Chapter 1

You’re going into the wilderness. You have all the supplies you need. You don’t need cake.

Henry Grant’s jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, and his fingers tightened around the steering wheel of his car. He wouldn’t have called it a death grip, per se, but it was definitely more than was probably absolutely necessary.

You made a pact with yourself. No junk food. You say ‘oh, just one little cake,’ but you know what it’s like. You get one taste, and next thing you know you’ll be coming back down the mountain for ‘just one little cake’ every day, and then where will that get you? What’s the point of exiling yourself from society if you can’t even control your most basic of urges?

So he was a bit of a sugar addict.

Or, more to the point, a cake addict. Everyone had a vice of some kind, right? But this really was not the time to be giving in to his weakness.

You’re right about that, at least,his hellhound chimed in. Honestly, it’s embarrassing. There are times when I’m ashamed to be seen with you. A lot of times. Most of them.

Put a lid on it,he snapped back. My life is falling apart. At least let me have this.

Sounds like you’ve already decided to give in. How weak of you.

Henry snarled, but held his tongue. His hellhound knew exactly just how to bait him. Certainly it had had more than enough practice at it over the years. It was par for the course for hellhounds, but that didn’t mean that he had to enjoy it.

Anyway, there was probably nowhere out here to get cake. The whole thing about going out into the wilderness was that there were none of the nicer conveniences of modern civilization. He was heading up to the remotest, most desolate place he could think of, and that meant that the towns were getting smaller and more spaced out as he went, with fewer and fewer places to buy non-necessities.

According to his map, there was a dirt road just past this town that would allow him to bypass the ski resorts farther up the mountain, and instead make his way around to the mountain beyond, which, being no good for skiing or winter sports in general, had been left largely untouched. The crevasses, sheer mountain faces, and lack of vegetation made it less than appealing for both man and beast, which meant that it would be perfect for his purposes.

Sure, there were temptations along the way. Right now, for example, he was passing a diner – and even though he had the car windows all the way up, his sharp hellhound senses were picking up the heavenly scent of hot dogs and fried onion rings.

But that was okay. He could deal with that. He had canned meat and vegetables in the trunk, and he could always go hunting in hellhound form once he was out on the mountain.

As if there’ll be anywhere up here to buy cake, anyway,he reassured himself. This is just a poky town in the mountains. The best they can probably offer is a Twinkie that’s five years past its expiry date. I’m not that desperate.

Probably.

Looking out the window as he made his slow way up the town’s main drag, he did have to admit that it was a little livelier than he would have expected.

Okay, a lot livelier.

The town – Girdwood Springs, if he remembered correctly from his map – had looked tiny and unassuming when he’d been plotting his route, but there was a surprising amount going on.

People of all ages were wandering up and down the sidewalks, eating a variety of foods that both looked and smelled amazing – not just tasty, but obviously made with quality ingredients and a great deal of skill. Various small stores were obviously doing a brisk trade, with customers wandering out the door with paper bags stuffed full of souvenirs and other items. The whole town appeared clean, well-kept, and welcoming, with freshly painted shopfronts and an abundance of greenery that was just starting to show the first signs of bursting into flower, even as the last stubborn remnants of snow gave everything a magical quality.

Best of all, he couldn’t see any animal or bird life around. Not that he had anything against birds or animals in and of themselves, but, given his current situation, he was trying to avoid them wherever possible. There were no dogs running out onto the road to try and open his car door, no bobcats leaping up onto his hood and screaming in his face, and no woodpeckers desperately trying to hammer their way through his windshield.

It was, quite frankly, heaven. He had learned over the past few weeks to appreciate small mercies, and not seeing the inside of a bobcat’s mouth inches away from his face while driving at fifty miles an hour was definitely something he had not appreciated enough in the past!

Whyhe had been subjected to such things, he had no idea. Truly.

It had been just a night like any other – working security at a nightclub, managing the line to get in, checking IDs and ejecting abusive drunks – when, out of nowhere, a pigeon had settled on his shoulder. He had barely even noticed, at first – it had only been when the guy who had been yelling abuse at him had suddenly started laughing at him instead that he even realized what had happened.

Things had only gotten worse when the pigeon started smooching him, rubbing its head against his neck and cooing happily. All attempts to shoo it away had just led to it digging its little claws into his shirt even harder, and in the end he had only been able to escape it by shifting into his hellhound form in an alley at the end of his shift, and then running like hell.

One lovestruck weirdo pigeon, he could deal with. But the next night, it had been four pigeons. The night after that, seven pigeons, a territorial seagull, and three rats that thought it would be fun to try and run up the leg of his pants.

After a week of this, his boss had taken him aside and not-so-gently told him that unless he could get his condition under control, he would be better off seeking employment elsewhere.

Not that he had minded too much – he’d been preparing to hand in his resignation, anyway. It wasn’t exactly easy to appear stern and in control when you had swallows nesting in your hair and lizards peeping out of your pockets!

The only thing that seemed to stem the flood of adoring animals was shifting into his hellhound form. Unsurprisingly, they wanted nothing to do with a slavering mythical beast, and would take flight the moment he shifted.

It wasn’t exactly a practical long-term solution, though, especially when you lived in the middle of a bustling city and worked a job that involved constantly interacting with people. Though, he supposed, it would be an effective way of keeping unruly patrons in line… even if he suspected it’d only work once, and then he’d be out of a job, since the nightclub would close down due to no one wanting to have their heads bitten off by the world’s largest, most terrifying dog, with the flames of hell burning in its eyes.

So: here he was, on his way to the middle of nowhere, where he could let his hellhound run free while he pondered how to break this curse he had apparently found himself under. A curse that had apparently made every animal within a ten-mile radius fall hopelessly, desperately in love with him.

I’m a hellhound, for goodness’ sake! Fierce! Tough! Scare-people-on-sight! Not a Disney princess!

Here was really the only place he’d be safe – away from humanity, and free to stay in his shifted form as long as he needed to. He just hoped that whatever was happening would go away on its own – his family aside, he didn’t tend to associate much with other hellhounds, so he couldn’t ask them for advice. And the internet, perhaps unsurprisingly, had been less than helpful.

Up a mountain was really the best place for him.

But first, he had to get there. First, he had to –

Wait, is that shop called Sylvie’s Sweets and Bakery?

It took him a moment to realize that he had pulled over to the side of the road without thinking, inhaling the mouth-watering scent that suddenly permeated the entirety of his beat-up old Toyota.

It was… divine.

He’d never smelled anything so good in all his life. The heavenly smell of freshly-baked cake was the strongest component, but underlying it all was a range of delicate scents, and he breathed in, picking them out one by one: orange rind, violets, cardamom, sage, kumquat, matcha, pineapple, coconut…

First of all: he’d been wrong about country towns and their food, clearly!

Second of all: there was something odd about the smell. In a good way, but still. It was almost too good.

Third of all…

If I go off into the wilderness to live off canned meat without tasting one of these cakes, I will literally die.

His hellhound sneered at him. You are so predictable. If I could detach myself from you and go off and live by myself, I would. You’re a disgrace to hellhounds everywhere.

Like you can talk,he snapped back. I’ve seen how you get around cheese.

There’s nothing embarrassing about liking cheese!his hellhound blustered, but Henry could tell he had hit a sore spot. The hellhound really did like cheese – the cheaper and nastier, the better.

I packed some canned cheese for you before we left,he said conciliatorily. I tell you what – I’ll get some cake, and maybe if you’re good, you can have some cheese once we’re up the mountain. Deal?

The hellhound sulked and didn’t reply – which, for a hellhound, was as good as an agreement.

Not wanting to waste a moment – after all, who knew when some lovestruck chipmunk or besotted bobcat might show up – Henry hopped out of the car and hurried across the street, keeping an eye out for rogue animals. He still seemed to be in the clear for the moment, but he wasn’t going to risk being out in public any longer than absolutely necessary.

He scurried up to the front door, aware that he looked a little too furtive for someone who was just going to buy some cake, but he couldn’t help it. Being set upon by animals on a daily basis had led to him adopting a somewhat stooped air when out in the open, as if he could make himself smaller and therefore provide less room for birds to perch upon him.

Entering the bakery, he could see that it was pretty nice: flowers and plants decorated the tables and the counter, with ivy creeping up the back wall. It was clearly a labor of love for whoever owned this place – Sylvie, apparently – and normally he would’ve taken more time to admire it all, but he was a man on a mission. The last thing he needed was a skunk crashing through the front door and hurling itself at him in this middle of this poor woman’s place of business.

There was also the slight air of things being… not wrong, specifically, but a bit off. Different to what he would have expected, somehow, in a way he couldn’t quite define. An aura in the air he couldn’t quite place.

Henry frowned, but, he decided, he really didn’t have time to stand here and try to figure it out right now. Better to just get something to eat, and then get out of here.

He turned his attention to the display, which was almost dizzying in its sheer volume and range. The array of cakes here would have been enough to get people lining up around the block in the city – he didn’t know how this kind of business could survive in a small mountain town!

But clearly survive it did – and thrive, too, if the number of people seated at the tables was any indication. The place was bustling, which was always a good sign. The cakes here must taste just as good as they look, Henry thought, as, his mouth watering just ever so slightly, he approached the counter.

“Good morning!” a woman with dark hair pulled back into a neat bun trilled as she emerged from the back of the bakery, a little paper hat stuck on her head at a jaunty angle, an apron with Sylvie’s Sweets and Bakery emblazoned across it tied around her waist. “What can I get for you toda— oh!”

The woman cut herself off suddenly as she looked up at Henry, blinking. Henry wondered if she was the Sylvie of the bakery’s signage – a quick glance at the nametag on her apron told him it was the case. And as for her suddenly cutting herself off and staring at him, Henry was used to that.

It wasn’t so much because he knew he was taller and broader than the average human – though that didn’t help.

No. It was entirely to do with being a hellhound. It just came with the territory.

Hellhounds were, after all, known for it – people always found them scary in a way they just couldn’t define. Henry supposed that was why so many hellhounds ended up on the wrong side of the law. What was a liability in everyday life was an absolute advantage as far as criminal activities went. One look from a hellhound, and even the most hardened of mafia bosses’ knees turned to jelly. Most of the time, hellhounds didn’t even need to do anything – just showing up and glaring was enough.

That was the reason Henry didn’t have much to do with other hellhounds – and the reason he was in his current line of work. Most office jobs just didn’t think he was the right fit, for some reason. At his last interview, Henry had noticed the way the recruiter had kept subtly trying to wheel his chair slightly away from him, his eyes drifting over Henry’s torso as if trying to check if he had weapons on his person and was about to conduct a heist on the place.

So – nightclub bouncer it was. The hellhound aura definitely helped there. What worked on mafia bosses also worked on mean drunks – most of the time, they left the first time Henry asked them to, no ifs, no buts.

“Um. Sorry about that. What can I get for you today?” Sylvie, clearly a consummate professional, forced her bright smile back onto her face, but Henry could still see the lingering traces of alarm in her eyes. “If you’d like to try a free sample, today we have cardamom chocolate brownies, and lemon cake – with a twist!”

Henry was tempted to ask what the twist was, but his hellhound sense of smell had already picked it up: a hint of lavender. And he had to admit, it was driving him wild.

“No, that’s all right,” he said, trying to flash her a reassuring smile. “Hmm. But you do seem to have some incredible cakes here. How does anyone ever make a decision?”

Sylvie laughed. “You’d be surprised how often we hear that! But I can definitely make a recommendation, if that would help you out?”

Henry nodded. “Sure – I’d like that. I trust your judgment.”

Nodding, Sylvie considered the selection before her. Thankfully, she seemed to have gotten over her earlier fear… or she was hiding it well. She lifted a finger to her lips thoughtfully. “Okay. I think I have it. For you, I recommend… the butterscotch honey cake, the strawberry tart and… oh, you’ve got to try our new item! Angel cake – fresh from the oven this morning. Light and fluffy, and with sugared whipped cream and homemade strawberry and orange rind jelly.”

Oh my God. That sounds like… well, heaven,Henry thought, feeling his inner sugar demon – as opposed to his hellhound – rising up within him.

Of course, however, his hellhound wasn’t far behind, wrinkling its snout in disgust. Can you complete this ridiculous errand as quickly as possible? it sniffed, disdain dripping from every word. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re here for a reason.

As little as Henry wanted to admit it, he knew the hellhound had a point. Woodland creatures could start inundating this place at any moment. He had to make a decision and get out of here.

“I’ll take one of each,” he said quickly. “Thanks for that. They all sound amazing.”

“You must be in town for the festival,” Sylvie said as she fetched his order out of the display. “Did you have a long drive up?”

“The… uh… the festival?” Henry asked, blinking. Was that why there’d been so many people out and about? Some kind of local street fair?

“Oh, you don’t know?” Sylvie placed the box with his order on the counter. “It’s the first soon-to-be-annual Girdwood Springs Festival! Just to showcase all the culture, food and drink we have here now – the place has come a long way over the past few years! Would you like these gift-wrapped, sir?”

Henry shook his head. “No, just the box is fine.” He resisted the urge to let out a big, deep sigh. A food and drink festival sounded like heaven right about now, especially if everything was as good as these cakes – too bad it just wasn’t an option for him. He had to get up into the wilderness and change into his hellhound form until he could figure out why every single creature on earth had suddenly decided to fall completely in love with him.

As Sylvie busied herself closing the cabinet, Henry took a moment to glance around again, feeling yearning rising up within him. And it wasn’t just for the cakes. Everyone here looked so… happy. Families sat smiling together at the tables. Couples fed each other cake off spoons and made goopy eyes at each other over their drinks.

It was the kind of thing he’d always wished he could do… but when you’re a hellhound, these things get kind of tough. It was hard to find love when most women found him strangely intimidating – just like Sylvie had when he’d first walked in the door – no matter what he did. At some point, in addition to a regular job, he’d also given up on finding love.

It just didn’t feel like a possibility for him… and now, with this new complication in his life, such things seemed even more out of reach than ever. Henry doubted the special woman in his life would be interested in sharing him with every dog, cat, pigeon, lizard and squirrel that happened his way.

“Okay, here you go!” Sylvie said, pushing the box of cakes toward him and ringing up his total on the cash register. “So, if you weren’t here for the festival, where are you off to? It’s not ski season, after all.”

“Oh… I’m just heading into the woods for a little RR,” Henry said vaguely as he paid.

“So you’re an outdoorsman,” Sylvie said, smiling. “Where are you staying? There’s really nowhere to stay up there, aside from some old hunting cabins. Well, and Natasha’s BB – oh, you aren’t the guest she was waiting on, are you?”

Henry blinked again. “I… doubt it?”

He did more than doubt it, since he hadn’t actually booked any accommodation – he’d been planning on living out of his car when he wasn’t in hellhound form.

“Hmm, now that you say it, you don’t look much like a travel writer,” Sylvie said thoughtfully, and then bit her lip. “No, I mean… not like that, just… you seem like the outdoorsy type,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing a little. “But I know writers can look like anything! So… uh… if you are the travel writer then… please don’t take offense at what I just said? Oh my God, I’m making things worse, aren’t I?”

Henry could only laugh as Sylvie buried her face in her hands. “It’s fine. I can’t say anyone’s ever accused me of being a writer before.”

“I feel like I should give you your cakes for free after that,” Sylvie said ruefully. “I’ll tell you what. How about a slice of lemon cake – with a twist! – on me. And then I’ll let you get back to your trip, hassle-free. Okay?”

“Sounds perfect,” Henry began to say, but Sylvie had already started grabbing a fresh slice of lemon cake – with its lavender twist – out of the display. What sounded less perfect to Henry was the sudden scrabbling sound from behind him. When he glanced over his shoulder, he found himself looking into the face of a very, very large dog, which was staring at him with great intensity through the bakery window. Behind it, a small boy was tugging on its leash to no avail – at least until his father arrived to help him drag the clearly incredibly reluctant dog away.

Henry knew he had to hurry.

“All right – here you go! And just remember, if you feel like coming back down the mountain, the festival is open to everyone. It’ll run all week, so there’s plenty of time!” Sylvie said, as at last Henry collected his cakes, trying to offer her a hurried smile.

I need to get out of here before everything starts going to hell.

“Thanks,” he said, as he hurried to the door.

This wouldn’t have happened if you just listened to me in the first place,his hellhound grumbled as Henry all but jogged back to his car. But no – you had to indulge yourself. What are you going to do if you start getting swarmed with squirrels and bats and hamsters?

I’ll deal with it when it happens, Henry snapped at the hellhound. I know you think you’re helping, but you’re not, okay?

I don’t think I’m helping, the hellhound muttered, wrinkling its nose.

Well, at least it was honest, Henry thought as he gritted his teeth, heading as quickly as he could toward his car. At least it wasn’t a long way to walk – just a few more steps, and then he’d be –

Someone – or something – slammed into his side just as he was reaching for the rusted handle of his car, his cakes balanced delicately in his other hand.

“Oof!”

Letting out an involuntary grunt of surprise as he was pushed off-balance by the sudden blow, Henry spent a valiant moment trying desperately to juggle his cakes before they spattered all over the sidewalk – and although he was successful in saving them from that fate, he was less successful in keeping them off the front of his shirt.

The box, which had been sent flying upward by whatever had knocked into him, tipped between his two hands as he tried to catch it as if it had a life of its own, and now found its way firmly onto his chest – with the result that his shirt was smeared with cream, lemon cake – with its twist, of course – chocolate icing, sugar, spice, and everything nice. Though it was a little less nice when it was a cakey mash on the front of his shirt.

Henry stared down at it in dismay for a long moment.

My cake…

But then, acting purely on instinct, he dipped a finger into the mess, before lifting it to his mouth.

Okay. Still delicious. Wow. That is some good cake.

The flavors still held up even when smooshed together into a complete disaster area. He could still make out the richness of the chocolate, the lemony tang of the lemon cake, the freshness of the sugared cream.

But, more important than that –

What had knocked into him?!

A bear? A deer? A flying squirrel?!

He had his answer a moment later, when a hairy little bundle hurled itself into his arms, ferociously licking his face – thankfully missing the cake that was smeared all over his chest.

“Hey – wait – that’s bad for you, little guy!”

Grabbing the tiny bundle and pulling it away from him – which didn’t stop it from trying to slobber all over him as it yipped and wriggled in his hands – Henry finally got a good look at it…

… And found himself staring into the face of what had to be the ugliest dog he’d ever seen in his life.