by Willow Mason
It was horrid.
“Without specific training, I’m frightened that I’d hurt you.”
“I’m already hurt. It hurts me every day I wake up in this form, trapped in this body.”
“There are advantages. Maybe you should look on the bright side?”
“What? That nobody cares if I whizz in their bushes?”
Despite the seriousness, I giggled. “And you can chase the postwoman.”
That earned a small laugh. “She deserves it.”
I pulled into our street and parked outside. We were stopping just long enough to stock up on supplies, then we’d camp outside Lucinda’s house until she made a move. If she didn’t, it would be a boring few days until we worked that out.
As I opened the front gate, I saw the front lawn was dotted with small holes. “What on earth?”
Beezley walked up to one and pushed his paw against the pile of dirt next to it. “This is fresh.”
“Do we have moles or something?” I kicked at a hole near me, filling it back up with dirt and tamping it down with my toes. “Do we even have moles in New Zealand?”
“No, we don’t.” Beezley took a long sniff. “This smells like dog.”
As soon as he said it, I heard a snuffling sound from the back of the house. Moving stealthily, I pressed against the bricks and tipped my head around the corner.
The crazy chihuahua who’d ruined my clothing yesterday was mid-hole, his rear end wiggling like a giant worm.
“Get out of here!” I jumped forward and waved my arms.
The dog reared back, knocking his head on the side of the hole so his face was streaked with dirt. He danced a few steps to the left, then the right, then dashed forward, running straight between my legs.
“Catch him!” I called to Beezley who raised his head just in time to watch the smaller dog race by. He ran in the same direction as the preceding day, so I cut through the neighbour’s back yard to get into the council land, which lined the edge of the creek.
“Gotcha,” I whispered a few seconds later as the dog ran headlong towards me. When he swivelled to run alongside the water, I pounced, grabbing his squirming body for a split second before he twisted free.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
The dog didn’t stop but checked over his shoulder to see if I was still there. He ran at a pace slow enough for me to keep up, but not overtake.
Even with my short-cut, it didn’t take long for my lungs to start burning and my thigh muscles to twitch. No matter how much Beezley complained about long stakeouts spent inactive in a car, it seemed a sweet deal compared to this.
At last, the dog slowed, cutting underneath a gate made of thin lichen-covered stakes, number eight wire, and hope. During my approach, I thought for sure I could leap over the top but common sense prevailed. I stopped and pressed down on the first few strands until it was low enough for me to step over. The wire refused to snap back into place, sagging when I let it go.
“This better be worth it,” I called out as the dog ran in a figure eight between me and a house with the same sad air as the fence. “If you’re trying to hook me up with your master because he’s lonely, I’ll tell you right now, it’s a hard no.”
The chihuahua placed his paws against the back door, yapping loudly, then clawed at the wood. Paint had peeled off in thin strips in the area and I guessed the dog had been doing the same for the past few days.
A worm of unease wriggled in my belly and I patted my abdomen before trying the door. It was locked.
“Hello?” I called out, walking along the back wall of the property until I reached a window I could peer inside. “Anybody home?”
The dog burst into a furious spate of yapping again and, when I glanced back, I saw he was now pawing at the fraying doormat. I rolled my eyes as I walked back. Fernwood Gully’s unreasonable security sense strikes again. The key was under the decaying mat.
“If your owner’s lying in wait inside with a shotgun, I’m coming back to haunt you until you die in an apoplexy of barking.”
The chihuahua seemed more than happy with that arrangement, stepping back to let me try the key.
Oh, I really didn’t want to do this. It didn’t take a genius to guess what could be waiting inside and a live owner in an emotional state would be a relief.
I tried to open the door just a sliver, but the wood was engorged from the humidity of summer and wouldn’t budge. After a few failed attempts, I gave up and put the boot in, the door releasing from the jamb with a protesting squeal.
One whiff and I backed away, shaking my head. Nuh-huh. Concerned neighbours didn’t get paid to find what I expected was inside the house. Police on the other hand…
After calling, I waited on the other side of the fence for the officers to turn up and do their job. The chihuahua relaxed as soon as the first woman ventured inside, one hand on her belt the other clamped to her nose.
“What alerted you to the property?” she asked me after emerging a few minutes later. Her unfortunate partner had been left inside—keeping watch over the scene.
“This dog kept coming around to my house and annoying me,” I explained, giving the morose mutt a friendly shake. “First, he ruined a few pieces of my clothing by burying them in the yard, then he dug holes all over the lawn. I tracked him home and wanted to give his owner a piece of my mind when I smelled something terrible.” My mouth pulled down at the corners in memory. Even waiting upwind from the property in a steady breeze, my clothing still reeked.
“Do you want to keep possession of the dog?”
The question took me by surprise and the officer must have seen that because she added, “You don’t have to. It’ll just save us taking him to the pound.”
At that word, the chihuahua shivered and pressed close against me. I wondered if his previous owner had used the word as a threat since he seemed to know exactly what it meant.
“I can hold onto him,” I said, feeling a little blackmailed. Still, two dogs should be no harder to care for than one. Except the chihuahua in my arms had been nothing but a menace and the other dog owned the house into which I was blithely accepting him.
“Are you able to say what happened to his owner?”
The policewoman glanced back over her shoulder and shrugged. “From what I can tell, the guy’s old so it’s probably natural causes.” She leaned over to give the dog a quick tickle. “It’s lucky this one had a doggie door to get out of, otherwise it could’ve been a messier sight.”
“Has he been there long?” Okay. That’s enough brain. I’d smelt things to keep me awake half the night without inviting visual accompaniments. “Sorry, forget I asked.”
A car pulled up with a doctor’s insignia on the side. The female officer pointed to the house, and the doctor nodded, heading inside with a grim expression on his face. “At least he’s under the care of someone. It should make this cut and dried.”
“Does that mean I can head home soon?”
Before she could answer, her male colleague walked out of the back door, shaking his head. “You know who it is, don’t you?” he said, joining our small group. “The dead man’s the secular Santa.” The officer’s pale features seemed close to tears. “I guess nobody’s getting a merry Christmas this year.”
Chapter Six
By the time the police released me from the scene, my mobile phone held a swathe of messages from Beezley. The body of each held nothing but a jumble of letters but I understood their meaning.
Where are you?
My short dash after a naughty dog had taken me well over three hours. The last thing I wanted after the emotional exhaustion of the discovery was to spend the whole night on a stakeout.
Then again, that’s why we charged the high fees. For doing a job others couldn’t or wouldn’t do.
“This is Beezley,” I told the chihuahua, setting him down inside and hoping his behaviour would improve now his owner’s body had been discovered. “I’m sure you’ll be very go
od friends.”
“I’ve been sitting here, worried you were lying dead somewhere, and you’ve been out getting a pet?”
Angry, angry young dog.
“His owner died,” I said, rubbing at my temple where a headache was forming. “I couldn’t just abandon him.”
“You could have called.”
“Yes, Mum.” I walked through to my bedroom, trying to close the door so I could change, but an enraged French bulldog’s midriff stopped me from doing that.
“Now, we’ve left Lucinda alone for so long, she could be halfway up the coast by now and we’ll never know.”
“It’ll be dark in a few hours. We’ll be able to see if she’s home by the lights and shadows on the curtains.”
“And if she’s already gone?”
“If Lucinda wants to pursue her daughter to a weird coven to rescue her, I’m happy to let her do our job.”
“It’s dangerous for a civilian to chase after these villains by herself. We have a duty to protect her.”
Of the two of us, only Beezley had sworn to protect the public—I was just in it for the paycheque—but I didn’t bother to remind him of that. For a man who’d been turned into a dog, he still took his police oath very seriously.
“Yelling at me isn’t going to change anything.” I shooed him out of the room so I could change and instead sat on the bed wanting to cry.
Christmas was my favourite time of year, even now I didn’t have any family. I looked forward to seeing the mermaid parade and the secular Santa gift-giving every year. Maybe not enough to put a year-long countdown timer on my social media pages, I wasn’t crazy, but it was the time of year I most cherished.
Now the mermaid was missing, presumed kidnapped, and the Santa was dead.
Anyone could dress up in a suit and sit on a chair to hand out presents but since our Santa had handmade all his gifts, there wouldn’t be time for a replacement this year.
Only my pig-headedness stopped me weeping.
A scratching came on the door and I swung it open, ready to unleash a barrage of abuse on Beezley if he was hurrying me along. But outside was the chihuahua with an expression as miserable as I felt.
“Come on in, then,” I whispered, picking him up and giving him a quick cuddle before setting him down on my bed.
Beezley couldn’t be in the room when I was changing since he was an ex-man, but this little dog didn’t bother me in the same way. I held up a fluorescent jumpsuit to my chest and jutted out my hip. “What’d you think? Too subtle?”
The dog sprang to his feet and yapped, laying down again when I hung the item back in the wardrobe.
“How about this?” I held a shapeless black top and Mum jeans to my waist and cocked an eyebrow. “Too bold?”
It got the dog’s approval, which was lucky because they were the only garments I had that were suitable for long stretches of time in a cramped car.
“I suppose we’d better bring you along for the ride,” I told the chihuahua as I quickly changed. “If I leave you at home and you create the same mayhem as before, Beezley would kick us both out.”
He stared up at me, tongue hanging out over his bottom teeth and warm brown eyes full of adoration. Such a difference from Beezley whose main expression these days was a scowl.
“What’s your name? Do you prefer being called something like Brian or Spot?”
The chihuahua’s tail wagged so hard at both suggestions, I couldn’t pick a preference.
“Star? Abraham? River?”
Apparently, he’d be overjoyed to be called anything at all.
“Your friend’s here,” Beezley yelled. “Just in case you were in danger of doing some work anytime soon.”
I opened the door to see a bemused Harriet standing outside. “I’ve got those books you wanted,” she said, holding out a heavy stack. “Ooh. A doggie. Who’s a good boy?” She dumped the books in my lap to grab hold of an armful of happy chihuahua. “Where did you get him?”
“Around and about,” I said, not wanting to break the bad news about Santa. “Did you want a dog? I offered to take him on the spur of the moment, but if you—”
“No thanks.” Harriet tipped her head back as she tried to avoid the dog’s tongue. “I don’t think my landlord would appreciate me having a pet.”
“Isn’t your landlord Glynda?”
“Yes.” She shot me a deadpan expression, and I giggled. “Okay. Point taken.”
“But I’d love to dog sit if you ever need it. Or take him for a walk.” She held the chihuahua up in the air, playing aeroplane, then frowned. “Where did you say he came from?”
“I didn’t.”
She cradled the little dog against her chest, giving him a strange stare that I couldn’t interpret. “Porangi, is that you?”
If I’d thought the dog had been enthusiastic before, I soon learnt differently. He wriggled and squirmed with such energy Harriet couldn’t keep hold of him and the dog fell back onto the bed, barking and yapping as he chased his own tail.
“You know him, then?”
“He’s the secular Santa’s dog now, but he used to be Grace Jeddens’ familiar.”
“Grace? From the hardware store?”
Harriet nodded and reached out her hand to the dog, giggling when he licked between her fingers. “They had an accident a few years ago, and he got a nasty crack on the head. It turned him porangi—crazy—and she needed to rehouse him.”
“Needed to?” My mouth set in a stern line as I considered the truth of that statement. Grace Jeddens liked things how she liked them. I couldn’t imagine this bundle of unfocused energy fitting into her strait-laced life.
“I think her sons wanted to keep him, but Grace claimed she couldn’t bond with a new familiar when the old one was still hanging around. Luckily, someone suggested to Archie Balham he needed a home, and he was more than happy to help.”
“Archie? Is that Santa’s name?” I didn’t care about the answer as much as I wanted to forestall Harriet’s next question. Unfortunately, she saw straight through my routine.
“What’s happened to Archie?” she asked in a small voice, covering Porangi’s ears so he couldn’t overhear.
“He was found dead in his home. Been there a few days.”
“Oh, no! And so close to Christmas.” Harriet must have squeezed Porangi too hard because he wriggled backwards, out of her grasp. “I wonder if someone else can take over?”
“It’s too late to make gifts, even if they can find someone willing to take on the role each year.” My despondency returned, and I sat down heavily next to Porangi, giving him a pat. “Between him and Brianna going missing, it appears Christmas is cancelled.”
Harriet gave a smile, but it appeared forced. “Well, as I said, if you need a dog-sitter, let me know.”
“Actually, would you be able to take care of him tonight? Beezley and I have a stakeout.” That we probably should already be doing.
There was regret on Harriet’s face as she shook her head. “Sorry, no. Glynda has me running all over town collecting signatures for some vote she’s organising, and she’s stacked up the appointments till midnight. I can do it tomorrow though.”
“I’ll let you know. It depends on how it goes tonight.”
We said our goodbyes, and I stuffed a load of snacks into a duffel bag, ready for a long stint in the car. Despite Beezley’s concerns, when we pulled up six houses down from Lucinda’s address, she was at the front gate, tugging a circular out of the mailbox.
“We got lucky,” Beezley said, sounding almost disappointed.
I fiddled with the seat controls until I was lying back, only just able to see over the dashboard, with Porangi in my lap. “Do you want to share a bag of chips?”
Beezley blew out a breath. “We’ve only just got here. How about you save the food until later?”
“I wasn’t asking you.” I lifted up Porangi’s front paws and danced a few steps with them. “And I missed out on lunch.”
&nb
sp; “Only because you insisted on chasing after a dog when you should’ve had your mind on your job.”
“Quit it with the lectures, will you? If you’re going to rant on at me the whole time, I’ll find another place to hide.”
Beezley grumbled under his breath but quickly settled while I took a closer look at Porangi’s head. A scar ran from the base of his skull up the centre of his head before nestling in behind his right ear. The hairs growing out from the tissue were sparse and wonky—poking in different directions rather than lying flat.
“What sort of accident caused this?” I asked him. “It looks like your head was split open.”
The chihuahua just grinned at me, his tongue lolling out more with each exhalation until he slurped it in, swallowed, and started the process again.
Familiars were usually tightly bonded to their witches, able to feel or intuit their emotions and desires as though they were extensions of their bodies. The same wasn’t true in return. When my own familiar died, the sorrow had cut so deeply into me I never sought another. That and the guilt from believing I’d contributed to his death.
But Grace Jeddens had just cast this cute fellow aside and got herself a cat instead. Maybe because her position in coven society made it a necessity. More likely because her heart was fashioned from stone.
“Even if you aren’t a familiar any longer, you seem like the kind of dog who’d make a good pet.”
Beezley laughed. “That wasn’t what you were saying about him the other day when he ruined your blouse.”
“I didn’t know him then.”
“You don’t know him now. He’s only been around for five minutes.”
“Don’t you listen to him,” I told Porangi in my best baby voice. “He’s just a grumpy old pooch with far too many responsible bones in his body.”
“Someone has to be that way.” Beezley jerked his head down, angling so he could see over the dash without exposing a hair above it. “Is that Lucinda on the move?”
It was. In the long shadows of late afternoon, Lucinda backed her car out of the garage, stopping on the road until the door rolled down. She drove to the first corner and turned right.
