We tore into the clinic parking lot at 10:55—the Fuzzles had five minutes left, by Tomas’s watch! The Grim was drooling and Regent Maximus was panting and shaking his head. I thought we were going to slide off his back and run inside, but just as Regent Maximus slowed to a walk, the door of the clinic flew open.

Aunt Emma was the first one out. Then Callie. Then Mr. Randall. Then Mrs. Dreadbatch, and Mr. Henshaw, and that guy who had the Lilac-Horned Pomeranian, and Goggy’s owners, and a bunch of other adults I didn’t know.

Then the exterminators. Or at least, I guessed they were the exterminators—they had bright silvery suits on, with a tank of what I presumed to be Fuzzle poison on their backs.

They all stared at me.

“What’s going on?” Regent Maximus asked anxiously. I guessed he could tell I was tensing up.

“Pip Bartlett!” Aunt Emma said before I could answer Regent Maximus. “You’re in so much trouble!”

Mr. Henshaw’s eyes were wide. I thought he was angry too, but then he lifted a wondering hand to Regent Maximus’s bridle as Tomas and I slid off Regent Maximus’s back. “I never thought I’d see the day! How did you manage this?”

That was a different conversation for a different time.

“Aunt Emma,” I said urgently. “I know you’re mad at me, and that’s okay, but what about the Grim?”

Aunt Emma said, “What are you talking about?”

Mrs. Dreadbatch cut in before I could explain. “I don’t have time for this, Emma Bartlett! The exterminators are here. Deal with your renegade niece later! Time to end this Fuzzle infestation once and for all!”

With that, the adults started arguing. Mrs. Dreadbatch shouted about the Fuzzles. Mr. Henshaw asked about Regent Maximus. Mr. Randall told Mrs. Dreadbatch to quiet down. Callie shouted at me for sneaking out and getting her in trouble. The other adults voiced a million opinions on the Fuzzles and the pending extermination and the risks of riding an unsaddled Unicorn down the street. Aunt Emma was stuck in the middle of it all, looking overwhelmed.

“Hey! Wait! Listen!” I said, but no one heard me.

“You’ll have to speak louder than that, Pip,” Tomas said.

So I took a deep breath and shouted, “I HAVE AN IDEA!”

It was loud enough that the adults settled down and looked at me. All their eyebrows were up high on their foreheads. I took another deep breath.

“We don’t have to exterminate the Fuzzles, because it turns out they’re only here because of the Grim!” I said, pointing to the baby Grim. He was crouched down near Regent Maximus, ears flattened back. “The Grim lost his pack, so he was wandering around eating Fuzzles. They only came into Cloverton to avoid being dinner!”

“A ‘Grim’? You mean that dog? What is that, some sort of Labrador?” Mrs. Dreadbatch said. “I don’t see any tags. If he doesn’t have tags, we’ll need to call Animal Control.” She shot Aunt Emma a nasty look.

But Aunt Emma didn’t notice—because she’d seen the Grim just long enough to know it was no Labrador.

Her eyes lit up. She looked like she might cry.

“Is that … Pip! You were right!” She dashed toward me. She nearly shoved Mrs. Dreadbatch out of the way as she dropped to her knees by the Grim’s nose.

“Don’t think you can convince me not to call Animal Control on that dog, Emma Bartlett!” Mrs. Dreadbatch snapped. “You might think you’re in charge of magical creatures in this town, hiding Fuzzles and training Griffins and who even knows what else, but you can’t save a regular old dog!”

“Oh, I think I can!” Aunt Emma held a hand out toward the Grim. He sniffed it and wagged his tail a little. I guessed dogs—even magical ones—can smell good people. “This, Mrs. Dreadbatch, is not just a dog. It’s an extremely rare juvenile Grim. They’re a protected species. And I’m the only person in Cloverton licensed to handle them.”

She said this last bit with slightly more smugness than was absolutely necessary, but I think we all forgave her.

“Well … well!” Mrs. Dreadbatch said, hitching her blazer up a bit. “S.M.A.C.K.E.D. will be speaking with your niece, since she clearly is not licensed to handle Grims and brought him here! And in the meantime, the exterminators and I will go handle the Fuzzles—”

“Uh, about that,” one of the exterminators said. “Sorry, lady, but we’re not allowed to do anything that endangers a protected magical species. If that Grim-dog-thing eats Fuzzles, we can’t touch them.”

“What?” Mrs. Dreadbatch’s eyes went all wide and buggy. “But they’re pests! They must be exterminated! Stop! Don’t you take another step! Don’t you get in that van! Don’t you start that—”

The exterminators slammed the van door—they looked eager to get out of Cloverton. When they turned the engine on, rock music blasted so loud that it completely drowned out Mrs. Dreadbatch’s yelling. The tires squealed as they left the parking lot. Mrs. Dreadbatch huffed down the road after them. No one helped her give chase.

Mr. Randall spoke first. He said, “So this little fella is the only reason we’ve got a Fuzzle infestation?”

I nodded. “Now that he’s not roaming the woods anymore, the Fuzzles should be able to leave.”

“Pip is right,” Aunt Emma agreed. “Sometimes one little thing can throw nature out of whack—like a rogue Grim hunting outside his normal habitat. I bet we can take the Fuzzles into the woods to release them now, and it’ll be safe.”

The adults talked about this for a moment. Some of the neighbors weren’t totally convinced, but they were willing to give it a shot. Mr. Randall offered to take all the Fuzzles himself, since by this point he was pretty used to driving fireballs around. Everyone who’d gathered waved good-bye to the Fuzzles as Mr. Randall’s truck disappeared over the hill.

“I will miss the marshmallows,” Callie admitted.

Everyone filtered away—the neighbors back to their houses, Mr. Henshaw to put Regent Maximus up, and Tomas home to tell his mom about the Fuzzles—and, I hoped, to brag a little to his brothers about the adventure he’d just been on.

“Pip,” Aunt Emma said as she held the clinic door open for me, Callie, and the Grim, “I should have listened to you. I can’t believe it was a Grim!”

“He lost his pack,” I said. “I told him we’d take him to the Grim migration spot.”

Aunt Emma stooped to pat the Grim’s head. “You told him?”

I nodded. Aunt Emma didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she said, “All right, then. I guess we are going on a road trip!”

I could tell she still didn’t believe me about the talking part, but that was okay. She was happy, and I was happy, and the Grim and even Callie looked happy. The most important part wasn’t to be believed. The most important part was that after ages of trying, I finally, really had been helpful!

What’s a little Unicorn stampede here and there, if I can also help save five hundred Fuzzles and a baby Grim?