Fiends and Familiars - Debra Dunbar Page 0,30

reminded Lucien. “They’re powerful enough that smashing through them would do significant damage to the house, and cause quite a lot of noise.”

“The longer Faust is free, the more we look like fools.” Lucien shook his head. “We should have secured him better once we’d dragged him into hell. It’s not your fault, Typhon. He just wasn’t an appropriate soul for your level and punishment methods.”

I bristled. Even though the prince might not blame me, I blamed myself. I’d lost a soul. Well, not lost per se, but had one escape me. Yes, Faust had help getting out of hell. Yes, he was rumored to be capable of magic and he’d managed to live for centuries, slipping away from every reaper who’d been sent to snag his soul. I should have realized he’d need special precautions—and special punishments.

I needed to do what I needed to do, regardless of how the consequences of that might pain me. There was no escaping this. I’d need to use my hellhounds to guard the residence, then break through the wards and go in myself to retrieve him. I was strong enough to break through the wards, strong enough to resist the witch’s spell. I’d go in, grab Faust by his scrawny neck, and drag him back to hell.

And then the witch would hate me. No more sexy dream time. No more nothing. I needed to ensure the makeup sex was truly exemplary, or I’d spend the rest of my life mourning her loss.

“I’m going to send Abraxas in to take care of it,” Lucien decided. “There’s no need for you or the hellhounds to get involved. I appreciate your tracking him down, but Abraxas is better suited to bring Faust back to hell.”

I nearly growled. The thought of that asshole demon facing my witch made me want to strangle someone. And the humiliation… Faust had escaped from my level of hell. Sending in another to retrieve him was an insult.

“My Prince, there’s no need to interrupt Abraxas from his very important duties. I can handle this myself. Me and my hellhounds.”

Lucien waved a hand. “No, you’re right. I don’t like the idea of sending in your pack. They poop all over the neighborhood. People complain. Next thing you know the police are called—or worse, animal control.”

“Animal control?” Last I’d heard that was a local human government group that didn’t do much beyond scraping dead animals off the roads and picking up lost kittens.

Lucien scowled. “Yes, animal control. They’ll take one look at your hellhounds then they’ll call in…well, they’ll call in a contractor, and it’ll get back to someone I don’t want it to get back to. If she hears, she’ll want to know what’s going on and she won’t be happy.”

I was totally lost. “She won’t be happy about us retrieving Faust?”

“No, she won’t be happy about hellhounds prowling around a human neighborhood twenty miles outside of Accident.”

I was still lost, but I nodded as if I knew what in the hell the prince was talking about. “So I’ll go in without the hellhounds.” It would be difficult. Faust might slip away while I was battling the witch—or doing other things with the witch. Having my hellhounds there would ensure the fiend didn’t slip out the back door and vanish for another few centuries.

Lucien nodded. “Go ahead, but I’m still putting Abraxas on this as backup. I don’t want this guy getting away again. Granddad’s been busting my father’s chops over this for centuries now.”

I winced. “Don’t worry. This time we’ll get him.” And I’d make sure I was the one bringing Faust in—not that slime-nosed, web-footed Abraxas.

Leaving the house where Lucien had set up residence with his witch, I wandered down the street, musing on how I might accomplish my goal without the hounds. In the time I would need to forcibly break through the wards, Faust could slip away. Plus there was the witch to deal with. I needed a way to get into the house with stealth and to do it when the witch wasn’t at home. Or I needed a way to quickly neutralize the witch and grab Faust before he got away.

Looking up, I realized my walk had taken me outside of this strange town and on a road that headed toward the mountains. A rustic establishment stood to my right with a sign proclaiming it to be a bar and pub. Pistol Pete’s.

I was feeling a bit hungry here in a physical form, and alcohol was known