Seeing Adams nod in cooperation, Patric finally released his grip. Adams gasped. “Something hard in your clothes was digging into me,” he whispered, his face flushing a deep crimson.
“What?” Patric stood up and looked down, quickly realizing what Adams meant. He reached into his long polo coat and pulled out a heavy wooden box. “Oh, this? It’s a Tinderbox.”
Adams stared at it, his eyes widening. “Mr. Franco has one exactly like it.”
“He stole it from my grandmother,” Patric said, his voice cold. “I simply took it back.“
“What?” Adams wasn’t sure if this was a joke.
“This is what I’m going to tell you: Connor Franco is a murderer. He killed his own father and his stepmother, who was my grandmother. He betrayed his stepbrother, my father, and has committed countless crimes, from money laundering to human trafficking and the sexual abuse of minors. He and Victoria are monsters.”
“By Hades’ freak… are you certain?” Adams stammered.
“They can show you,” Patric said, gesturing toward the two hellhounds. “The Tinderbox can summon them and bend them to your will. I used them to spy on you, that’s how I knew you were in your room, and then used them to teleport me here. But Connor Franco? He used them to do his dirty work; he built his entire empire on their backs.”
“They look terrifying,” Adams whispered, his gaze locked on the four glowing red eyes staring back at him from the shadows.
“Boys, be good,” Patric commanded.
Instantly, the two nightmares softened. The hellhounds sat back on their haunches, panting and wagging their tails like common house pets, their long tongues lolling out of their mouths in a bizarre display of friendliness.
“Come,” Patric said, taking Adams’ hand. “They will take you into their memories.”
As Adams touched the Gray Hound’s head, the basement dissolved. They stood in a living room decorated in the style of the 1980s. A middle-aged man ran toward a woman sobbing on the floor.
“Ella, what happened?” the man cried.
“She’s a witch, Dad. Didn’t you know?” A young Connor Franco stood by the window, his suit sharp but his expression hollow. “I asked her for a love potion, and she refused me. So, I taught her a lesson.”
“You beat her? You beat your mother?”
“She isn’t my mother! She used her craft to blind you!” Connor shouted. Three hounds stood at his side, staring at the man.
“Give the Tinderbox back, Connor,” the woman pleaded through her tears. “You don’t understand the power you’re holding.”
“I don’t care whether you are a witch or not, I love you,” the man said to her, his voice trembling with conviction.
“Disgusting,” Connor spat, his lip curling in contempt.
“What have I told you? We do not discriminate against witches or shapeshifters,” the man snapped. “I see now that I have spoiled you rotten. This behavior is intolerable, Connor. I am calling the police.” He turned away and marched toward the wall-mounted phone.
“You can’t! Stop him!” Connor screamed, pointing a trembling finger at his father.
On his command, the three hellhounds lunged. They moved like shadows, slamming into the man and sinking their teeth into his limbs. He let out a piercing shriek of agony that echoed through the thin walls. Panicked that the neighbors would hear and the police would arrive, Connor yelled over the noise, “Make him silent! Just make him shut up!”
“No!” the woman wailed, reaching out for her husband.
“Make them all silent!” Connor roared, his voice cracking with terror and rage. He couldn’t bear to see the blood, so he squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his hands.
The room went deathly quiet. No more screaming. No more sobbing. When Connor finally gathered the courage to pull his hands away, he found only a grisly silence. His father and stepmother lay still on the floor, bitten to death by the monsters he had unleashed.
“Burn the house,” he commanded, his voice devoid of emotion as he gave his final order.
The memory dissolved, and the cold, damp walls of the basement room rushed back into view. Adams stood trembling, his breath hitching in his chest. It took several long seconds before he could find his voice. “Is this… is this real?”
Patric nodded. “Later on, my father found out the truth when Connor used the Tinderbox to summon hellhounds to protect him in battle. My father had a fight with him in the camp then, but Connor ran away. The next time he came back, he led the government army to arrest everyone. Years ago, when my father was released from prison, he found Connor; but Connor, fearing the secret would be exposed, fled to this country. Here, he met Victoria. She showed him what kind of crimes they could commit with these hellhounds. Now, we are going to see some of the crimes they did.”
Patric reached out, and as their hands made contact with the Gray Hound once more, the basement walls melted away into a hotel room.
A younger, striking Victoria gazed at the Gray Hound. “So this is the beast that brought me here? What else can they do?”
“Yes, I can summon the other two,” Connor said. He looked older than in the previous memory, though still younger than the man Adams knew today. He reached into the Tinderbox, pulling out a piece of flint and a heavy fire steel. With two sharp, rhythmic strikes, sparks showered the floor, and the other two hellhounds materialized from the smoke. “Each has its own gift,” Connor explained with a cold pride. “This one can shift its size at will; the other can find anything, anywhere in the world.”
“You have such power, and yet,” Victoria turned to Connor, her eyes scanning his cheap, ill-fitting suit, “you are still so poor.”
“They protect me in battle,” Connor replied defensively.
“Have you considered using them for something… bigger?”
“Like what?”
“Do you remember that fat, bald banker who insisted on dancing with me at the party last night? I loathe him. He’s threatening to seize my father’s house,” she whispered, stepping closer. “I only danced with him to plead for more time. I want him ruined. I want him bankrupt. Can your dogs steal from a man like that? I want him to lose everything.” Victoria placed her hands on Connor’s shoulders, gazing up at him with fake adoration.
“Of course. We’ll strip him of everything he owns. Who knows? Perhaps we’ll end up with enough to buy his bank and leave him begging on the streets.”
“That’s my man,” Victoria whispered, kissing him.
The hotel room dissolved, the shadows reshaping themselves into a private, smoke-filled casino lounge. Four men sat around a green felt table. Among them was Connor, looking significantly wealthier; he wore a shimmering silk robe and gold watches that caught the dim light, a thick cigar clamped between his teeth. Beside his chair, the Yellow Hellhound sat motionless.
“Your information was quite profitable,” a wealthy man at the head of the table said, exhaling a cloud of gray smoke. “I moved my assets before the market could even react. You’ve proven your worth, Connor, which is why I believe we can trust you with a more… sensitive venture.”
This man had his own hound—a massive, mundane beast tied to his gilded chair. Despite the tray of prime meat in front of it, the dog wouldn’t eat. It stared at the yellow supernatural creature beside Connor, trembling in silent terror.
“The pleasure was mine, my lord,” Connor replied, his voice uncharacteristically humble.
“I have a batch of cargo that is difficult to move into this country,” the man continued, leaning forward. “They are humans. Children, to be precise. Most would die in their own godforsaken countries anyway. As a merciful man, I want to bring them here, give them a new life working in my clubs. Could you help me… help them… find their way to our shores?”
“Certainly, my lord. But…” Connor hesitated, the smoke from his cigar stinging his eyes. He cleared his throat, finally finding the courage to speak. “But I have a condition. I want a share in your club. Just one percent.” His voice was thin, betraying his nerves as he waited for a reaction.
The wealthy man erupted into a boisterous laugh. “Hahaha! If you can pull this off, and not just once, I can give you much more than one percent, boy!”
The room filled with the men’s cold laughter. Connor joined in, his chest heaving with a massive sigh of relief.
The sounds of their laughter morphed into the rhythmic crashing of surf. The dark casino dissolved, replaced by a sprawling, Greek-style grand hall bathed in golden sunlight. From the panoramic views beyond the marble pillars and through the tall windows, Adams realized that they were on a private island.
Hundreds of youths, barely dressed, carried trays of drinks through a crowd of naked revelers who were drinking, dancing, and kissing in a feverish display of lust around a towering, grotesque statue of the Minotaur. At the far end of the hall, elevated on a marble dais, Connor and Victoria sat upon twin thrones. They were draped in the finery of Zeus and Hera, looking down on the chaos like gods. Beside them, the three hellhounds sat like silent sentinels, their red eyes tracking the movements of the crowd.
“Impressive,” a young man said, approaching the thrones. He wore a crimson chlamys, fastened at the shoulder by a golden pin shaped like a rounded shield and spear. “I must admit, I didn’t think you could actually pull this off.”
“Victor, why don’t you join them?” Connor asked, a lewd, self-satisfied smile spreading across his face. “It’s exactly as you suggested: one hundred boys and one hundred girls, offered as a sacrifice to the Minotaur.”
“I prefer to watch,” Victor replied with a thin, knowing smile. “I came to offer my congratulations. After this party, your reputation will be unmatched.”
The three of them laughed, a sound that mixed horribly with the music and the muffled crying of the youths in the shadows.
“Take me out,” Adams choked out, his face pale. “I don’t want to see any more!”
They snapped back to the basement. Adams collapsed onto the floor, trembling. “It can’t be… tell me it’s some kind of trick. Magic.”
“I’m afraid not,” Patric said, his voice heavy with empathy. “It all happened. I’m telling you this because I believe in you, Adams. You are an honorable man, and I know you won’t let these crimes stay buried.” Patric reached out and gripped Adams’ arms, forcing him to look directly into his eyes. “Help us expose him.”
“How?” Adams stammered, his voice cracked and hollow. “What could I possibly do?”
“We know he keeps records—files, photos, and ledgers of those parties. Everything is stored on a device somewhere in this house. If we can copy those files, we’ll have the evidence we need to take him, Victoria, and everyone else involved down for good. Are you willing to help us find them?”
Adams took a shaky breath, the shock in his eyes slowly being replaced by a cold, sharp resolve. He nodded. “He has two servers in this house. One is for family entertainment, but the other is for his private business. It’s encrypted and can only be accessed through the computer in his workroom. If those files exist, that’s where they’re hidden.”