The thing seemed indisposed to attack, just crouched there watching us. Watching me. I finished drawing my sword, and the steel's heart turned white again, flaring with sharp pavement-drenching light. Runes of blue fire curled along the edges of the blade-a blessed weapon, but one that had its own strange ideas.

Yet another thing to add to my rapidly growing to-do list: go visit Jado and ask him about this sword.

Right after I visited Abra and started unraveling whatever had happened to Gabe. And hopefully before Japhrimel got back to find his agent tied up and me gone. I was getting very good at running away from him.

He was getting very good at finding me. Now there was an uncomfortable thought. Of course he was good at finding me; I carried his mark and was referred to in the singular.

Maybe he wouldn't find me too quickly this time, though. After all, I was on home ground. Even a few years away shouldn't have changed the boltholes and fluxpoints of the city too much. If there was one place on earth I felt capable of hiding in, it was Santiago City.

Hiding sounds like a good idea. Just as soon as we figure out what to do about this thing.

The hellhound paced forward a step. Two. Its eyes were still fixed on me, crimson coins in the shifting seaweed shadows. It hugged the opposite side of the street, and I began to feel a little… well, nervous. Fine time to wish Japh was here, at least now I'm absolutely sure he has a vested interest in keeping me alive, not just something as fragile as caring about me. Always assuming, of course, that Shaunley's right and a Fallen demon suffers a mortal death if his hedaira's killed.

The hellhound's slow, gelid growl rattled the air. Cool wind kissed my face, rich with the promise of rain.

Okay, I was a lot nervous. My sword dipped, instinctively taking the guard against attacks from below. What was the thing doing? A hellhound had never hesitated before. No, they'd just come straight for me.

A very nasty assumption began to surface under my conscious mind. I stepped forward, my sword ringing softly. Leander had turned to a stone, his aura flushed deep purple-red like a bruise. "Kel?" I whispered. "Velokel?"

The hellhound growled again, and launched itself at me. Lucas shot four times, streaks of red plasbolt sheeting the air. I held my ground, dropping my scabbard and clasping the hilt in both hands, an instinctive decision that might cost me my life. But Lucas already had a plasgun, and he'd missed.

Four times.

"Run!" I barked, not looking to see if Leander did because the thing-dense heavy hot demon animal-crashed into me. It was appallingly quick, blurring with spooky demon speed, my sword chimed off claws as I spun aside, the mark on my shoulder lighting up with a fierce spike of pain. The cuff blazed green, a thin crackling whip of fire snaking out to lick at the hellhound, which let out a basso yowl of rage.

What the hell was that?

The swordhilt floated up, blade blurring, I made a low sound of effort as shining metal streaked down, sinking into the hellhound's haunch with a deadly low whistle. It coiled on itself, I gave ground, shuffling back. My entire world narrowed to the threat in front of me; streaks of blue fire painted the air as my sword wove a complicated pattern.

I had the oddest sensation-as if a rope attached to the cuff on my left wrist was jerking my arm around, quicker than I was meant to move. Didn't matter-I set my teeth as the hellhound came for me again, another pass that drove me back. It was trying to pin me against the buildings on either side of the street, a death sentence. I remembered how eerily fast the hellhounds were in Freetown New Prague and was vaguely surprised to still be alive. The world narrowed to one thing-the hellhound, its scraping scrabbling nails on pavement and my own harsh breathing, its low plasglass-rattling growl and my boots stamping as I smashed down with my blade and leapt like a cat, narrowly missing getting three glassy obsidian claws as long as my hand slicing into my midriff. I'd been eviscerated twice, had no desire to ever go there again.

It was too quick. I could barely hurl aside its claws and had to fade to the side as it looped impossibly, turning with a much smaller radius than something so big should be able to. Its spine crackled as it jerked fluidly, turning. Black smoking blood striped the beast, and it favored its left forepaw as it hunched and snarled at me, apparently chiding me for my lack of ability to die respectfully when it attacked me.

I snarled back, lips peeling from my teeth. Frustrated fury rose under my breastbone. I was happy to have the outlet, too happy, adrenaline overtaking good sense. I'd make a mistake, this thing was too quick for me to have a chance of winning the fight. Heart pounding, sweat sliding down my back and soaking into the waistband of my jeans-it took a lot of effort to make me sweat, nowadays.

It backed up, one slow fluid uncoordinated step at a time, growling all the while. I considered advancing, my ribs flaring with deep harsh breaths. My left leg burned, high on the thigh-had it gotten me? I honestly couldn't remember.

Darkness breathed between streetlights. Fiske Avenue was utterly still. My aura pulled close, demon shields pulsing, my rings spitting golden sparks. The mark on my shoulder had settled into a slow steady burn, as if flesh had been partly torn away but not yet started to bleed. The wristcuff squeezed mercilessly, I almost heard small bones in my wrist splintering. A ragged huff of breath left my lungs; I tried frantically to think of something else to do. Throwing a runespell or two at it, or a tracker, would probably not work-I'd tried a tracker on an imp once, and gotten a head-ringing case of backlash for my trouble. Japhrimel had made the other hellhound rot with a word in the demon language, but he had also refused to teach me any of his native tongue.

A plasbolt raked in from the side, splashing on the creature's hide. It shook its head, stunned, and I threw myself back as Leander and Lucas, both firing, yelled something shapeless.

The hellhound thudded to the ground, its hide smoking. I looked up. Leander was white-faced, staring at me like I'd grown a new set of kobolding arms. Lucas's upper lip curled. He looked grimly pleased, yellow eyes blazing.

I tried not to gasp, failed miserably. My heart raced, thudding as if it intended to fling itself out through my ribs and dance a few nightclub kicks on the pavement of Fiske Avenue. Sweat dripped, stinging, in my eyes. "We'd better… get out… of here."

"You think it's dead?" Lucas kept his gun trained on the loose lump of hide and shadow. I saw no flicker of movement, was unconvinced.

"No. Probably just stunned. Come on, let's go!" I regained my breath with an effort, Lucas tossed me my scabbard. My hand flashed, caught it, the cuff was back to dull silver on my wrist. I flipped my hand palm-up, palm-down; there was no space in the Gauntlet anymore. Dammit, how did that happen? It was a solid band of metal welded to my wrist above my datband, and its sudden chill was enough to cause a swift flash of pain through my temples. Not going to think about that right now. It just helped save my life, good enough, let's go! "Anubis et'her ka, let's not stand around!"

We left the stunned hellhound lying slumped in the middle of the street, and I had the uncharacteristic urge to glance over my shoulder all the way to Abra's. I even did glance back once or twice, unsure of what I expected to see-another low fluid hellhound shape, or a pair of green eyes and a long black coat.

It's anyone's guess which would have scared me more.