“No. Treaty of 20,774. The humans signed no such agreement. Now, go!”
Treaty of what? Piers sprinted down the dark road, the heavy thud of footsteps sounding behind him. If and when they captured the hellhound, maybe Chynne knew what to do next. Piers sure didn’t.
The ogre caught and passed him. If Piers lived through this, he’d either take up running or learn about these mysterious powers everyone said he possessed. And why an ogre helped him.
But wait. Always before, when he’d wanted something, really wanted something,wham!Instant gratification. Right now, he wanted the hellhound trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.
Awhoomphsounded ahead. Light. He needed light! When had it gotten so dark? A brilliant flash nearly blinded him.
Until he realized he pointed a high-powered flashlight at his face and turned the business end in the right direction. There, on the ground, lay the hellhound on its back, arms to the sides, legs strapped together, on a bed of something golden brown. He sniffed the air. Sage stuffing?
The ogre popped a handful into his mouth. “Hey, this is good! Can I get the recipe?”
The hellhound glowered, red eyes baleful, yet didn’t move. Piers stepped closer, braced to run. “Where is Jess?”
The thing growled.
Piers put more authority into his voice. Why be a powerful sorcerer and not pull rank? “Where is Jess?”
The thing growled again.
“Now you’re pissing me off! I know your kind speak English. I heard you! I said—”
The ogre stopped chewing long enough to get words out. “He told you that if you’re talking about the colorful female, she’s in a warehouse a few blocks from here.”
Colorful female? Oh, right. Jess’s many tats. Piers whipped his head toward his unlikely helper. “Can’t hellhounds speak my language?”
The ogre shrugged. “This one understands, but his vocal cords aren’t developed enough yet to articulate human words. He’s only been coming to this realm for about one hundred years or so, which is why his brothers sent him. If you captured him, he couldn’t spill their secrets.”
The hellhound snarled something, then spat on the ground.
No translation needed to understand the sentiment. “He doesn’t think too highly of his brothers, does he?”
This time, Piers nearly made out words in the hellhound’s snarling.
The ogre paused enjoying his stuffing feast. “No. He says they’re assholes.”
If only Wycke were here. No, Piers could act on his own. He’d love to be at the warehouse: him, Chynne, and the ogre. Nothing happened. Oh well. Running, yes, he’d definitely start running in the near future.
He jogged down the street, the ogre falling into step beside him.
“I appreciate your help,” Piers said, “but why are you helping me?”
“You’re welcome. I never cared for hellhounds much. Besides, I’ve been keeping a watch over you. Have been for a while.”
Piers ground to a halt. “What? Why?”
“I saw you a few seasons ago, didn’t know what you were, just knew you weren’t a typical human from these parts. So, I watched out for you.” The ogre rolled his massive shoulders, the joints cracking. “Not much to do in this realm. I got bored.” He prodded Piers with a hand three times the size of Piers’. “Warehouse? Save your friend?”
Piers coaxed his feet into moving again. “What’s your name?”
“George.”
“Really? George? Kind of a human name, don’t you think?”
“Prejudiced much?” George grumbled. “Pieravor certainly isn’t a name used here in the human realm, and you don’t see me judging. Yeah, I finally figured out who you are.”
Piers didn’t have the wind in his lungs to reply. Chynne caught up to them. “I dispatched the hellhound back to the magical realm.”