Chapter 9 ~ Nathaniel Dean

Nathaniel and the others come across the demon sent after them by Milan, but Bailey and Nathaniel are ready to send it back to Hell.

Chapter 9 ~ Nathaniel Dean

Continuing on through the day, Mr. Michigan and Picasso walked close together, holding hands tightly, as if there was a love glue keeping them together. Well, it looks to me like they’re one inseparable couple now! They’re completely happy with each other. This leaves Bailey and I walk ahead of Mr. Michigan and Picasso. The two of us carry on a conversation about what we’ll do for this upcoming war in French, seeing as the other two are talking about other things, and need their time together.

Just then, there’s a clawing at the end of the hall, and what seems like the growling of a canine animal of some sort. Bailey stops short, holding out an arm in front of me, making me stop too, paying attention to my surroundings. Mr. Michigan and Picasso walk a little faster to catch up for us before hiding behind either Bailey and I, peering around us to see what’s going on. “What’s going on?,” Mr. Michigan asks quietly so nothing will hear us.

Bailey squints his eyes, listening to the growling creature. “Hellhound,” he whispers, not even moving his head. “Nathan?”

I stay completely motionless as well. “Yeah?,” I answer.

Bailey slides the satchel off his shoulder slowly very softly. “Get out the salt and my angel blade, s’il vous plait,” he instructs. “Hurry as well. It’s getting closer and I can sense it.”

Very slowly, I kneel down, and dig through the satchel. I must be making a bit of noise, because the simple snarling turns into barking, and the hellhound runs towards us, ready to attack. Right as I find a pack of salt, Bailey yells painfully, and falls onto his back.

“Nathan! Hurry!,” he cries, seething in pain as the dog begins to tear through his peacoat, leaving a blood scar across his chest.

Keeping my cool, I motion for Mr. Michigan and Picasso to run further down the hall. They do, making a quick escape in case the dog tries to find them. Swiftly, I throw a handful of the rock salt over Bailey, causing the dog to whimper, and a cloud of black smoke in the shape of a dog appears momentarily.

Upon the hellhound being weakened, Bailey sits up quickly, and gets into a battle stance. When he looks to me and nods, I take his angel blade from the satchel, and toss it to him quickly.

Holding the blade in a ready position, Bailey quickly pulls his arm back, throwing the blade forward, and throwing it at the black dog. The hellhound howls in agony, as the smoke deforms itself, and absorbs itself back into the ground, going back home to Hell.

Bailey stands panting heavily of exhaustion, before kneeling back down and retrieving his angel blade. Crawling to me, he slips the knife back into his satchel. As he does, I look at his ripped pea coat. “Bailey, your...”

He looks down at where I’m looking for a moment. “Jacket?,” he questions, before waving it off softly. “Non, non, there’s probably a change of clothes nearby. Monsieur Michigan needs new pants anyways, so we can stop somewhere and-...”

I cut him off my shaking my head. “No, it’s your chest,” I wince, reaching out a hand to have a look at the wound before pulling it back ashamedly. “That scratch looks like it hurts a lot.”

Bailey looks down, nodding softly. “Oui. It stings,” he admits.

I bite my lip, staring at the deep cut. “We ought to patch you up,” he says. “Let’s get you somewhere safe so we can patch you up.”

After sealing the satchel back up, I sling it over my shoulder, and help Bailey to his feet. Rounding up Mr. Michigan and Picasso who took shelter in another room, we all begin to head off to find a nice bedroom where we can clean up Bailey’s scar.