Chapter 19: Forewarned is Forearmed

She’s eating his face.

My left hand smacked the back of my head.

My throat dried, and heat flushed through my neck and behind my ears.

Is she eating his face?

I moved swiftly around Hellie to get her off the man.

Hellie had not eaten his face.

She was hunched over him.

Deathly close.

Growling.

Her teeth were exposed, brushing against his neck—ready to bite.

“Get her off me.”

When I needed to get Nightshade in line, I tugged firmly on the leash.

But anyone with a cell at that moment could’ve been filming.

So I chose to softly nudge at the chain.

It had no effect.

I mumbled out, “Stop, Hellie.”

She inched in even closer.

Unfortunately, it had to be done…

Indomitable…

Resilience.

Not angry.

I gave the command, “Down, Hellie.”

Thankfully, she obeyed and slowly slinked off the terrified man.

He shot to his feet, and she moved to my side, balancing on all fours, ready to strike again.

My focus should’ve been on the man, but I needed to see what was going on around me.

My imagination was out of control.

Luckily, the whole campus hadn’t stopped to watch as I had convinced myself.

There were no more than ten students gawking—some laughing, and some just plain mystified.

No one was recording.

“What’s going on here?”

The question broke in from an authoritative voice just beyond the crowd.

Not long after, I spotted a gleaming security badge that stood out against a stark white button-up shirt.

I immediately shot a stone expression at Hellie, and she knew not to move.

When the guard’s pasty face and DIY hairstyle came into focus, an ugh welled up. Of all the new additions, why did the one approaching have to be Bob?!

“You two again.”

Bob looked bothered and outright disgusted.

His uninflected tone and rolling eyes made it clear we were mutuals—united by our shared dislike for one another.

“I…” I barely cracked my voice before Bob dismissed me.

“Not you, him.”

“I was just trying to give that asshole the keys that he dropped, and whatever she is jumped me.”

“Do you want to file a complaint?”

Before responding, the guy’s body language shifted from animated to listless.

Almost as if he were hypnotized, he looked in my direction, then down at Hellie and said, “No… I don’t. Here…”

He dropped my keys, which provoked another round of growls from Hellie.

Then without saying another word, he wandered off.

Yikes.

Before I could bend to retrieve my keys, Bob walked over, examined them with a weirdly nosy focus, and then pitched them to me.

“I…” Once again, Bob dismissed me.

“Social project, right?”

“Umm. Yes.”

“Wait right here.”

Motioning like he was going to lift a gun from a holster, Bob whipped out his walkie-talkie and moved out of listening range.

After no more than a few minutes, he sauntered over.

“Okay. Let’s see the get-out-of-jail-free card.”

***

Home!

When Hellie and I finally made it home, I collapsed on the nearest sofa in the lounge, completely exhausted.

The situation-awareness card was still in my hand. I never got a chance to put it away.

After dealing with Bob, the security guy, we were approached by at least fifteen people.

As much as I wasn’t a fan of the card, it had its perks.

It kept our cover intact.

And based on all the scrutiny I was getting in person, I expected the email responses—albeit full of troll comments—to help support my project’s essay.

Feeling somewhat relieved, I flicked the card and stuffed it into my wallet.

Then I patted my lap, and Hellie placed her head on it.

In a restful fog, I rubbed her hair and looked down at her face.

It was like the environment around us melted away and was replaced with memories of Shellie.

In the four years we spent together, we formed a bond—a real friendship. I owed my love for pop culture to her. We lost countless hours watching movies and cartoons, playing video games, and reading comics.

Is she in there? Or is she just a beast in human form?

BRAK.

A faint crashing sound pulled me to the destroyed ping-pong table. A dangling bit of the wreckage had finally given way and hit the floor.

Suddenly, I didn’t feel good about being at home.

The disaster that Hellie caused would cost tens of thousands to repair.

I have to make some calls to get these repairs underway.

Then, taking a quick survey of the area, I caught a glimpse of him.

In a fold-out chair, Gene sat quietly, looking my way.

“Gene?”

“Billy.”

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Were you going to say something?”

“Eventually.”

“You look bizarre sitting over there like that.”

“Guess that makes us even. You look bizarre over there, getting cozy with a hellhound.”

There was a brief interlude of quiet.

“Did you enjoy your stroll on campus?”

Gene’s question bled with sarcasm.

“There was nothing special about it. A tad stressful fending off stares.”

There was another lull.

The whole conversation felt… wrong.

“You realize you may have damned everyone who has seen her?”

And there it is?

“Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users said nothing like that.”

“It doesn’t have to. Most stories of hellhounds state that the creature can kill just by being seen, spark murdery thoughts in a heartbeat, and daze others into suicide.”

Gene rested his ankle on his knee. Then he slightly adjusted his glasses. I knew he was about to launch into a speech.

But I locked on his assertion—dazing others into…

My mind flashed to the guy Hellie bum-rushed.

Vertigo hit.

I had to talk with Hellie that instant.

“One second, Gene. I need to speak with Hellie privately.”

I walked swiftly, pulling Hellie into an area outside Gene’s earshot.

“Is that what you did to that guy?”

A bit of nervousness clipped my words.

“Hellie, did you daze him?”

Hellie looked off into space, avoiding eye contact, similar to a guilty child who had raided the cookie jar and held cookies behind their back.

“Omg, call it off.”

She dropped her head, and after a few seconds, popped it back up, grinning, tongue out.

I got the sense that it was fixed.

“Hellie, I’m starting to understand that you skirt the rules. If he does it himself, you didn’t technically do it. But… you cannot harm anyone in any way unless I tell you to, understood?”

I gritted my teeth. What if I hadn’t caught that? I owed Gene an audience.

Hellie’s a damn loophole artist. Can I keep her out of trouble?

With our private matter only sort of sorted, Hellie and I returned.

“Okay, you got the floor, Gene.”

“You know, you ruined my flow…”

“Sorry, dude.”

“What I was going to say. Legends. Tall tales. Stories. All of them hold nuggets of truth—some larger than others. They are gifts. Sometimes literal, sometimes symbolic, but always meaningful.”

I’d heard the lines a million times throughout our friendship, so I jumped in to finish his spiel.

“Yeah, I know. All writers are avatars who pull from the cosmic consciousness to give form to the fabric of things.”

I couldn’t refute his theory.

Over the years I’d known him, I’d seen countless examples of his views at work.

Hell, earlier I cross-referenced that damn moth from The Lords of Omni, a fictional game, to Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users, a book I discovered was a true record of magic.

“Okay. I see the pattern, but I gave Hellie rules. She won’t kill. Right, Hellie?”

Her expression appeared obedient, so I petted the top of her head.

“Besides, can kill is not will kill. I feel fine. You’ve seen her. Do you feel okay?”

“For now, but you’re her master. That makes you exempt, dude. The verdict is still out for everyone else. Billy, we are dealing with the unknown. You should be chaining Hellie in the boiler room, not taking her to class.”

Hellie popped up and frowned at me.

I was confident she understood Gene’s comment and didn’t like it.

“Hey, hey now. We are not chaining her up!”

Gene sharply eyed the dog chain.

“I know I have her on this leash, but that is for safety when we are out.”

In response to my statement, I immediately let Hellie loose.

“Sorry, girl. You can walk around. Don’t leave—and no transformations of any kind. If you spot trouble, get me first.”

Hellie stood up, stretched, and slowly walked around the lounge area.

Gene stood, and I was uncertain what he was planning to do. Then he bent and patted his hands against his legs.

“Hey, Hellie girl. Come here.”

Gene whistled.

Hellie excitedly ran over to Gene and crouched down. He did the same and started to rub behind her ears.

Then he peeked around her, smiling, and said, “I thought you might feel that way about chaining her up, so I decided we should arm ourselves in the best way possible—with knowledge.”

***

Gene, Hellie, and I walked up the stairs to his living space.

It was in the front building on the west wing corner, diagonal to my space in the east wing at the back of the building.

According to him, he had gathered a bunch of information on hellhounds and had something mind-blowing to unveil.

On the way, he told me how adorable Hellie had acted after waking up, hiding her soft blanket in the couch cushions and playing with the plushie sea cow.

Gene had taken a liking to Hellie, and vice versa.

I was genuinely surprised by the rapport between the two.

He did warn me, though. Myles had severe reservations about Hellie.

Walking through the corridor, I explained to him that Myles and I had been texting.

But he still wasn’t convinced Myles would warm to Hellie.

Entering Gene’s space, my eyes popped at the sheer number of books.

The last time I visited his room, he had an extensive library. But now, walking through his jungle of books was daunting.

It was undeniable—his collecting had turned into hoarding.

I mean, towering stacks covered nearly every inch of the place.

A robust aroma of old coffee, undoubtedly fuel from countless late-night reading sessions, hung in the air.

“Have a seat on the couch. I need to grab something.” Gene made his way up the stairs to his loft bedroom.

Looking around, I couldn’t tell his space—like all the living spaces on the second floor—shared the same design as mine.

He’d customized the lighting scheme by swapping out the LEDs. Instead, vintage lanterns and candle-styled fixtures flickered with flame bulbs. The whole space glowed in an amber radiance, dim and moody.

I would’ve sworn we were in the Middle Ages if it weren’t for the modern conveniences on display.

Before I sat, I had to push some notepads, booklets, and loose papers away to make room for Hellie and me.

True to her canine nature, Hellie dropped at my feet.

“Hellie, stand up. I’m going to show you how to sit like me.”

After today’s fiasco, I realized I treated her way too much like Nightshade.

Although Hellie was a hybrid hellhound, she presented as a woman.

I had to help her connect to her human side.

She stood, slowly tilting her head from side to side, watching my actions. I took off my backpack, laid it aside, and sat on the couch.

“Watch me. Turn, bend your knees, and sit back slowly.”

I stood up and sat several times in a row, repeating the sentence.

On my final demonstration, I stayed seated at the right-side corner of the couch.

“That’s how you sit—sit on a couch. Okay, Hellie, now you sit.”

She just stood there for a second.

Then she turned around, bent her knees, and slowly began to sit.

She stopped.

I thought she was going to plop to the floor, but she reached back and touched the cushion before sitting.

“Good.”

But then, to my surprise, she stood up and repeated the process as I had.

Watching her, I saw why the others thought of her as adorable. It was like watching a baby almost understand something, but not entirely.

The little win gave me hope.

It reinforced my belief that I could teach her.

As Hellie sat and started to rise again, I placed my hand on her arm and said, “Hellie, you don’t have to…”

Bump. Bump. Bump.

The out-of-place noise drew my attention to the stairs. A thick book bounced down them, and Gene came hobbling right behind it, huffing.

In his hands, a barely graspable stack of books leaned toward collapse.

Not that I was trying to show reluctance, but my face had already fallen into a facepalm.

I knew it was going to be a long night.

Gene was hellbent on figuring out Hellie—cracking her code.

He was only doing what his brain was wired to do.

But to be honest, I didn’t know if I really wanted the answers.