Heretical Fishing 2 (Heretical Fishing, #2)

by Haylock Jobson

She shuddered, her entire trunk vibrating. What kind of demon had she found herself in the presence of? One thing was certain: she wasn’t safe in this human’s presence.

“Well, that was pretty rude,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “You could at least take me out to dinner before trying to root me.” I turned to Maria and waggled my eyebrows expectantly, but she just scowled in response. “I don’t know what that means, Fischer, but I’m gonna assume it was uncouth, vulgar, and perhaps a little gross.” “Oh, you’re getting good at this.” “No, I’m not—your immaturity is getting predictable.”

“Winter is coming,” Barry agreed, staring stoically at the horizon.

Lizard Wizard Bog Dog Glare Bear Hurtle the Turtle Boat Goat

Every worker left in the chamber was either dead or dying, and the queen stood among a bed of fallen drones, the stingless males whose job it was to mate with the queen. Despite their lack of stingers, they had stood to defend their matriarch. For their selflessness, they had been slaughtered.

In retrospect, it was probably a terrible idea to expect restraint from the man that was brewing bootleg cultivator moonshine out of his back shed.

“Good gods…” she said after swallowing. “That is amazing.” I grinned. “If you think that’s good, wait until I cook up Asano’s recipe—it takes a little more time, though.” “Whose recipe?” I smiled wistfully. “A fictional character from my home world. I tried making his lemonade once before coming here, and let me tell you, it’s life changing.”

The hellhound would need to transform into something intimidating if he were to prove himself worthy of becoming one of them.

“Is… is that a fucking Chihuahua? ”

Regardless, the negative association with such creatures was there, so he leaned into the defining traits. He growled again, licked his teeth, and further increased the trembling that shook his limbs.

All I could do was watch as Warrant Officer Williams, my rambunctious pelican pal, flew parallel to the sand and karate kicked the ever-loving shit out of the nightmare puppy.

I smiled at him—it couldn’t have been easy for someone with social anxiety to intervene.

Within every tendril, his will was present, and I instinctively knew what he’d been trying to accomplish with this new ability. It was both lovely and tragic. He wanted to help. He wanted to be one of us. He wanted—needed—to prove his worth.

Helen pulled her head back so she could look into his eyes. “Okay? He and Maria were fishing without a care in the world. Worry about yourself, you soil-brained farmer.”

Knowing there was an easy way to confirm the detail, I looked up at the rafters. “Would you mind, Borks?” Everyone followed my gaze, so when a dog shaped like a demon dropped from above, we all bore witness. Borks, in his Chihuahua form, fell toward my chest. I easily caught him. Sturgill’s eyebrow furrowed. “Who is that?” In response, Borks shifted to the form he always took around the village—that of a long-haired golden retriever. His tongue lolled happily as he let out a bark. Sturgill and Sue both leaned back, their eyes going wide. The former cleared his throat. “Okay, so Borks is definitely a spirit beast, but I struggle to believe he’s a hellhound—” Without needing my guidance, Borks shifted once more. His long fur turned into midnight skin as he more than quadrupled in size. He still sat in my arms, his torso and snake-headed tail both upright and looking at the two bakers. “Oh…” Sturgill said. Sue arched an eyebrow at him. “Happy, foolish man?” “Well, no. But I do believe Borks is a hellhound now.”