— 4 —

“PLEASE, HAVE A SEAT,” MRS. Biscuit said to Madison, waving vaguely at the sofa. “I think this is the first time he’s stopped barking in days.”

Madison sat on the very edge of the sofa and tried not to look at her watch. She was not going to be here long, not if she could help it. And technically, she was in charge, not Butterbean. She didn’t know why it didn’t feel that way.

“So he’s been barking a lot, then?” Madison said, trying to be polite. She’d seen him around, of course, but she didn’t even know this dog. Not really.

“Nonstop,” Mrs. Biscuit said grimly, watching Butterbean and Biscuit sniff each other. She flashed a tight smile at Madison. Madison gave a weak smile back.

Walt kept an eye on Madison as she turned to Biscuit. “Okay, quick. We don’t have much time,” Walt said. “Spill it, dog. What’s the situation?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Biscuit said gruffly. “There’s no situation. I’ve got everything under control.” He blew air out of his nose loudly.

“Give me a break,” Walt said.

“Walt, let me handle this. Biscuit, that’s not what we heard,” Butterbean said softly, in her best therapist voice. “I tried to get a message to you last night. Word on the street is that you’re about to get kicked out for barking. How does that make you feel?”

“What message? Last night?” Biscuit looked suspicious. “I didn’t get any message.”

Butterbean frowned. Maybe it would’ve worked better if she’d had Biscuit lie down on the couch. That seemed to be the prime therapy position, at least from what she’d seen on the Television. She tried again. “The white cat said you were in trouble, so we sent Marco and Polo to tell you we were coming. They were in the vents.”

“Marco and Polo are rats,” Walt added.

“So those things in the vents were your friends? Well, thanks for the extra trauma, I guess,” Biscuit said grouchily.

“We just wanted to help.” Butterbean tried to keep her voice even. Being a therapist was harder than she’d expected.

“Look, I’ve got enough invaders to deal with, okay? I don’t need any extras from you. I’m already having to monitor the perimeter of the apartment 24-7.”

“Invaders? What invaders?” Butterbean frowned. “Where?”

On the couch, Madison clasped her hands together and leaned forward. “So!”

“Uh-oh,” Walt said.

“You know, we should really get out of your hair,” Madison said, smiling. She could probably still make it on time, if she brushed her teeth really quickly. That would do it. She’d just be super fast. “This was a lot of fun, though.”

“Oh no, please. Give them just a few more minutes. They’re being so quiet,” Mrs. Biscuit said, gripping Madison by the arm a little too tightly. She had a strange hollow look around her eyes too, just like Biscuit. “There’s been so much barking.”

“But…” Madison looked over at the pets, who had frozen and were watching her carefully. She shrugged and sank back down onto the couch. “Okay, I guess. Just a few minutes.” She didn’t really need to brush her teeth.

Mrs. Biscuit gave her a weak smile.

Walt lashed her tail in the air. “Come on, Biscuit. We’re on a deadline.”

“If the white cat knows the situation, it’s all over the building. So you might as well share. Express your emotions. Um. Find your center.” Butterbean wished she knew more therapy terms, but she hadn’t even started her classes yet.

Biscuit snorted. “Look, that’s not my problem. My problem is—”

Mrs. Biscuit sneezed softly.

“Excuse me. INSPECTION!” Biscuit yelled, launching himself up into Mrs. Biscuit’s lap. He examined her nose thoroughly, and after a few seconds, he nodded in satisfaction. “Okay, all clear.”

“Um,” Madison said.

“That’s just something he does,” Mrs. Biscuit said, dabbing her nose with a tissue.

Biscuit jumped off the couch. “Sorry, just one of my dogly duties.”

“Wait, what? Sneeze inspections are a DOGLY DUTY?” Butterbean had never once inspected Mrs. Food’s nose after a sneeze.

“It’s not a requirement, Bean,” Walt said softly. She really didn’t want sneeze inspections to become a thing.

“But if it’s a DUTY—” Butterbean started.

“My PROBLEM, since you’re so concerned,” interrupted Biscuit as he trotted over, “is the INVADERS on the LOADING DOCK!” He jumped up onto the cushioned bench under the window. Butterbean’s eyes widened. It was like his feet were made of springs.

Biscuit pressed his face close to the glass, making more nose smears. Butterbean was surprised he could even see outside anymore.

“Oh no, here we go,” Mrs. Biscuit said, holding her breath.

“Invaders? That’s your problem?” Walt jumped up onto the bench and looked out of the window. “Oh come on, Biscuit. Seriously?”

“What?” Butterbean said, jumping up clumsily after them. She didn’t want to miss out on any invaders. Maybe she could do some therapy on them.

Walt rolled her eyes. “That’s the loading dock. Those invaders? They’re the loading dock rats. Are you seriously freaked out because of a couple of rats?”

“Our friend Wallace knows the loading dock rats,” Butterbean said, finally getting her footing. That bench was taller than it looked. “They’re not bad. Did you just notice them or something? Because I think they’ve always lived there.”

Biscuit made a face. “No, the loading dock rats aren’t freaking me out. I’ve lived here my whole life—you think I care about a couple of rats? No, this is something new. INVADERS. A lot of them.”

“Something new,” Walt said.

“I can hear them, every night. Scratching. Lots of them. And I can see their eyes. THOUSANDS OF GLOWING EYES. I hear them clawing at the walls. Trying to get in. I’VE GOT TO STOP THEM!”

“Calm down, okay?” Walt said, shooting a look at Mrs. Biscuit, who had started to wring her hands in agitation. “They’re not getting in. Nothing’s getting in.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Butterbean said. “Tell me about your mother. Take some deep cleansing breaths. Go to your happy place.”

Walt rolled her eyes. “This isn’t the time, Bean.” She looked at Biscuit. “Butterbean’s going to be a therapy dog.”

“Therapist,” Butterbean corrected.

“Whatever,” Walt said.

Biscuit leaned over and took some deep cleansing breaths. Then he nodded. “Better. That worked.”

From the couch, Mrs. Biscuit suddenly gave a brittle laugh. “I don’t suppose you rent those pets of yours out, do you? To keep mine quiet?” She gave another shrill laugh.

“Um, ha-ha,” Madison said, edging away slightly. “Sorry, that stinks.”

“You said it,” Mrs. Biscuit said.

Madison cleared her throat. “Well, thanks for letting us come over, but I guess I was wrong about playing. Maybe they just wanted to sniff? We should get going.”

“Shoot,” Walt said. “Biscuit, where’s a toy? We have to make this look good.”

Biscuit jumped off the bench and picked up a tube sock half hidden under the couch. “Here, tug on this sock. I love this sock. It’s the best toy ever.”

“Yes, socks are wonderful,” Butterbean agreed, jumping down and gingerly picking up the other end of the sock. “Walt has some compression socks,” she whispered through clenched teeth.

“Yes, but those aren’t for playing,” Walt said. “Too valuable.”

“No kidding,” Biscuit said, tugging gently at the sock. “What I wouldn’t give for one of those.”

“Oh, wait, don’t go yet. Look at that! I haven’t seen him do that in years!” Mrs. Biscuit said, grabbing Madison by the arm again. “You can stay another minute or two, can’t you? Maybe he just wanted some company?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Madison agreed. Maybe if she ran extra fast. And skipped packing her lunch. Maybe if she teleported. That would do it. She’d be at school in no time if she teleported.

Walt kept one eye on Madison. “Look, we’ll see what we can find out, okay? But in the meantime, you have to shut your mouth.”

Butterbean nodded, which was difficult to do while she was pulling on the sock. “What time do you see them? The invaders.”

Biscuit jerked the sock violently. “Night, mostly. But I keep up the guard during the day anyway, just in case. Never can be too sure.”

Walt nodded. “How’s this—we’ll find out what’s out there at the loading dock. And you keep quiet until we do. Deal?” She watched the tug-of-war carefully. Biscuit was definitely winning. But Walt thought Butterbean was holding back.

“Oh, I know what’s out there,” Biscuit said, jerking the sock a little too hard. (Butterbean made a note to check all her teeth later.) “Monsters, that’s what. I saw SLAVERING JAWS. SLAVERING. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had venom. DRIPPING FROM THEIR TEETH.”

“Right. We’ll find out all about the um, venom,” Butterbean said, trying not to lose her grip.

“Just keep your trap shut while we do,” Walt said.

“Okay, deal.” Biscuit sagged. He let go of the sock, sending Butterbean tumbling backward.

“And um, don’t worry about guarding. We’re part of a Secret Spy Organization. We’ll handle the guarding for you,” Walt said. They didn’t need that dog losing any more sleep. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Biscuit sagged even more. “Really?”

“Just hang tight until we report back,” Walt said.

“Maybe, um, take a nap while you wait,” Butterbean said. Naps were always a good way to pass the time.

“You really are a good therapist, Butterbean,” Biscuit said softly. “I feel better already.” He curled up in his basket and closed his eyes.

Butterbean trotted over to Madison and tugged on her pants leg. “Come on, Madison! Let’s go!” They needed to consult with Oscar and the others right away.

“Oh! Look, she wants to go! Wow, great talking to you got to go bye!” Madison babbled as she scooped up Walt and Butterbean.

“Come back anytime,” Mrs. Biscuit said, clutching Madison’s arm again. “ANYTIME.” She hardly took her eyes off of Biscuit as she held the door open for them. “THANK YOU,” she mouthed to Madison as they left.

Madison kept the frozen smile on her face until the door shut. Then she took off in a mad dash toward the elevator.

She didn’t think even teleporting would help her now.