CHAPTER SIX

PEE MAIL

SCOUT LEAPED OUT of the car when I gave him the okay signal, hit the ground running, and didn’t stop for ten minutes, overcome with true puppy joy. I grinned and Carter laughed to watch the tornado circling the yard, sailing over the back fence, soaring in return, and then racing up and down the city block itself. When he came back and sat down on my feet— not next to them, but on them—his tongue lolled out, and he gave a big, doggy grin up at me. I had to reach down to massage the top of his head.

“He’ll grow up to you,” Carter said.

“And the department said okay?”

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t have brought him for an introduction otherwise. It wouldn’t have been fair to anyone.” Carter bent over and massaged an ear as well, while Scout nuzzled him. As he wiped his hand off on his pants, he gestured toward the house. “Might as well take him in.”

Scout led the way, his sleek tail curved like a scimitar and waving happily, as he trotted in front of us. Carter told me that he had a Labrador-sized crate in the back seat of his car, along with sleeping pad, a forty-pound bag of kibble in the trunk, and stainless-steel dishes. Also a harness and leash and collar. I hadn’t noticed any of that, my eyes full of puppy.

I realized that Scout wore nothing on him now. “Why no collar?”

A pause before Carter answered, “He’s not too fond of them.”

Interesting.

The door opened before we got there, and my mother appeared to Scout’s delight as he jumped up and down in front of her and then sat, squirming a bit, as if presenting himself for approval.

“You brought him.”

“And he seems to fit right in.”

“Good. It’ll be nice to have a dog about again.” She bent over to scratch that sweet spot on his chest that dog lovers know about, and he moaned a little in appreciation before she stepped out of the doorway to let him inside. “I have long lunch hours this semester, so I can come home and let him run about. No need to crate him all day.”

“Nice to know. I’ll go get his things.”

Mom pointed at me. “Go open the garage door. For now, we’ll store them in there. I think there will be room in the mudroom for his crate, but we may have to rearrange a few piles of boots and junk first.”

I came back in to find Scout sitting warily at the threshold of the kitchen, eying Steptoe and Brian, with them trading a hard look right back at him.

I patted Scout on the back of the head. “That’s Simon Steptoe,” and I pointed. “Chaotic neutral. He used to be chaotic evil, but he’s trying to redeem himself these last few centuries. Sitting there is Brian Brandard, lawful chaotic. He’s two men in one, but they’re both pretty straight arrow. You already know Carter. He’s lawful good, and I’m the daughter, and Mary there is daughter’s mom and professor and doctoral student. The only one not here is Hiram, an Iron Dwarf, and since his clan is made up of judges, I’d say he’s probably lawful neutral. That should do it? No, wait. My dad is a ghost who lives in the basement, but we hope that’s temporary. I have no idea how to classify him.”

Steptoe sat back, looking as though he was biting the inside of his cheek, and Brian blustered about in his chair, his own face flushed, while Carter made a noise into his hand that sounded like a choked laugh.

“Am I right?” I looked about the room.

Steptoe cleared his throat. “More right than not.” He put his hand out. “Here, laddie, give me a sniff so you know me.”

Ears back a little, Scout approached him, snuffling up his hand to his elbowed sleeve and back again. The pup then rolled an eye at Brian and shoved a nose into his kneecap, before heading to the stove and lying down in front of it, tail thumping tentatively.

Mom handed out the last piece of cake to Carter, and we all sat about and told her a little bit about Hiram’s request. She seemed to sense she wasn’t getting the full version. She checked her watch before telling me, “I’ve got papers to grade and my syllabus to update, so why don’t you tell me what you’re not telling me. Let’s unpack this little situation first before I have to disappear. I want the rest of the details, the stuff you’re avoiding telling me.”

I tried not to wince. She has these steely blue eyes that see through me. “It could be dangerous. I’m not sure, which is why I’m taking a posse with me.” Her eyes reminded me of something, nagging at the back of my brain, but I couldn’t pin it down, so I shoved it aside and watched my mother’s expression.

“Mmmhmm.”

I held my left hand up. “But I’ve got the stone now, and I’m pretty good with a shield, and these guys can take care of themselves. Most of the time.”

“So you’re tracking down something that’s lost for Hiram. What exactly did he lose? What is the Eye of Nimora?”

“A ruby the size of a goose egg.”

Her tone went up despite her projected calm. “What?”

“So, we have the supernatural element as well as everyday human greed possibly involved.” I shrugged a little.

“There’s something supernatural about the red egg?”

“Supposedly.”

“No supposing about it,” Steptoe objected. “The thing’s a bloody oracle. Ow!” and he stopped talking long enough to glare at Brian, who’d evidently kicked him under the table. He folded his hands on the tabletop, stuck his lips together, and looked unhappy. His bowler hat sat a little askew.

Mom hadn’t needed the hint anyway. “Annnd . . . others will be after it, too.”

“Could be. It’s not widely known that the thing is missing, though. We have a head start, so that should help.”

She assessed each of us, one at a time. “Of course, all of you know that if anything happens to Tessa, I will do more than hold you personally responsible. I will pull out all your teeth and then make you even sorrier you still exist. There is no force in heaven or earth greater than a protective and angry mother.” She looked like she meant it.

“No, no, no,” everyone said. “We’ll take care of Tessa,” or words to that effect, putting their hands up in the air. When things calmed down to a dull roar, we discussed our game plan a bit, which was to say, we really didn’t have one except that I intended to find out the beginning of the trail.

Also, we talked about moving the professor’s library from the remains of his burned-out home to a more secure location. Steptoe offered one but got turned down before he even finished his sentence. Carter mentioned vaults that the Society held for such emergencies and also got rejected, although he did get to end what he said before everyone else said: “No!” I proposed the basement and got another end-all glare from my mother. Brian merely shook his head to that, saying, “Not unless I have no other choice.”

“I do have, my dears, a low impact alarm system set up ’ere in the ’ouse. If that makes a difference.”

“Low impact?”

“I think,” Brian said, “he means the tell-tales.”

“You spotted them, did you?” Simon gave a half grin.

“It would have been hard not to. Interactive roses are most uncommon.”

“True, but I thought it might ’elp us all keep a watchful eye on our Tessa.”

I sat up straighter in my chair. “Hey!”

Brian shrugged. “Not to mention that said alarm is in extreme fatigue already, trying to keep up with the pup’s activities.”

How the professor knew that without having gone upstairs to take a look, I had no idea, but I got this mental image of my vase of “roses” wilting everywhere.

Steptoe sniffed. “Not my fault. Someone has to take the creature up and introduce it.”

“Or remove the tell-tales.”

“I like them,” I put in edgewise.

“See?” Steptoe looked around the table in triumph.

I knotted my eyebrows at him. “Although you could have warned me what they were and where to set them up in the house.”

“I thought you’d figure them out soonest, ducks. You’ve always been a quick study.”

I couldn’t think of a rejoinder and decided just to shut my mouth. I did as suggested, taking Scout upstairs and letting the tell-tales and dog sniff at each other before coming back to the kitchen to a group that looked a little guilty as if they’d been talking behind my back.

The group disbanded shortly after that, and my mom disappeared into her office. Carter stood and dusted his hands off.

“Need some help with the mudroom?”

“Sure.”

Carter followed me out. We propped open the back door, and I opened up the garage as he went to unload his car. He toted the forty-pound bag of kibble over his shoulder and let it drop in the corner. I didn’t recognize the brand. I tapped the colorful paper. “Where’d this come from?”

“This stuff is locally made by a small-time guy. It’s his own formula. No grains but rice, lots of meats, and fresh veggies, mixed up and baked into a kibble. It’s a little more expensive but worth it to keep the dog healthier, and I think it helps with the cancer.”

My heart did a panicky thing. “He’s got cancer? How could you not tell me that before?”

“No, no. But we don’t want him getting it, and that’s a tough new thing with some breeds now. So when you need a refill, give me a call and I’ll bring in another bag for you.”

My eyes speed read the ingredients. “Bison I can see, but alligator?”

“Surprise, huh? The dogs seem to like it. I rarely see dishes that aren’t licked clean.”

“I wonder if it tastes like chicken.”

“We should find out someday but not by tasting his kibble. In the meantime, you need to get a heavy-duty bin with lockable lid to store this in, or the varmints will eat it all. They’ll find a way to get in the garage if they can. This stuff is like candy to them.”

“Good for them, though.”

“Yeah, but I’m not paying to feed raccoons and possums.” Carter threw me a smile as he ushered me out of the garage and closed the massive door after us. The old wooden building protested and yowled a bit at the joints as he did, and he knocked on one of the support beams. He checked the side door and made sure it fit well into its frame and could be locked if needed. “These old places.”

“I don’t know which is older—the house or Aunt April.”

“She’s that old?”

“Can’t tell under that immaculate hair, can you? And she doesn’t walk bent over or use a cane, but I can outrun her, so she does show her age a little.”

That made Carter snort. We stood in the threshold of the mudroom. “This place is a mess.”

“Don’t hold back. We Andrews can take it.”

“How did you let it get to this? I thought this area was all cleaned out when Hiram fell through.”

“We don’t come in here. We’ve always just used the side or front doors, even though this is closer to the driveway. So, sad to say, we can’t take credit, and when Hiram and the crew just redid the middle, this stuff all piled up next to the walls.”

“Okay, then. When’s the trash collection?”

“Wednesday and yes, this is the week of the month when they get the big stuff if we leave it on the curb.”

“First things first. This wheelbarrow goes outside, in the corner of the yard. In the garage if we still have room after cleaning up all this stuff, but definitely in the yard.”

I peered. “There’s a wheelbarrow under that?”

He pointed at a substantial metal brace holding a half-inflated tire. “I’m betting there is.”

I hefted an armful of rags from the pile. A mouse darted out and raced off through the door before I could even jump. Carter raised an eyebrow.

“We’re going to have to work on your reactions. If that was a shadow assassin, you’d have been skewered.”

“B-but—”

He shook his head. “No excuses.”

I dropped the rags on the floor. “What if there’s a nest in there?”

“As the professor might say, this would be a good time to learn nesting behavior, especially since you intend to go after harpies. Theirs is definitely an avian culture.”

“I’m getting some plastic trash bags.” And I stomped off. Lightning retorts, if not reflexes!

He had the wheelbarrow—yes, it was one, if old and dented and rusty—halfway out the door when I came back with a box of lawn bags. I kicked the assorted rags around a bit but no more streaking squeakers emerged as I bagged the trash up. I threw the filled bag out and onto the driveway. I emptied the shelves of another sagging bookcase of some sort while Carter busied himself taking each load out to our trash.

As to the bookcase—this had been a good piece of woodworking once, but now the bookcase wood had grayed and faded so that I couldn’t even tell what variety of tree the planks had come from. I spit on a finger and tried to rub the dirt off with no success and ended up wiping my hand on my jeans. The open shelves on the top ran halfway down, and little post office box drawers finished the bottom. Maybe this had come from an old corner of an even more ancient library? I opened each drawer up cautiously, worried the rest of the mice might be up to playing Pop Goes the Weasel on me. I couldn’t see the back of the furniture, but there might have been a hole or two back there. Twine filled one drawer. Some brittle two- and three-cent postage stamps another. Most were empty.

And then I came to the one that didn’t want to open. I checked it over closely. No lock. Just stuck. I tugged on it. Really stuck.

I ran a fingernail around the rim to see if I could tell why it had gotten wedged in. No luck, but the wood didn’t seem to have swollen excessively around this one drawer. Nor was it crooked where the others had been straight. It simply didn’t want to open.

I pulled my glove off. Set the stone to the front of the door and said, “I will you to open.”

Not that anything like that has ever worked for me before.

Glove or no glove, filth covered my hands. I batted them against my thighs and tried to pull the drawer open again. Nada.

“Look,” I told the recalcitrant furniture. “I really want to see what’s in the drawer. No matter what it is. Well, not if it’s an angry mouse.”

No yielding.

Carter came in, and I handed him some more trash bags quickly, putting my body between him and the now-empty cabinet. For some strange reason, I didn’t want him to see the drawer I’d been working on. Mind you, the last stubborn bit of furniture I’d fooled with had held the maelstrom stone. I ought to know better.

“Almost done.” Carter nodded at me.

I looked around the mudroom. To my surprise, we were. A pile of old boots and galoshes leaned up against one wall. “I’ll go through those later and give what we can to the thrift shop. None of those are ours.”

“Sounds good.” He hefted the bags and returned to deposit them outside. Alone again, I put my hand on the cabinet. “Last chance.” And, left hand firmly on the brass pull, I gave it a jerk that would have won a tug-of-war contest.

The drawer came out so fast it dumped me on my butt and scattered the contents on my chest. Sputtering, I grabbed for paper so old it had yellowed inside its brown leather cover. The book, no; it had so few pages it qualified more as a pamphlet, composed in readable but faded ink. It reminded me of the Declaration of Independence on display at the Library of Congress. Brilliant, defiant, old, and priceless . . . and, sadly, fading away. I scrubbed at the cover. Fubject of Darke Artes.

Wonderful. Someone’s book of curses? It not only looked prehistoric but smelled like it, too: musty and mildewed. Old enough that capital S’s looked like funky F’s? That might date it back several hundred years. And what was it with old books of magic? Brian had his ancient journal and Steptoe had those few scraps written about my stone. I rubbed my thumb over the cover, and a chill slithered its way down my spine.

Carter’s shoes scraped on the driveway as he approached, and I shoved the thing inside my shirt. Friend or not, there were times when the Society came first, and I had no intention of his confiscating the thing until I’d gotten a better look at it. After all, I had found it.

Scout put his nose out to see what we were doing. “Not dinnertime.” He wagged his tail anyway and I got a chance to really get a good look at him. Undoubtedly Labrador retriever, but something told me he wasn’t purebred. A little slimmer in build, a little sleeker in the head, a little lighter on his feet. I folded up my legs and sat down next to him, waiting for Carter to return.

His long and lanky form filled the doorway, hiding the midafternoon light, his shadow spilling over the two of us.

“So let’s talk about the dog.”

He leaned a shoulder against the door. “You don’t have to keep him if you don’t want him.”

I threw my arm around Scout’s neck. “I want him. But I think you know more than you’re saying.” Pup and I rocked together for a moment, and Carter gave us a look that was almost longing.

He sat down on the floor, too. Noticed the empty postal drawer resting there and stowed it back in the cabinet, sliding it into place. It made a little click as it did. I took note of that—darn thing had been locked in, after all. I gave Scout another hug to hide my interest.

“He’s not all Lab.”

“I guessed that. From his reactions and his looks.”

Carter shifted. “Not sure what he is. He and two littermates were left in a basket outside the police kennels. The other two just seem to be dogs. But this one,” and he reached out to rub under Scout’s cream-colored chin, “this one has always been different.”

“Very intelligent.”

“Yup. Older than his age, in some ways. And, he gets this look in his eyes, as though he not only understands what I’m saying but anticipates the consequences. A friend in the Society took a look at him about a month ago and gave his opinion on his heritage.”

What is it about magic users that they can’t seem to give straight answers? I bit back my impatience.

“And?”

“Maybe some elven hound in him.”

“Seriously? How do we know for sure?” Not only were there elves somewhere, but now they had dogs?

“We don’t, unless the person who bestowed him on us tells us, although it should be apparent in about twenty years, regardless.”

“Twenty years?”

“He won’t age like other dogs.”

Scout put his cold, wet nose to my neck and I grinned, thinking that having him around a long time was actually kind of reassuring to hear. “Any side effects?”

“He seemed to agree with your assessment of your friends, so I’ll grant him a certain awareness of magic and its affiliations. That, along with his excellent sense of smell and natural speed and agility, will give the pair of you an advantage.”

“Hear that?” I told Scout. “We’re going to make a great team.” He licked my chin in agreement.

“Eventually. Both of you have a bit of growing to do.”

“Gawd, I hope not. I’m already taller than most of the boys in my classes.”

Carter pulled a face, and I couldn’t tell if he was trying not to laugh or wince. “There could be one problem, though.”

“Which is?”

“He might not be the gift we think he is. He might have been stolen from a litter and discarded hastily, to hide him.”

“What litter? Someone might, sooner or later, come back to get him?”

He inclined his head. “Exactly.”

“I won’t give him up easily.”

“No, and since he’s obviously bonded to you, he won’t go easily either.”

I examined his face for a moment, looking at the planes of it: an ordinary yet well-defined face, not breathtakingly handsome like Malender though undeniably good to look at. Yet there was an expression hidden in his warm brown eyes. If I had to interpret it, I would say it was . . . concern. What had him worried?

“What’s wrong?”

His breath hitched slightly. “What makes you think anything is wrong?”

“I just feel it.”

He shrugged. “I can’t be around predictably for the next few weeks. Maybe longer.”

“Aha. You can’t keep tabs on me.”

“Something like that.” He reached out and wiped a smudge off my chin with the ball of his thumb.

“And where are you going to be?”

“I’ve an undercover assignment that is going to be very unpredictable.”

Now my breath caught slightly. “Dangerous?”

“It could be. I won’t bring that home to you, though, so don’t worry.”

“I’ll worry if I want to,” I answered him. “What is it, anyway?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Ordinary stuff for the police or magical stuff for the Society?”

“Not that either.” The corner of his right eye twitched ever so slightly.

My jaw dropped. “Both? Do they know? Are you like a special paranormal investigator now?”

Carter sighed.

“You don’t want to tell me.”

“I can’t tell you.”

I leaned forward. “Is my not knowing going to protect me better or worse?”

He blinked. “All right,” he said. “I’ll give you this. If, at any time, you hear of or run into a Nicolo or a Nico, walk away. As quickly as you can.”

He meant it. Every word of it, and he wasn’t going to give me any more detail than he already had.

“All right,” I agreed.

A long pause stretched into what could have become an awkward silence, but Carter filled it by leaning very close, tilting his face slightly, and my heart did a quick flutter because I realized he was going to kiss me.

And he did, his lips warm and possessive on mine, his hands coming up to my shoulders to brace me as I closed my eyes and gave into the warm feelings rushing through my body like a sea tide. My knees would have given out if we’d been standing. I kissed him back when he started to pull away slightly, and the moment lingered on. I could feel a heat in him, not the heat of a living being, but a fire, banked and waiting, as though a sun resided deep within, and I thought of his magical power. Awe washed through me just before he pulled back.

He touched a finger to my mouth. “Was that all right?”

“That, Carter Phillips, was about damn time.”

He laughed, stretched and got to his feet. “I work tomorrow, so any sleuthing for Hiram will have to wait until Tuesday afternoon. After practice? And stay out of trouble, all right?”

“Of course!” I rumpled up Scout between the shoulders. Who couldn’t stay out of trouble for a couple of days?