Reign of Evil

Walker shot up from his prone position and fired at the druids and the guy manning the flechette cannon. He saw one druid go down. The cannon began to swing Walker’s way again and he dove to the ground. Three slivers of pain caught him in the back of his right thigh. The ground drove the breath from him, but he didn’t have a moment. He’d seen Hoover getting her canine ass handed to her by the hell hound. Without help, they might lose her. Hoover was as much a part of the team as any of them. It just couldn’t happen.

He lurched to his feet again and began running. The flechette cannon was no longer firing. He didn’t know if it was because the cannoneer was down or out of ammo, but he couldn’t spare the moment it would take to turn and look. His entire focus was on the interlocked canines—one supernatural, one SEAL.

He stumbled once but soon closed the distance. The last ten meters he ripped free his rifle and tossed it aside. He pulled his gladius. It felt like a fire poker in his hand and he had no idea how to use it. Still, he had to do something. Hoover was howling as the hell hound savaged her leg. Walker raised the gladius, intent to strike, but something in the eyes of the creature before him stilled his hand. As it looked his way with a large blue eye, he could swear it paused and regarded him. Somehow within its brutish baboon face there was something remarkable. The way the eye looked at him, the shape of the orb, the slight sadness surrounding it, sent a shock wave through his memories. A great well of sadness exploded, filling him past bursting. The feeling of loss… of nearness… of need… shot through him like a lightning bolt.

He staggered backwards. Could it be?

He uttered a single word. “Jen?”

The eye blinked at him.

He inhaled emptiness.

He’d known all along that the hounds were fueled by the souls of those they killed, but it had always seemed like an academic idea, something so unfathomable that he just took it for granted. Never once did he imagine that he’d be put in a position to not only face her but also possibly kill her.

She stared at him. My god, how he loved her. A thought struck him. He remembered what the witch had said about the souls of the hounds possessing the fonts. Was there a chance? Could he at least get that part of Jen back that was her essence? She wouldn’t look the same, but then that wasn’t what made her… her. All he had to do was find someone to possess.

He shook his head. What was he thinking? He couldn’t do that to someone else!

Not even to have his girl back?

Not even to have the love of his life back in his arms?

He’d give the world to kiss her one more time, the feel of her soft lips, the warmth of her hands as she held him, knowing that he could close his eyes and she’d be there forever.

She blinked at him as if she was reading his mind. He could see recognition in her eyes.

The gladius felt heavy. He knew he needed to use it to save Hoover, but he couldn’t kill her. Not again.

Then she did something at once beautiful and terrible. She opened her great monstrous jaws and released Hoover’s leg. The hound’s human hand that had been holding Hoover let go as well. It reached out to him, slow, tentative.

He choked back a sob. This was not her. This was a hellish creature of the Tuatha. This was…

Fuck.

It was her.

He reached out to her.

Hoover had had a grip on the hound’s neck before, but it had been inadequate. Now the SEAL dog reared back and sunk her teeth into the hell hound’s jugular. Growling and snarling, favoring her wounded rear leg, Hoover whipped her head back and forth.

The expression in the hound’s eye changed from wonder to pain. It blinked rapidly. Its hand stalled in its arc to meet Walker’s.

Then it screamed.

Hoover ripped the jugular free. Victory shone in her eyes.

Walker let out a barely audible, “No!”

He glared at Hoover, ready now to use the gladius.

But then the hound evaporated, leaving nothing of it behind.

Hoover limped over and licked Walker’s outstretched hand.

Walker sunk to his knees. He dropped the gladius and threw his arms around Hoover. Great tides of anguish flowed through him, rocking his shoulders.

“Hoover did it right.

“Hoover did it right.”

If he said it enough it might make it all okay.

“Hoover did it right.”

Walker spent a lifetime in a single second, living and dying with the woman of his dreams. When it was over, he felt different. Was it a sense of closure? He couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that the pain had receded to a dull ache. Seeing her in the hound, knowing that she loved him and had longed to be with him in that gesture of its hand, ameliorated some of his pain. Even so, he knew it wasn’t the end of it. He’d need more time. But that was a luxury he didn’t have at the moment.

Walker stood, shakily at first. “Come on, girl.” He closed his eyes tightly for a second, then collected his weapons from where he’d dropped them.