I hereby ask permission, O Great and Powerful Mother, to teach this child hellhound battle tactics. There. I asked.”

Emma leaned over with an encouraging nod. “Every Warhound had a trainer. They worked together in pairs on the field. They knew all kinds of stuff, all kinds of commands, and ways to—” Kill. Rex elbowed her. “To fight. So, what do you think? Is it okay?”

The beast stood there looking so damn … badass. It spoke to all my protection instincts, to my love of the good fight, and all things noble and strong. My kid walking around with this at her side —no one would mess with her.

Well, that was if we could get a special permit from the city to permanently keep him. As it was, we were on borrowed time. My neighbor had reported an illegal hellhound living in our backyard. But thanks to the chief and some strings, we were able to get permission to keep him under an ITF Weapons Research Permit. Meaning we lied and said we were researching ways to utilize the hellhound for law enforcement purposes.

But standing here now—how cool would it be to patrol Underground with an armored tank with fangs and claws? With a daughter who could direct entire packs of them with a thought? The first true War-hound in thousands of years …

Okay, getting way ahead of yourself, Charlie.

“Mom.” I looked over at Emma. She was leaning past Rex, clasping her hands together in prayer, smiling at me, and mouthing, “Please, please, please.”

“There will need to be some ground rules … But I guess”—Emma’s monstrous, high-pitched squeal made me cringe—“it would be okay.”

“C’mon, kid, let’s get the armor off him.”

“Right.” Emma ran to Brim and began unlacing the armor plates. She looked so tiny and exposed next to him—a giant Warhound looming above a kneeling eleven-year-old with a ponytail, jeans, and a faded Mickey Mouse T-shirt.

And there were days when you didn’t think it could get any more bizarre.

“Hey,” I said to Rex before he could take off after her. “Can we talk a minute?”

After giving Em some instructions, Rex followed me into the kitchen, where I removed my soup, which had gone lukewarm, from the microwave, set it on the table, and then opened the fridge. I grabbed two beers and handed one to Rex. It was ice-cold, and stung my throat, and I welcomed it with several er gulps. My eyes watered from the sting. “I so needed that.”

He toasted the air with his bottle. “Not every day you see a Warhound.” Then he took a long swig.

“So basics for now, okay? Protection only.” Rex agreed with a nod. I took another gulp before setting the