Page 12 of Fiends and Familiars
Adrienne
When I got home, the squirrels nearly tackled me at the door. I’d never gotten this sort of enthusiastic greeting before in my life. What was wrong? Had they run out of nuts to eat? Were they just bored and couldn’t manage to manipulate the television remote? Had Timmy fallen in the well?
No, it seemed that the dog-thing had been back prowling around the yard again, and the squirrels were very distraught about it.
“He can’t get in,” I told them. “First, there’s no way he can figure out the door key code, push the buttons, and turn the knob to open the door. Secondly, even if he could manage that, there are magical wards on the house. Besides, I think we’ve got him all wrong. Just because he’s scary-looking doesn’t mean he’s a bad doggie…or doggie-thing.”
Clearly the squirrels had a differing opinion on that.
A hellhound. If Lucien was right, then no wonder the squirrels were afraid.I’dbeen afraid of the dog-thing when I’d first encountered it as well, but I’d quickly changed my mind. Maybe his initial growling and teeth-baring had been because he was scared as well. I’d seen so many hungry strays that acted that way and it took a while for them to trust even me who could communicate with them. He’d clearly loved the liver treats, and I was assuming he was the one who ate the rib bones. He’d come back repeatedly. I was probably the only person who’d been nice to him.
Well, except for yelling at him last night. I did feel bad about that. Poor doggie. Just because he looked scary didn’t mean he was that way on the inside. I’d grown up among supernatural creatures who would have terrified any human who set eyes upon them. I needed to not be so judgmental. Heck, less than a month in the human world, and I was already yelling at stray hellhounds to get off my lawn at three in the morning.
Determined to do better, I went and got out a ham bone I’d been saving for soup and took it out to the front lawn. Then I sat and waited.
Orange-red eyes lit up from the woods and I shivered, wondering if this was a good idea or not. I reached out to the animal, asking it to come in close. The orange-red eyes moved, then came out, the darkness revealing a large cat.
“Hey Buster,” I greeted our neighborhood feral kitty. “Come get a little ham.”
I tore a piece off the bone and held it out as he bounded across the yard toward me. Buster took the meat gently from my fingers and purred as he ate. I waited until he was done to converse further, because Buster felt eating and talking were two things that should not happen at the same time.
After he was done, Buster got really chatty. Evidently a calico two blocks over was in heat and he was planning a midnight serenade in hopes that he could get it on. The guys four doors down hadn’t secured the lid on their garbage container last night and Buster had enjoyed some pizza crusts and half a turkey sandwich. The Richardsons had called in an exterminator—sadly not me—and Buster was lamenting the decline in the mouse population over there.
I tossed him another piece of ham and told him that the rest was for the hellhound that had been in my yard last night. He froze, his eyes wide as he looked up at me.
Buster was afraid of the hellhound. He was quite vocal about how it was a monster who only appeared when it was on a hunt. He was positive that the hellhound would kill anyone who got in the way of his prey. Then he would kill his prey and drag them all into a fiery pit of torture.
Cats. They were so dramatic, especially when it came to dogs. I really didn’t blame him. I’m sure he’d barely escaped death by dog many times, and being mauled was definitely torture in my opinion. I tossed Buster one more piece of ham, then wished him good luck with the calico as he strolled off.
He wasn’t gone five minutes when I heard a rustling in the bushes. Four pairs of red eyes peered at me this time. I gripped the ham bone tight, relaxing when the hellhound stepped out onto my lawn.
I really needed to name him. Or maybe he had a name already. “I’ve got dinner for you. But first I want to know what I should call you.”
He eyed the ham bone and drooled, opening his mouth to reveal those very large, very sharp teeth.
Yeth.
It was a weird name, but I’d respect it. Clearly he liked it if he’d accepted it.
“Okay Yeth, here you go.” I tore a piece of ham off the bone and tossed it to him.
Three other hellhounds materialized. Well, not really materialized. They crept out of the brush onto my lawn, but unlike Yeth, these guys didn’t seem particularly interested in the ham, or the least bit friendly. Their heads were low, hair raised in a bristle across their shoulders. Teeth even longer and sharper than Yeth’s were bared, gleaming white in the porchlight. I suddenly wished I hadn’t left Drake inside. Yeah, he was a vulture, but he seemed to be an intimidating figure to these animals.
“Hey pups,” I said softly. “Hungry? I’ve got some ham here.” I’d intended on giving it all to Yeth. Hopefully there was enough here for four because I didn’t want to know what these guys might do if they didn’t get enough food. I wasn’t in any danger. I had the skills to protect myself against animals if I needed to. I just didn’t want to have to resort to that—I didn’t want to ever have to resort to that.
There was a back-and-forth of growls and snarls between the other three and Yeth. I gathered they weren’t happy with him accepting ham from me.
“It’s not poisoned,” I assured them, tossing a few more pieces of ham onto the lawn.
The three swiveled their heads in synchronized precision to stare at the meat. I felt their indecision. Yeth moved in to eat them, and one of the others snapped at him, deciding to take the risk. While he was chewing I tore off more ham and flung it in front of the three, making sure to toss some Yeth’s way. Finally they all gave in and I relaxed, throwing ham as they ate so there would always be another piece waiting. There wasn’t much more left on the bone, though. And I had no way to divide the bone between four hellhounds. What else did I have in my fridge? Maybe that pack of hard-boiled eggs? I’d definitely have to swing by the grocery in the morning and get some dog food.
Which made me think of something else.
“Are you littermates? Do you all have a home to go to? I can fix up a nice warm spot in the garage for the four of you.” I’d thought about letting Yeth inside the house, even though the squirrels were afraid of him, but I didn’t know these other three well enough to have them sleeping on my living room couch and rug.
Yeth looked up at me and spoke, eyeing the bone as he chewed on a piece of ham. They weren’t littermates, but something close. I couldn’t make out exactly what their relationship was. Not quite family. Not quite friends. Packmates? That seemed the closest word to what Yeth was communicating.
Then someone must own them—or had owned them at one time. Perhaps their owner had moved and left them behind. Lucien had said there was a demon in hell who took care of the hounds, but maybe some had slipped their leashes? Run away? Or maybe that demon didn’t take care ofallthe hellhounds. Maybe hell had a problem with strays just as we did here.
