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“Asmodeus,” Eddie bellowed.
The door flew open.
Yesterday screeched and made it to the top of the propane tank in a single bound.
Two pony-size furry bodies lunged through the shattered door. At her.
Eddie didn’t make it two feet before four glowing red eyes locked on her.
She backed up.
The hounds lowered their heads, hackles rising and closed on her.
The water heater pressed into her spine, warm but in no way reassuring.
“We’re dead.” Yesterday sobbed.
It very much looked that way as the hounds peeled lips back from canines longer than her arm. Low growls made her nape tingle, and she might have peed a little. Their heads on a level with hers, they looked like a pissed off cross between pit bulls and panthers. Red eyes glowed scarlet at her, and they stank of rotten eggs and farts. Lethally sharp spikes fanned behind their stubby ears.
“Sit,” Eddie whispered. She’d watched Cesar Milan. She liked dogs, had wanted one since she was a child.
The closest hound snarled. Long strings of saliva stretched between its fangs and lips.
Oddly enough, the reason she’d never been allowed a dog was because of the hell gate. Lucky her, now she had two. Unlucky her, those two were going to eat her.
The second hell hound took a long, strong exhale, his nostrils quivering at the force with which he pulled air into his lungs. His barrel chest expanded and the spikes around his neck quivered and lowered. Both hounds stopped.
The front one cocked his head and made an odd little mewl, a sound so at odds with his fearsome appearance that at first, Eddie thought it had come from Yesterday.
“What are they doing?” Yesterday whispered.
“Don’t know.” Eddie kept her eyes on the paused hounds.
The front one also hauled air into his lungs. The spikes around his neck lowered to lie against the powerfully bunched muscle of his shoulders. He padded closer.
Eddie shrank back as far as the water heater would allow. Not nearly far enough.
The hell hound’s searingly hot breath chuffed against her hand. His nose traveled up her arm and blew hot steam against her neck.
Eddie yelped.
The hound jerked back and sat.
The other one sat as well, head tilted and studied her.
Oh-kay.
“Do something,” she ground out to Yesterday.
“Not that kind of demon,” he hissed back at her.
The front hound whined and pawed her leg. Claws like three-foot daggers shredded her track pants but didn’t pierce her skin.
Yesterday’s head appeared from the dark recesses above the propane tank. “Command them.”
“What?”
“Command them,” Yesterday instructed with all the confidence of a demon not huddled atop a propane tank. “They’re not eating you. I think they’re waiting for you to tell them what to do.”
