"My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them."

- Jack Kerouac

                                                                          ***

Galloway woke up late the next day. She didn't remember falling asleep and stretched in the recliner, moaning when the pain in her hip flared up again. Drowsily, she rolled over, just to find herself tangled up.

Looking down in confusion, she found that someone had covered her in a bright red throw blanket sometime in the night. With a frown, she glanced around, but she was alone. For a long while, she stared blankly at the black TV screen before something that smelled like she imagined Heaven would floated around her.

Galloway fought violently with the blanket that was now wrapped around her, trying to escape, the scent maddening.

When she finally got free, she limped across the room as quickly as she could, then leaned hard on the banister as she practically dragged herself up the stairs. Galloway banged her way through the door and did her best to run down the hallway, skidding to a stop just outside the kitchen door.

She overshot it slightly, her socked feet slipping on the gleaming oak floors of Logan's house. With a small shriek she grasped at the the door-frame, clinging to it in an attempt to stop her skid and managed to keep herself upright, but just barely.

With a relieved sigh, she righted herself and skipped into the kitchen, flouncing into a seat at the kitchen table.

A low chuckle met her ears and she turned to find Logan waving a hand over the steaming pan sitting on top of the stove. Galloway closed her eyes, inhaling the rich, buttery scent, smiling when she heard a plate slide across the surface of the table.

She opened her eyes, looking down at the gooey serving of peach cobbler.

Galloway looked up, just to find Logan holding a fork out to her with an indulgent, bemused smile playing around his mouth. She laughed, the sound light and airy and snatched the fork before attacking the dessert.

"Wait! It's—" Logan tried to warn her, but it was too late.

Galloway choked and swore, trying desperately to get the molten lava off of her tongue before any permanent damage was done.

"Hot..." Logan finished with a sigh.

Blowing out small puffs of air, trying to cool off her burning tongue, she said, "I thought you'd let it cool enough before giving it to me!"

"And I thought you were a grown up," he countered, "who would know better than to put something that just came out of the oven into her mouth."

She glanced at him dubiously. "You're making peach cobbler for breakfast, Lo. So do you have much high ground to stand on when you're talking about being an adult?"

"It's closer to lunch, I made it for you and," he paused to glower at her, "I can do what I want."

Much more cautiously this time, she stabbed a peach slice and blew on it before popping it into her mouth. She groaned with delight and Logan smirked, making her stick her tongue out at him. Around a mouthful, she said, "What do you mean it's for me?"

Logan sniffed. "What? You think I'd make something like this for myself all the time and still look this good?" He paused when she giggled, then said, "No, I made it 'cause I know it's your favorite."

She sighed in contentment, lingering in this simple, happy moment. Batting her eyelashes at him, she asked, "How did I ever deserve such a great friend?"

He rolled his eyes and muttered, "I'm a sucker for hopeless cases, that's how."

Galloway just shrugged, bouncing up and down in her seat slightly as she polished off the last of the cobbler. She eyed the empty plate meaningfully and Logan sighed again, before waving a hand. The plate flew across the room and she held up ten fingers when he snatched it easily out of the air. "Pretty and talented," she said with a grin.

He snorted before sending the plate back with another helping of the dessert. "You're just saying that because I'm feeding you peaches and butter."

"What more could you possibly need?" she crooned, munching happily on a piece of sweet fruit.

He sat across from her, leaning back in his chair as he watched her eat, smiling slightly at the ridiculous things she said, complementing everything from his hair to his cooking ability.

Galloway had just finished off the plate when the door leading to the garden banged open and Rhys came in, pulling off the dark grey watch cap he was wearing before shedding his coat. She unintentionally wrinkled her nose at him, standing up. She waved at Logan in thanks before she made a hasty retreat.

Or, at least tried to.

She'd taken one step before something froze her in place. Hissing a strangled oath, she glared fiercely when the magic turned her around and she found herself looking at Rhys, who was wearing an equally peeved expression.

Struggling against the invisible bonds, she said, "Let go of me. Right now."

"You and I need to talk," Rhys said lazily, flicking his fingers which made Galloway rise a few inches into the air.

"Stop," Logan murmured, returning Rhys' irritated look with a glare of his own. When Rhys didn't comply, Logan said, "I told you, she won't listen if you force her. Let her down and apologize."

Rhys continued to stare at his brother for a second before he sighed in defeat, and Galloway thumped back to the floor. She had to place her hand on the counter to keep herself from falling over. Shaking her messy hair out of her face, she bared her teeth at the witch in a snarl, skittering back as soon as he took a step near her.

Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Rhys said, "I'm sorry. Now will you talk to me?"

Galloway blinked at him, before wordlessly turning to Logan, who sighed. Suspiciously, she said, "Did you try to bribe me into talking with your brother using peach cobbler?"

His grimace confirmed his guilt and she shrieked, "Seriously!"

Logan sighed again, sounding weary down to his bones before he nodded. Rubbing at his temple, he said, "You need to talk to him. You need to talk to me or someone about what happened in New Mexico and you need to..."

"To what, Logan?" she asked, voice soft and dangerous.

"Get your head on straight about the mutt you have back home," Rhys interjected, returning her nasty look with one of his own.

She snarled softly. Now she wasn't sure if she wanted to talk to either of them about anything, ever, even if that had been her reason for coming here in the first place. She flinched back when Logan reached toward her, then regretted it when hurt flashed in his dark eyes.

Holding up her hands, she said, "Look, I-I just... I don't know if I can. Not right now."

Logan opened his mouth, but Rhys cut him off. "Then what are you doing here?"

Wordlessly, she shook her head, her chest growing tight as she tried to ignore the fear and anger and guilt swirling there. As she did this though, her temper rose, making her feel white hot. Clenching her shaking hands, she spat, "I don't know. So I'm leaving."

"That's not a good idea, Galloway," Logan said, trying to hide his desperation.

"Where would you even go?" Rhys added, his voice soft, treading lightly when Galloway snapped her gaze to him. "There's nothing but a mess waiting for you back home. One that will have consequences far beyond you."

Confusion melted her fury and she looked down at her hands, gasping in surprise when she found bright red crescent marks along her palm. An unbidden whimper escaped her and she crumpled slightly, just wanting to collapse.

But something wouldn't let her. Warmth surrounded her as she slumped into a solid chest. Rough, dry hands chafed against her bare arms. She inhaled shakily, expecting the familiar spicy scent that always hung around Logan.

Instead, she smelled something she couldn't name. It was soapy, with a subtle sweet edge that ended on a bitter note. Not completely in control of herself, she pressed her face into Rhys' chest, inhaling deeply. His scent was different, not unpleasant, but it didn't remind her of anything or anyone.

After a moment, her mind shifted back into gear and she looked up to find Rhys gazing down at her with those unreadable eyes. Galloway was mesmerized for a moment by the shift and flow of color in them and only pulled away from him when Logan cleared his throat.

Looking strained, he said, "Please, Galloway. Just...just hear him out? Take the Chevelle and go for a drive and listen."

She nodded numbly before her mind caught on something. Her eyebrows pulling together, she frowned and said, "The Chevelle's in storage."

Logan shrugged before tossing a set of keys at her. They glittered in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows, and she caught them easily, sighing as they jingled in her palm. She frowned down at the keys before a mental image of the car waiting for her tugged a reluctant smile onto her lips.

When she looked up, Logan returned the smile with a dazzling one of his own before he swept forward and pulled her into his arms. He ran his fingers through her hair, nimbly untangling a few knots. She tensed for a moment, then relaxed.

He murmured, "I'm just worried about you, babydoll. You aren't acting like yourself. You haven't been since he's been around you."

The way he emphasized the word, Galloway didn't have to ask which he Logan was referring to and tensed again, opening her mouth to defend Sirius. Then she stopped.

In the darkness behind her eyelids, a flurry of memories cascaded around her. Images flickered through her mind, proving Logan's point. Starting with the men in New Mexico and ending with the fact that she hadn't been hunting, she knew Logan was right and Sirius had been changing her.

Rubbing her cheek against the soft material of Logan's t-shirt, she nodded and mumbled, "Okay. But I reserve the right to kick him out of my car if he does anything to vex me."

"I can't hitchhike!" Rhys exclaimed, his voice muffled to her ears. "I'm too pretty for something like that."

Logan snorted. "You remember that you're a witch, right? You could always turn them into a cockroach. Or if you want to get old-fashioned about it, why not a toad?"

"Can I turn her into a toad?" Rhys muttered and Logan sighed.

Still trembling slightly from her unexpected fit of anger, Galloway pulled away from Logan's comforting embrace and turned to her current source of irritation. Scowling darkly at him, she motioned for him to follow her and said, "Do not, under any circumstances, put your feet on my dash. Don't slam my doors. Don't ask to drive. If we eat, do not spill anything and I mean anything, in my car."

She got to the front door before she turned around abruptly, making Rhys run right into her. Refusing to back up, he glared down at her when she stuck her finger in his face and said, "Above all, treat the car with respect."

He rolled his eyes and said, "It's just a car, sweetheart."

Galloway narrowed her eyes, and Logan put his face in his hands, slowly shaking his head as he realized his brother's potentially fatal mistake. Rising onto her tiptoes until their noses were almost touching, she hissed, "You call me sweetheart one more time, I'll tear your heart out. You do anything that messes with my car—which I care about more than I do you—I will stake you out on the highway and laugh while you get smashed flat. Do we understand one another?"

Rhys looked over his shoulder, wincing like Logan was shouting at him before he turned back to Galloway. With a small sigh, he said, "I'm sorry. Of course I will treat your car with nothing but the upmost respect, as it is due."

Scowling at his tone, she stayed there for a moment longer, staring at him before she slowly stepped away. From the corner of her eye, she saw Logan grab his arm, shaking his head when Rhys tried to follow her. Logan knew she needed some quality time before she shared with anyone. 

She stalked toward the car, her heart melting once more as she took in the glossy green paint, the white detailing and silver rims. She sighed, admiring the sleek lines and subtle curves of the Chevelle's body, trailing her fingers lightly along the length of the hood.

She circled the car, kicking lightly at the tires and inspecting anything that looked like a potential deformation. When she was satisfied with the exterior, she opened the door, grinning at the familiar creak of hinges.

Galloway gave everything a cursory glance. Then, she sat in the driver's seat, running her hands up and down the steering wheel for a moment before she gave into her craving and inserted the key.

She smiled slightly before twisting it, laughing in sheer delight when the engine roared to life without so much as a splutter. Galloway closed her eyes and listened to the roar settle into a self-satisfied purr as the engine idled. She opened the glove-box to make sure she had at least three different IDs, then turned the car off, her heart twinging in the sudden silence.

Hurriedly, once again admiring the body, she went around to the back and unlocked the trunk, propping it open with a slim bar of metal. Stuffing the keys  into her pocket, she popped the false bottom out of the trunk and smiled down at the Hunter's tool kit arranged before her.

Looking up, she called, "Where'd you take the Audi?"

"To Milo. Where else?" Logan responded from where he and Rhys were still on the porch. Rhys leaned against the banister looking sullen, but she just ignored him, still enthralled by the car.

It was one of her personal favorites, but she hadn't driven it in a while as classic cars became increasingly scarce on the roads. She had found that cars like her Chevelle—or any of the number of classics she owned—drew more attention than she cared for.

She nodded as Logan continued, "He said he'll re-upholster whatever he can't get the blood stains out of and give it a basic tune up. Just pick it up when you want it."

"How much does he want?" Galloway asked a little sarcastically.

Logan just chuckled. "You know Milo. A little smile from you and a chance to get his hands on a classic engine block. He practically salivates just thinking about that ridiculous collection of yours."

She smiled. "I'll have to go see him sometime. He isn't joyriding in any of my cars, is he?"

Logan shook his head, shrugging. "Possibly. But it's not like you could stop him if he was. You put your precious cars in the hands of a creature who can't die unless you happen to have one of the three enchanted swords in existence in your closet."

Rhys' head whipped to stare at his brother. "Her mechanic is a dragon?"

Logan answered that as she carefully closed and locked the trunk. With another scowl, she nodded her head toward the car. "Get in."

Looking slightly daunted, Rhys crossed the yard and gently opened the passenger side door, settling gingerly into the seat. Galloway turned and waved at Logan, who smiled and called, "Just hear him out."

The good mood created by the car soured, and she rolled her eyes before getting in and cranking the engine again. Giving Rhys a sidelong glance, she said, "You might want to wear your seatbelt."

He opened his mouth like he was going to argue, then shut it, staring down the length of the hood. She smiled serenely at him when he flicked a glance her way, and he hastily dragged the seatbelt across him, clicking it into place.

With a whoop, Galloway threw the car into drive and flew out of the driveway, turning sharply onto the quiet streets surrounding Logan's house. The car wobbled violently on her as she relearned how it felt to drive something so heavy and powerful.

Her Audi was light and quick. This car was all beast, and she needed to get a feel for the length and weight and remember the horsepower before she tried anything fancy.

She cranked down her window, letting the wind tear her hair away from her face as she pressed down on the gas. The engine roared again as they screamed down the highway, whipping around slower cars.

Once the thrill had settled into contentedness, she looked at Rhys. "Okay. You wanted to talk, so talk."

He eyed the one hand she had on the steering wheel, then said, "What do you know about the Hell-gate legend?"

"Don't you already know what I know?" she asked dryly, raising an eyebrow in his general direction.

Sounding irritated, he said, "I want to hear you say it."

Galloway sighed, dredging up the memory of what Sirius had told her before everything had gone to hell in a hand-basket down in the desert. Biting nervously at her lip, she said, "Sirius told me that it's dark, bloody magic that's needed to open the gates. That demons want to be free to cause chaos and mayhem up here."

"What else?" Rhys prodded when she paused, teeth sinking into her lip again.

Shooting him a look, she realized that her silence wasn't hiding anything from this man and recklessly plowed forward, anxiety like prickling needles under her skin. "He said Hell needs a good Soul. But not just any good Soul. He said that it needs to be a good Soul that has been made a part of Hell in some form or another." She inhaled unsteadily before pressing on. "He said it has to be someone who works for Hell, that's been used by them to the point that they let true hatred touch them, but still has a core of light."

She exhaled through pursed lips, knuckles growing white around the steering wheel. Rhys let out a low whistle before he said, "He's not lying. He's just not completely right, and he's dead wrong on one very important count."

"What would that be?" Galloway snapped peevishly, slowing around a sharp curve as they wound farther and farther away from civilization.

His eyes shaded by a ring of thick lashes, he said, "Bad is exactly what Hell needs you to be."

Galloway let that sentence hang in the air between them for a good three miles before she asked, "What are you talking about?"

Rhys slumped in his seat. "The Hound said that accepting him would save you from being used by Hell to let all demons walk free."

She shivered at the thick innuendo that circled the word accepting, instead concentrating on the blacktop under the tires. Rhys sighed and said, "I'm not going to get into the particulars here—it's too difficult to explain before I can show you a couple other things—but basically what it boils down to is that he needs you to accept Hell willingly, of your own volition. Not just him. When you give yourself over to Hell, when you finally lose your Soul by your own doing, that's when they can use you for the spell."

Galloway let the words sink in, then jerked the steering wheel hard to the left. Rhys swore as the back end whipped around, tires screeching until they were pointed back in the direction of Logan's house. She stomped on the gas, the car lurching forward eagerly under her.

"What are you doing?" Rhys exclaimed, bracing himself against the dashboard.

Heart pounding rapidly in her chest, Galloway said, "We're going back to Logan's. You're going to show me what you need to show me, and then you are going to fully explain what in the holy hell you are talking about."

Rhys' mouth tightened into an unhappy line, but he nodded. "You need to hear it."

"I'm not arguing that, Rhys," she hissed, barely avoiding an oncoming car as she passed a minivan going way to slow for her tastes.

"But you don't want to hear it," he countered, "because it'll upset the balance you think you have with the Hound."

"Nothing about Sirius lends itself to balance," she gritted out.

Rhys looked at her in surprise as she watched him from the corner of her eye, and she said, "I made more than a few mistakes in New Mexico. I'm just trying to limit damage and if you know something that can do that, I'll hear you out. I've been hearing things I didn't want to hear all my life. I can handle a little more."

She almost didn't hear him over the thunder of the engine when he muttered, "No, I really don't think you can."

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If you're curious about Galloway's new ride:

1968 Chevy Chevelle

Chosen purely because I love classic cars and this is one of my personal favorites.