Page 32 of Hounded

“Thanks,” he replied. “Your coveralls are cool, too. Do you paint?”

She laughed softly. “Not nearly as well as you, but I dabble.”

“Me?”

She hesitated, clearly thrown, but recovered quickly. “Yes you, honey.” She touched a hand to her chest. “I’m Sully, by the way. Did Lore tell you?”

“Yeah,” Indy replied.

I’d shared the barest details. Sarah Sullivan. Art gallery owner. Friend. Let him decide what he thought of her from there.

Sully nodded. “Why don’t you come inside? I’d like to show you a few things.” She took hold of Indy’s elbow and steered him toward the street in front of the Urban Easel. They went ahead while I lingered in the lot, sniffing the air for a trace of Whitney. I didn’t expect him to have followed us here, but I didn’t want to be caught unaware again.

Satisfied we hadn’t been tailed, I caught up to Sully and Indy inside the gallery. They walked arm in arm around the perimeter of the room.

The building was bright and cool. Stained cement floors ran through the space, and partition walls provided display space for dozens of framed works. It was quiet in the middle of the day, but not vacant. Two customers loitered in the corner, paying no mind to me or Sully and Indy as they traversed the room.

Sully’s tour seemed innocent enough. She pointed out canvases and sculptures while throwing out terms like “impasto” and “color theory.” Indy chattered back. He was engaged, enthused, and enamored with the oil still lifes and pastel landscapes. When they arrived before his watercolor—the one I’d glimpsed through the windowed storefront last night—Sully hesitated. She waved vaguelytoward the artist’s signature in the bottom right corner. The letters N.D. were distinguishable even at this distance. Indy smiled and bobbed his head, then moved on to the next piece while Sully stayed in place, a shade paler than she had been moments before.

She glanced back and caught me watching. Her lips parted as though she wanted to say something, then thought better of it and rejoined Indy down the wall.

The gallery was small enough that it should have only taken twenty minutes to see everything it had to offer, but Sully and Indy carried on for almost two hours. I retained my post, used to holding space and silence while Moira conducted business in Hell. I didn’t want to interrupt, anyway. Sully seemed happy, and Indy was vibrant. He came alive in places like this, among people who understood a part of him I didn’t.

Finally, Sully broke away and left Indy admiring the art. Her cheerful demeanor gave way to a more somber mood as she drew closer to me. When she came within arm’s reach, and I got a better look at her, she seemed drained.

She wrung her hands together as she said softly, “I didn’t expect it to hurt like this.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied.

Sully shook her head, and her necklaces rattled. “No, honey,I’msorry. It’s your pain more than mine.” She moved to stand beside me, pressing her back against the brick wall and laying her head on my arm.

“Do you think he’ll paint again?” she asked.

For decades, Indy’s art had funded our lifestyle. As two men invisible in the eyes of the United Statesgovernment, our options for employment were limited. Sully coming into our lives was a boon in more ways than one. She marketed Indy’s paintings and paid us under the table. No taxes and no unwanted attention from Uncle Sam.

Across the room, Indy straightened the hem of his crop top. The stretch of smooth skin around his midriff and the dimples on his lower back made something in me ache.

“I hope so,” I replied. “But, if not, I have enough pieces in storage to keep you stocked.”

“That’s good, I guess.” Sully threaded her arm around mine and clasped my hand.

I checked the street and the sidewalk to quell the latent fear that Whitney might be lurking. The apprehension prompted me to speak.

“Sully, I need to tell you something.”

“About what?”

Slowly, I confessed about my clash with Whitney, and the kennels full of hounds, and the poor muzzled girl who had wanted me to save her. I explained Indy’s scent, that alluring aroma that would draw the dogs to him like predators to prey. I didn’t admit it was my fault Whitney came to Earth in the first place. That was a truth I could not yet stomach, even to myself.

“I may be able to help,” Sully said once I’d finished.

A sigh petered out of me. I’d hoped as much. Counted on it.

“I can put a ward on Indy,” she said. “It would mask his smell. It’s part of his aura. Everybody has one.” She tipped her chin toward where Indy had returned to hiswatercolor and was studying it with renewed interest. “You may not be able to see it, but Indy’s is the most vibrant gold,” she said.

A wistful smile pulled at my lips, and Sully slapped my arm.

“You sap,” she teased. “What do I have to do to get somebody to look at me the way you look at him?”

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