I had never been to the zoo, but from what My Friend said, I just knew I was going to love it.
My Friend and Maggie both smelled very nervous, though they were trying not to show it. My Friend was worried he could not be a good father to a little girl, which was ridiculous—but if he wasn’t worried about it, he wouldn’t be the person he is. She was upset, too, but for different reasons. She was worried that she would have an Anxiety attack, and that then I would have to help her, and that her father would think she was weak and broken and not want to be her father. That, too, was ridiculous, but her life has not been an easy one.
They are both good people, and both often misunderstood by their fellow humans.
You humans have the potential to be the most wonderful beings there are—if you can get past all these enormous stupid spots you seem to have in your hearts. It’s not your fault. You just don’t know how to work your hearts right yet.
That’s why there are dogs.
I think it’s nice to know your purpose.
We rode in My Friend’s car down to the zoo in the park. I used to get confused when we went to the park, but then I realized that humans had made many parks inside their city, not just one. I love parks. And they are one of the many reasons humans are good.
I walked carefully next to Maggie, and she held on to my mane or to the handle on my support-dog vest. Maggie says my vest is red. I don’t know what that means, but it is her favorite, and that makes me happy. I was careful to wag my tail a little and smile as I walked. Humans are little and can be frightened very easily, so it is very important to show them that you want to be friends.
At least, until it is time to not be friends.
My Friend and Maggie walked together, talking. They were saying all kinds of words, but what they were really saying, over and over, was “I hope you like me.” That was silly, to think that they would not love each other—but sometimes humans are slow to figure things out, because they are heart-stupid.
You are, too. That’s okay. Just get a dog. Dogs can teach you all kinds of things about your heart.
I felt Maggie suddenly grow tense, and paused to look at her, one paw in the air. Her expression was intent and serious, and I knew there was one of those creatures she called creeps nearby. Creeps were serious business, a threat to children; adult humans could not seem to sense them at all. Even I could barely tell when one was nearby. I had to get close enough to jump on one to sense it properly, and even then I only saw shadows and smelled cold and hunger.
It was not my place to fight them. I knew that from my nose all the way in my tail, the same way I knew how to use the power that had been given me. It was my duty to defend and protect the home, and these creatures were meant to be a training ground for the young. Humans forgot them as they aged, but the lessons taught by facing such predators lasted for life. It was not my place to interfere in Maggie’s learning.
Unless they came in the house, of course. That was simply unreasonable.
Two humans speaking angrily to each other smelled like old tobacco and mildew, and their voices hurt my ears a little. They were discussing the role of the United States in combating poverty, illiteracy, and terror in Central Africa, and were quite upset about it. They must have been baglered. They were no threat to anything but pleasant conversation.
But the group of a dozen schoolchildren who smelled like sick ferrets and had black shadows under their eyes were a different matter. They were being possessed by more creeps, haunts, by the smell of it, and could be a severe threat to Maggie’s well-being. Not physically—physically, they were only more children, and if the creeps chose to take their battle to the physical arena, the same law that bound my power would allow me to intervene. The true threat they represented was intangible and serious.
Maggie had not pointed them out to me. Perhaps she wished to ignore their presence on such an important day. That was a reasonable attitude. But slink-thief predators like haunts were not often reasonable. They marked her and began tracking her as we moved.
That could be a problem.
But … something was wrong. I knew it in my tail.
I focused my senses, trying to locate the threat that only my instincts insisted was near, but I could smell nothing. Human racket was drowning out the subtle sounds, as per usual in the city. There were scores of people walking through the park, and I could track no movement.
But there shouldn’t have been so many creeps here, walking about in plain daylight. I had been expending energy for two days to help make this day smoother for My Friend and his little girl. Their first day together was important, and I had worked hard to make sure no malicious energy would interfere with it.
Perhaps simple ill fortune was at play, and things might otherwise have been much worse.
Or perhaps there was a force working against me.
My Friend leaned down to ruffle my ears and tell me how much he loved me, and my heart surged happily at the gesture.
Well. If something wanted to interfere with My Friend and Maggie’s happiness, it would have to get past me.
That thought normally made me wag my tail.
But today, it sent a slow, cold chill up my spine.
“HEY,” I SAID to the otters. (We were seeing the otters.) “Hi, guys!”
“Hi!” burbled an otter.
“Hi, hi!” said another.
“I’m tired,” said a third, yawning.
The humans around us didn’t notice the conversation, of course. Humans think you need your mouth to talk.
I wagged my tail at the otters so they would know I was friendly. “I’m Mouse, and this is the best little girl in the world. Could you guys please show off for her? She’s never seen an otter before.”
“Show off?” asked the first otter. “What’s that?”
“Go play!” I said.
“Play!” shouted the first otter, and jumped on the third otter’s head.
“Eeeep!” the third otter shouted. The first otter bounded off, and the other otters followed, into the water, out again, around and around a tree trunk, and then back into the water.
“Look, look!” Maggie said, tugging on My Friend’s coat. “Hey, look!”
The otters ran behind some rocks, but before Maggie could even ask, My Friend had scooped her up and lifted her high so that she could follow the action. Maggie let out a rolling, bubbling giggle, fascinated, and the warmth between them sang of love and light.
I wagged my tail so hard that I had trouble standing up.
I spoke to the sun bear, who was sort of grumpy but who didn’t mind tearing a section of log apart to show Maggie how strong sun bears were. The lionesses only rolled their eyes when I tried to talk them into a pouncing demonstration, but the lion was pleased to roar. The monkeys were as happy to play as the otters, and I didn’t even have to ask the peacocks to show off their pretty feathers.
All in all, I did a good job, I thought.
Good boy, Mouse.
And then magic, dark and ugly, rippled through the air.
And under it was … energy. My kind of energy, but dark and hard and terrible, full of cold, merciless clarity.
I caught a scent: the far-off scent of something I could barely remember. It made me think of mountains and burning oil lamps and cold, bright sky.
My Friend had reacted to the black magic in the air. He was scanning the park, tense, the happy energy around him suddenly replaced with watchfulness and an unconsciously projected aura of confidence and power. My Friend is not to be taken lightly. He is not heart-stupid at all when it comes to defending those weaker than he is. He sensed a threat, a dark practitioner, and he was ready to confront it.
I had a dark feeling roll through me and make the soft spot of my throat itch. A magical threat, here today? My nose told me that the pack of haunt-ridden children was still trailing us, even if they were keeping a distance.
What were the odds of a threat unique to each of my family appearing? Especially when I’d been working energy to avoid this exact outcome?