Hell's Pawn by Jay Bell

between a raccoon and a zebra. J ohn knelt down beside it, reaching out to touch, but Dante caught his wrist. John pulled it away irritably.
    “I think I know this dog,” John whispered, examining it but still not touching it.
    “Family pet?” Dante asked with disinterest.
    “No. I saw it my first day here. I saw it on the bridge.” Dante had walked away toward the wall and was now inspecting the large number of doors. There were at least ten, all spaced out equally.
    “Did you know they could do that?” J ohn asked, rushing to catch up. “The P rops, I mean.”
    Dante shook his head. “Never seen it before, but like I said, they did something similar to that one guy. There were a lot of P rops in the way. M aybe they were intentionally blocking the view. I doubt they’d want everyone to know that P urgatory is run by bunch of creepy vampire spiders.”
    J ohn swallowed. At times in the last month he had come close to flipping out. Had he done so, the P rops would have made short work of him. He never would have seen it coming, either. They looked so ineffectual and useless. Now he knew the truth.
    C ountless P rops were in P urgatory, intermingling among the souls and playing their silly games when really they were an invisible police force. S hould rebellion or riot break out, it wouldn’t last long, but J ohn still didn’t believe they were the masters of P urgatory. J acobi was right. The P rops were nothing more than mindless tools, but whose?
    “W hich door?” Dante mu ered. “I wish I had seen which one the spider left through. That’s the last one I want to open.”
    J ohn took advantage of his companion’s distraction and returned to the dog.
    Unhindered, he reached out and touched it, expecting his special abilities to instantly break the spell. Nothing happened. He glanced back at Dante, who was systematically opening each door a crack and peeking at what was beyond.
    “Come on,” John whispered. “Wake up.”
    He tried shaking the dog, but its body was stiff. Next he wrapped his arms around it, hoping that more body contact would make a difference. The animal didn’t stir. J ohn closed his eyes and began breathing, hoping to encourage the dog to do the same. He didn’t believe in New Age mumbo jumbo. He’d had no room in his life for crystals, tarot cards, or spirit guides, but he did believe in visualization. Athletes who pictured successfully shooting hoops would perform much be er the next day. This was an idea J ohn could believe in. M ore than once he would imagine a meeting going well before having to face difficult clients. Maybe something like that could help here.
    I n his mind, he pictured the blue light draining away from the dog, puddling on the ground and soaking into the floor. Nothing. The animal was still as stiff as stone in his arms. M aybe he needed to give as well as take away. J ohn had something in him that made him more resistant to P urgatory’s tricks. He pictured this as white light inside himself and, keeping his eyes closed, he breathed out and tried to send as much of that light to the dog as he could.
    The furry body squirmed in J ohn’s arms. W hen he opened his eyes, the dog’s head was turned toward him, looking confused and somewhat groggy.
    “Hey there!” John said. “Feeling better?”
    The dog panted happily in response.
    “W onderful,” Dante said from behind. “Plan on waking up the rest of the zoo while we’re here?”
    “M aybe,” J ohn answered, although truth be told, the effort had taken a lot out of him. For the first time since dying, he felt tired. He started to yawn but was interrupted by a number of wet licks to his face. J ohn laughed as he fell backward, the dog relentless in its effort to make sure he was drenched.
    “J acobi didn’t send us down here to open up a pet store,” Dante grumbled. “We need to find a way out of here.”
    “Maybe Bolo can help us,” John said as he got to his feet.
    “Bolo?” Dante was