Storm sat inside the back door of the house and watched, helpless as a cat – no, even worse than that, because a cat could probably find a window to climb through and escape. Helpless as a sheep, more like. Storm rubbed at the smears his nose had made on the door.
He should never have trusted the Not-Boy. That was where he’d gone wrong – handing a rescue mission over to someone else. Now Storm had no idea what was going on and was imagining all sorts of things. What if the professors had captured the Not-Boy? What if he’d told them about Jessie? They could be on their way here this very moment.
The front door opened. Storm sprang up, barking. You’d better not be the professors!
Jessie’s Dad came into the kitchen. Storm let his tail drop down.
‘Hello, Storm,’ Jessie’s Dad said, sounding tired.
Storm ran to him and pawed his trousers gently. Jessie’s Dad, I require you to open the back door so I may go into the garden.
Jessie’s Dad frowned and pushed him off gently. ‘Sorry, Storm, not now. It’s just started to rain, and I have to tidy up.’
Storm didn’t see what those two things had to do with each other. He watched Jessie’s Dad pick up towels and fold them, and an idea formed. If Jessie’s Dad wanted to tidy up so much, it would only be polite to help him. He scrambled up one of the kitchen chairs, being careful to leave claw marks in the seat, then he hopped on to the table and wagged his tail. Spoons and cups went flying.
‘Storm, down,’ Jessie’s Dad said, running to rescue them. Storm wagged his tail harder.
I don’t know what you’re saying. I’m just an innocent puppy who wants to play. Preferably outside. He batted the final spoon off the table. It made a satisfying clang when it hit the floor.
Tell you what, you open the door for me and I’ll leave your house alone. It’s not raining that hard outside. Anyway, I’m a stormhound and I like bad weather.
Jessie’s Dad picked him up and placed him gently but firmly on the floor. ‘Stay, Storm.’
What? Right here? Hey, maybe I need the toilet now. Storm lifted his back leg and stared at Jessie’s Dad threateningly.
Jessie’s Dad groaned. ‘All right. Just for a minute. I don’t want you getting all wet.’
He went to the door and turned the key in the lock. At last! Storm jumped impatiently.
But, before Jessie’s Dad could open the door, a shrill ring came from the front door and he groaned even louder.
‘She’s early,’ he said. ‘Stay here, Storm.’
Stay? When someone was at their front door. It wouldn’t be Jessie or Ben, because they’d let themselves in. Was it the Not-Boy, then? Or, worse, the professors?
Storm followed Jessie’s Dad into the hall, tensed and ready to fight any intruders.
But it wasn’t the Not-Boy or the professors. A lady stood on the doorstep, damp from the rain, her clothes smelling of car fumes.
‘Hello, Stephen,’ she said.
Storm froze where he was. He recognized that voice – he’d heard it come out of the telephone many times. It was the Mum-Person! He flattened himself to the floor, his tail thumping a warning. She was the one who’d made Jessie cry.
She’s trouble. Don’t let her in.
Jessie’s Dad ignored him, and now the Mum-Person was stepping inside the house, putting down a bag and an umbrella. ‘I’m sorry to spring this on you,’ she said.
‘It’s fine.’ Jessie’s Dad didn’t sound like it was fine. He straightened a picture on the wall, then started picking up stray shoes. What did he want shoes for? Was he going out? No . . . Now he was putting the shoes in a tidy line. ‘Jessie and Ben aren’t back yet,’ he said. ‘Did you want a cup of tea or something?’
He was being terribly polite. This was why he’d wanted to clean up: because he knew the Mum-Person was coming. For some reason it was important for her to think their house was tidy.
‘Did you tell them I was coming?’ the Mum-Person asked. ‘It’s just that Jessie sounded so upset on the phone yesterday I couldn’t stop worrying.’
And whose fault was that? Storm growled.
Jessie’s Dad picked him up. ‘I thought you could surprise them,’ he said.
He didn’t mean that. His scent always sharpened when he was lying. Storm didn’t know why he’d lie, or why he wanted Jessie and Ben to be surprised.
‘Actually,’ Jessie’s Dad said, ‘I didn’t want them being disappointed if you couldn’t make it after all. They’re both coming home for lunch today. Go into the front room – it’s tidiest there. I’ll just let Storm into the garden for a bit.’
He seemed to relax a little after that speech, as if the words had got bundled up inside him like a hairball, and he’d had to get them out.
‘Thank you.’ The Mum-Person dabbed at her eyes. ‘I’m afraid I might be starting to react already.’
Storm squirmed in Jessie’s Dad’s arms. He didn’t want to go out any more. He had to stay here to defend Jessie when she came home.
I am Storm of Odin and I will not be manhandled.
But apparently he would be. Jessie’s Dad tucked him firmly under one arm and took him to the back door. ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘You run around for a while, there’s a good dog.’
The door closed, shutting him off from the Mum-Person. Storm scratched the door. I’ve changed my mind. Let me back in. I’m sorry I messed up your kitchen, but you wouldn’t listen.
It was no use: the door remained shut. Storm lay against it with a sigh.
A few minutes later, a flash of tabby tore across the garden.
Storm leaped to his feet, his tail wagging. Cat! You’re back. Not that I care, he added quickly, remembering himself. What happened?
The cat shuddered, her hair standing on end. Dark magic. Magic that even a cat could not fight. Beware, stormhound, the hunters know what you are. They are coming for you.
The Valkyrie-Lady from next door must have been watching because she came running outside. ‘Nutmeg, where have you been?’ She scooped the cat up. ‘Naughty dog. Leave my cat alone.’
I wasn’t touching your cat.
The Valkyrie-Lady threw a slipper at him, then turned and stamped back indoors, taking the cat with her. Storm nosed at the slipper. How many of these things did she have? Did she keep spare ones just for throwing? He sighed, then sneezed. At least he knew the cat was safe, but that meant he had a promise to keep.
The rain grew heavier. Storm padded to the tree and sat down under the shelter of its branches. He considered chewing up the Valkyrie-Lady’s slipper, but he couldn’t be bothered. What was the point of destroying one slipper if Odin laid waste to the whole town?
The space inside him felt as vast as the sky, and the call of the Hunt echoed through it. He stood up. He was a stormhound, not a puppy. It was time he acted like one.
He walked to the fence and examined the ground. The earth was loose near the corner – it must have been where the hare had got in. Storm dug at it, scrabbling until he’d made a space the size of a puppy. Then he started to heave himself through. He’d grown in the past couple of weeks. He had to drag himself, panting hard. His collar caught on a jutting edge of wood and started to tear. But eventually it was done. He stood on the other side, panting and shaking mud from his coat, his collar hanging half off.
He hadn’t said goodbye, but maybe it was for the best. Goodbyes made humans sad and he didn’t want his last memory of Jessie to be a sad one. He started off down the road. If he could make it back to the mountains, he could find somewhere to hide. And then, if – no, when – the Hunt returned, he would . . .
He didn’t even notice the tall woman, not until she stopped, shot out her hand and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.
‘I recognize you,’ she said. ‘Stormhound.’