Hellhound Academy Book 1: Ashes to Ashes
Can no-one rest in peace anymore? Certainly not Robin.
Robin’s eyes snapped open as her shoulders broke through the surface of Lady Bird Lake. A ripple of moonlight traced the water, and she realized that she didn’t need to breathe. She tried to inhale sharply anyway, and her lungs expanded out of habit, not necessity. That strange fact settled in her mind like a neon warning sign.
She looked down and found a soaked, floral-print dress clinging to her skin, the hem bobbing in the water. It might have been someone’s idea of church attire, but it was nothing she would have chosen for a midnight swim. Trouble was, she had no idea what she usually wore or where she had come from.
She swam slowly toward shore and stepped onto squishy lake sediment, her bare feet pressing shells and pebbles into the mud. A wave of confusion rolled through her creating a mild panic. Around her, the night stretched in near silence.
The Austin city skyline shimmered in the distance, lights glowing across the dark water. Not a single jogger or dog walker roamed the popular trail that hugged the lake’s edge, a detail she found more eerie than anything else.
Robin crawled out of the water and felt a breeze blow across her skin, but she didn’t shiver. She stared at her hands and flexed them to be sure they still worked. They did. She felt no pain or cold, no memory either. Fog swirled where thoughts should have been.
What day is it? Who am I?
She grasped at fragments, such as a name or a face, but found only emptiness. The effort sent a phantom throb behind her eyes, a headache born of sheer absence. Last name? Favorite food? How did she get here? Everything was impossibly gone, leaving only the rising tide of panic and the chilling reality that she wasn’t cold, wasn’t breathing, wasn’t alive. “No, no, no, no, no.” She shook her head hoping that would help, but nothing.
She muttered a curse under her breath and scanned the shoreline for clues. The moon reflected across the slow-moving lake, and in the glow she saw a pair of startled turtles plop beneath the surface. She wondered if fish had nibbled on her while she was down there. The possibility made her stomach twist.
She pressed trembling fingers to her neck. Nothing. Cool skin, no thrum.
“Okay, that’s not creepy at all,” she muttered, pushing wet bangs out of her eyes. The words fogged in the cool March air, but her breath made no mist. “Creepier. Fantastic.”
A dull ache tugged at her left forearm. She rolled her sleeve and found a raised brand the size of a silver dollar of a stylized hound’s head with the muzzle snarling, and hollow eyes. The flesh wasn’t burned or inflamed; it simply was, as if she’d always had it. Robin sucked in another useless breath. “Tattoo artist from hell, noted.”
Footsteps pattered on the trail above. Two figures jogged into view, both in charcoal hoodies, jeans, and running shoes that glowed faintly blue along the soles. Under the hoods, faces were half‑lit by the screens of their phones. Images—impossible swirling symbols—crawled across the glass like intelligent graffiti.
The shorter of the pair, a woman, stopped five feet away. “Subject acquired,” she said into her phone, voice flat as black coffee. She crouched beside Robin and offered a gloved hand. “Robin Sullivan. Glad you made it through the water hazard intact.”
“Sullivan,” Robin muttered, as if hearing it for the first time. She ignored the hand and pushed herself upright. “Intact is debatable. Who are you? What did you do to my heart? Why is it offline?”
“Your circulatory system’s in a managed state. It’s temporary.” The taller escort, a man, spoke without lowering his hood. “Think of it as airplane mode for your body.”
“I’d rather not think of myself as a cell phone, thanks.” She stumbled to standing, shoes squishing. “Someone explain—now—or I start screaming, and I’m not above biting.”
The woman chuckled. “You won’t like the taste of us.” She thumbed her phone, and the symbols brightened. Robin’s tattoo pulsed in answer—cold, metallic, a tuning fork in her bones. Her knees buckled before she could hide it.
“What did you just do?”
“Verified the bond. You’re tethered, Cadet. Congratulations on your resurrection.”
Resurrection. The word slapped her harder than the lake water. Memory fragments flashed of rain, headlights, being pulled inside a van—then nothing. She reeled, grasping the deck rail.
“Easy.” The woman steadied her. “We’ll answer the essential questions in a secure location. Time matters.”
“Then move,” Robin snapped, yanking free. “But you owe me explanations, receipts, and possibly a therapist.”
“That’s above my pay grade,” the man said, voice half amused. He pointed toward a squat boathouse painted city‑maintenance beige. “This way.”
They hustled along the wooden walkway. The moon threw silver shadows on the lake, and the downtown skyscrapers rose just beyond the trees. In normal circumstances, Robin would savor the skyline, but tonight everything felt uncanny, as if Austin was a familiar movie set filmed with the wrong lens.
“Name?” the woman asked.
“You just used it.”
“Full name. Middle too.”
“Robin Marie Sullivan. Wait, how did I know that? Why do you need it?” My brain feels like its been scrambled.
“Ledger entry confirmation,” the man said. “Better you speak it than we rely on a file corrupted by your, uh, unexpected swim.”
Robin frowned. Ledger. Files. Swim. So many clues without any real answers.
At a boathouse the escorts stopped before a padlocked steel service door. A large wooden sign out front read Waller Street Boathouse in large blue letters.
The man pressed his phone to the lock as symbols spilled across the metal like hot circuitry making the shackle popped open. Robin blinked. No flashy sound effects, no sparkles—just old hardware obeying arcane Bluetooth.
Inside, mildew and motor oil scented the dark. The escorts guided Robin down a staircase barely wider than her shoulders. Each step groaned. She counted to sixteen before landing on concrete. A single bulb came on, triggered by who knew what. The corridor beyond stretched straight and narrow, ribs of limestone forming walls and ceiling. A faint vibration thrummed underfoot.
“Underground?” Robin asked. Her voice bounced in the tunnel.
“Austin’s full of surprises,” the woman replied. “Keep up.”
Robin did, though a rebellious part of her cataloged every turn and doorway. If she needed to break out later, she’d want the labyrinth memorized.
The trio reached a junction where three steel doors waited. The escorts stopped at the center door—matte black, no handle—while the man tapped his phone again. The symbols danced, and a peephole eye slid open, scanning them with a red beam. Robin half expected it to hiss, “Welcome to Jurassic Park,” but it stayed blessedly silent. A lock released with a soft thunk.
Before stepping through, the woman faced Robin. She pushed back her hood, revealing a face that might have been pretty if it weren’t worn paper‑thin by exhaustion. She had olive skin, a freckled nose, and short dark curls. “I’m Sarah. That’s Mateo. You’ll meet plenty of other staff soon, but we’re your first handlers.”
“Handlers,” Robin echoed. “How comforting.”
Sarah’s mouth twitched. “Here’s what you actually need to know now. Your second chance isn’t a free ride. You train, you follow orders, you protect the city. However, break core protocol and the ledger recalls you.”
“Recalls. As in…” Robin made a throat‑slitting gesture.
“As in your current…animation ends.” Mateo shrugged. “It’s cleaner than your first death, or so I’m told.”
Robin swallowed hard. “And if I cooperate, I get to keep—what? Existence?”
“You get time,” Sarah said softly. “Time you didn’t have yesterday.”
The phrasing chilled Robin more than the lake. Yesterday. How long had she been gone? “My family—do they know? Do they remember me? Who are they?”
“That answer is above our clearance.” Mateo gestured at the open doorway. “Welcome to Hellhound Academy.”
Names slammed together in Robin’s mind. ‘Hellhound’ echoed the brand on her arm. ‘Academy’ conjured images of plaid uniforms and cafeteria trays, but she doubted anybody inside was trading SAT scores. She sucked a steadying breath—pointless but comforting—and stepped through.
The door sealed behind them with a vacuum hiss. Inside lay a reception area cut straight from a spy thriller. There were graphite‑gray walls, LED strips, and a desk of frosted glass. “No windows,” whispered Robin. A half‑circle emblem glowed on the far wall—a hound’s head over crossed keys. Beneath it, tidy lettering of Vita Secunda, Urbs Prima.
Sarah peeled off her damp hoodie, revealing a charcoal tee with the same emblem. “Life second, city first,” she translated, catching Robin’s eye. “It’ll grow on you.”
Mateo produced a towel from a supply locker. “Dry off. You’ll meet with June for intake in a minute and she hates puddles.”
Robin accepted the towel, scrubbing her hair and face. “You two sticking around for my ‘intake’?”
“Bodies to collect elsewhere,” Mateo said. “We’re night‑shift escorts. Spoiler for you. You came through cleaner than most. Nobody, or nothing, tried to eat you.”
“Eat me?”
Sarah smirked. “Ask June.” She pulled a slim card from her back pocket and pressed it into Robin’s palm. Blank except for the glowing hound emblem. “Key to your dorm once they assign one.”
Robin glanced at it, the brand on her forearm tingling when skin met card. A soft heartbeat thump echoed in her ears, then vanished. False alarm. She was surprised at the twinge of sadness that passed through her.
“Until orientation.” Sarah tapped two fingers to her brow in a casual salute. The pair turned and left through a side corridor, laughter trading between them like siblings in on a prank.
Robin stood alone. The silence felt heavier inside these walls, as though the concrete remembered every secret whispered against it. She inhaled through her nose, tasting ozone and floor polish.
“City first, huh?” She studied the emblem again. The hound’s head reminded her of old myth sketches. It was Cerberus minus two heads. “Appropriate, given my undead status.”
She paced with every step squeaking on polished epoxy, echoing. The towel dripped steadily. Time stretched. Her brain, freed from immediate terror, started listing priorities:
- Figure out who killed you. The memories hovering beyond reach needed coaxing.
- Understand the ledger. They wielded it like a cosmic leash.
- Locate exits. Because captivity—even cushy, undead captivity—was still captivity.
- Do not die again. Preferably for a very long time.
A shiver went down her spine, but it was from fear and not cold. “Dead, how am I dead?”
The side door slid open with a soft whir. An older woman strutted in, gray streak blazing through black hair twisted in a severe bun. She wore a navy blazer over fatigue‑style cargo pants and looked like she ate chain‑of‑command for breakfast.
“I’m June,” she said, her voice a precise instrument. “And you’re late for being dead, Ms. Sullivan. Let’s expedite.”
“I’ve always been an overachiever,” said Robin, attempting levity.
June didn’t smile. “Follow me. Intake is three minutes, sanitation two, fit‑out five. Ask questions on your own time. That begins… never.”
Robin blinked. “So…be quiet, stand still, and keep breathing air I don’t need?”
“Excellent comprehension.” June handed her a plain black duffel. “Change. Your briefs are vacuum‑sealed—we maintain hygiene standards. Mud and memory loss are no excuses.”
Robin peeked inside and saw dark sweats, sturdy boots, and toiletries in biodegradable sachets labeled courtesy of Hellhound Academy. “You have some creepy corporate swag.”
June pressed two fingers against the hound brand. Pain—white, electric—spiked up Robin’s arm. She hissed, letting out an involuntary growl.
“Biometric imprint verified,” June said, unfazed. “The mark ties you to the city’s lifeline. Consider it a pacemaker for undeath.”
“And if I peel it off?” Robin growled.
June met her gaze, unblinking. “Peel off your arm while you’re at it. Results will be comparable.”
Robin clenched her jaw. “You people really need a customer‑service seminar.”
“Duly noted. You’re not the first to point that out. Or the hundredth. Shower station’s through there.” June pointed to a frosted door. “Water is warm. Enjoy it while you can.” She turned on her heel and exited.
Left alone again, Robin exhaled—a habit refusing to die with her body. She tapped the hound brand. It felt like smooth stone, pulsing faintly under her fingertips.
“Not yours forever,” she whispered. “One way or another, I’m getting my life back.” She looked around and whispered, “When I can remember it.”
A faint echo from the door sounded suspiciously like a scoff, but Robin chalked it up to the building’s guts settling. She squared her shoulders and headed for the shower, her mind already plotting escape routes.
Find the truth or claw it out of whoever’s hiding it. The vow beat in her head, replacing the absent heartbeat, and for the first time since surfacing, Robin Sullivan felt at least a kind of alive.
Originally it seemed like death would be the worst thing that could happen to you. However Robin is quickly finding out that might not be the case. Find out who this secret society is on June 9th when Hellhound Academy Book 1: Ashes to Ashes is released. Until then head over to Amazon and pre-order it today.
