They can’t come into the daylight.

They can’t come into the daylight.

They can’t come into the daylight.

I repeated that mantra, my chest heaving, my lungs burning, having no idea if it was true or not. No one, not even Reyes, really knew about the hellhounds. What their vulnerabilities were here on earth. Their strengths. They were not demons, but a product of hell. Created there by Lucifer himself. So while demons could not come into the light without some kind of protection, like a human once possessed, hellhounds were a different breed entirely. They might be just as comfortable in daylight as I was.

With that thought, I turned back to the lock on the gate, forced myself to calm down, and punched the date into the number pad. The second it unlocked, I pushed through it and jumped into Misery. I took out my phone while turning over the engine. I had to get to someone who had answers, who might know what to do.

There were only two people on this plane that I knew of who might have some answers. Reyes, naturally, and the Dealer, a Daeva, a slave who had escaped from hell centuries ago and now lived in Albuquerque, New Mexico, running illicit card games and tricking humans out of their souls. We’d come to an agreement on the soul thing. He could sup only on very bad people. But he seemed to know a lot more about all of this than anyone else. In fact, he was the one who’d told us about the Twelve and the fact that they’d escaped from their prison in hell and made it onto this plane. He’d wanted to help protect me from them, but Reyes refused his assistance. I was beginning to think he’d made a grave mistake.

So, I could run either to Reyes or to the Dealer, and only one of the two would become enraged with the fact that I’d left without him.

The Dealer it was.

Only after I brought up his name in my contacts did it occur to me that I’d torn out of a building, soaked in someone else’s blood, and raced away as though I’d committed murder. I could only hope no one had seen me. No one called the police. I’d do that myself.

My lashes clung together, the blood coagulating and creating a thick, sticky residue, and I dared a quick glance at my reflection in the rearview as the phone rang. I regretted it instantly. I looked like the second-to-last victim of an axe murderer in a B-grade horror movie. If I was going to look like the second-to-last victim of an axe murderer in a horror movie, it’d damned well better be grade A.

The Dealer picked up the line. “This must be important for you to call me, the dreg of society.”

“You home?”

“Maybe.”

“Be there in two. Have your door open.”

“Pregnant women are so demanding. Anything I can do in the interim?”

“Unless you can dematerialize and rematerialize in my Jeep while I’m going ninety-three in a twenty-five, then probably not.” I hung up to concentrate on the road before he could say anything else.

That had to have been one of the twelve beasts of hell. Who else – no what else – could have done that? And if Reyes had materialized, could they have killed him? Was his incorporeal spirit at risk? He would have fought it, tried to kill it, just to get it out of the way. Picking them off one by one was a tactic he’d taught me: Weaken the pack slowly. Methodically. He’d never been one to sit around and wait to be attacked. He preferred the hunt. Craved it. I’d felt his hunger, his voracious appetite the last time we took on a horde of demons.

Still, I couldn’t believe my binding spell, for lack of a better phrase, had worked. I couldn’t believe Reyes hadn’t materialized.

I sped around anything that got in my way. Getting pulled over for speeding while covered in blood wasn’t suspicious at all, but I just couldn’t seem to slow down. I whizzed around a delivery truck and screeched to a stop in the Dealer’s driveway. He had a nice adobe in a decent neighborhood. Hopefully none of his neighbors were out.

I charged out of Misery and ran for his front door, which stood wide open with a kid leaning against the frame, arms crossed, top hat sitting at a flirtatious slant. Though he looked nineteen, he was centuries old. From what I could piece together, he’d actually been on earth for over a millennium. Tall and wide-shouldered, he had black hair – the tips of which brushed his collarbone – the most incredible bronze-colored eyes I’d ever seen, and a persistent smirk that could be charming one minute and deadly the next. I still didn’t know the Daeva’s name, but Reyes did. The first time we met the kid, Reyes had recognized him from their days back in hell, said he was a champion of some kind. His description of the Dealer had made me think of a gladiator, a slave fighting for the entertainment of his owners.

If the kid was surprised by my ravaged appearance, he didn’t show it.

I hurried past him and went straight for his bathroom. But because I didn’t know which room it was in, I had to try a few doors first.

“Next right,” he said, following me down the hall.

I went inside, turned on the light, and checked my appearance.

“You didn’t kill him, did you? We might need him if we’re going to keep you safe.” When I blinked at him, he continued, with one of those smirks playing upon his mouth, this one teasing. “Rey’aziel,” he clarified. “He can be an ass, but —”

“They’re here,” I said, taking a towel off the rack and wiping my face.

He straightened slowly. The alarm rocketing through him hit me in one sharp wave.

“They killed a man right in front of me. Or, well, behind me. I didn’t see anything.” I looked down at the towel. “There was so much blood.”