Dog Days

by John Levitt

  I checked on Louie, who was still curled up in the backpack as if he hadn’t a care in the world, struggled the pack onto my back over the bulky parka, flipped up the hood to protect my head, climbed out of the car, and started off on foot.

  You’d think I could have just put a warming spell over myself and avoided all the hassles of uncooperative elements. And indeed I could have, except for the fact that maintaining a warming spell in blizzard conditions would take about the same amount of energy as keeping warm by running through deep snow. After five minutes, I would have been too exhausted to move. As Eli often reminded me, magic is a tool, not a panacea. I did compromise and put a slight spell on my hands, just enough to keep them from freezing, because I needed them free to maintain my balance while slipping and sliding through the snow.

  For a while, everything was fine. I kept to what I assumed was the road, which at least seemed to be headed in the right direction. The wind whipped the snow into my face, occasionally coming at me almost level. I had to squint to protect my eyes, which made it even harder to see where I was going. It was hard at times even to breathe without getting fine snow crystals into my throat and lungs, making me cough. It was the mountain equivalent of a desert sandstorm. At least I didn’t have to worry about dying of thirst.

  The combination of uncertain footing and strong winds knocked me off my feet several times. One of those times, I must have gotten turned around, because I began to notice the occasional tree popping up, which seemed unlikely if I had managed to stay on the road. Still, I was fairly confident I was headed in the right direction. At least, I was until the trees started getting thicker and I plunged into a couple of drifts up to my hips. I had to waste even more precious energy putting a protective spell on my feet before they froze solid and stranded me in the middle of nowhere. I could feel the energy leaching out of me faster than was safe.

  It dawned on me that I was well and truly lost. I was on my way to being the guy you read about in the paper, the guy who leaves his car and wanders off into a raging blizzard, the guy who ends up being found a few days later frozen in the snow. Or, if it’s a particularly hard winter, being found by hikers sometime in late spring. The regret you feel for this poor fellow is always tempered just a bit by the thought, “What the hell was he thinking? Stay with the car, bozo.”

  The trees cut the force of the wind, but to compensate, they made it so I could be walking in circles for all I knew. The smart thing to do would be to build a snow cave in the shelter of a couple of the trees, start a fire, and hunker down. It’s not that hard to survive a storm if you have warm clothing, means of making a fire, and you don’t lose your head. Unfortunately, Louie wouldn’t be so lucky.

  I tried to think of a locating spell I could use to guide me in the right direction while I still had the energy to pull it off. For about the thousandth time in the last few days, I wished I’d been more diligent in my studies. There were a lot of magical things I could do, but none of them were going to help me much in this situation.

  I slipped off the backpack and sank down with my back to a spruce tree. The wind circled around the tree and the snow swirled in eddies around me. My eyelashes were thick with ice crystal, and the clean smell of the snow mingled with the sharp cold smell of spruce and pine. It was beautiful, and dangerous, with snow piling up between the tree trunks and the wind alternately sighing and shrieking through the upper branches of the trees.

  I don’t think I’d ever felt so discouraged and helpless. I thrust my hands deep into the pockets of my parka, trying for a little extra warmth, and felt a crumpled up piece of paper with numbed fingers. It was Victor’s map. I had jammed it into my coat pocket before I started out. It was too dark to read it, and at this point it was useless anyway. What I really needed was one of those handheld GPS systems from Sharper Image, all high-tech and glowing. At least that would have enabled me to get to a town.

  Glowing. A germ of an idea wormed its way into my consciousness. How about a map that glowed? How about a map that glowed in real time with my position and my destination? How about a nice, low-tech, magical GPS of my own devising? I smoothed out the paper, trying to keep it shielded from the wind and snow. I concentrated on centering myself, seeing myself as the focus of the universe. Many of my friends would say that wasn’t too difficult for me. Clear tang of evergreen. Taste of snow crystals. Wind rushing through the trees. Louie, curled up in the backpack, silently dreaming away. Cold seeping into my bones. I took a deep breath and blew across the paper, not a cold exhalation, but warm like when you huff on your hands to warm them.

  The map started glowing with a faint phosphorescence, sparking like the tropical sea when you trail your hand in the water off a boat at night. A small glowing figure was off to one side, and a larger one pulsed up toward the top of the map. I held the map up close to my face and saw that the larger spot was a tiny house. Damn. I was better than I thought. I had been hoping for nothing more than blurry points of light.

  One thing I could see was that I was farther away from the house than when I had left the car. I had been veering off at a forty-five-degree angle, heading toward God knows where. Charged with new energy, I picked up the pack, oriented myself, and struck out in what I hoped was the right direction. I still couldn’t see much of anything, but the moving figure on the map kept me going. I had to detour a couple of times around what appeared to be deadfalls, although it was hard to tell under the covering of snow. Eventually the trees thinned out and I assumed I was back on the road again, although by that time there was nothing but smooth unbroken whiteness. I checked the map and saw that the little figure and the little house were now almost touching, but I still could see nothing. Then, during a momentary lull in the gusts of wind, I saw a glimmer of light off to my left. I summoned up my last reserves of energy and plodded up an incline toward the light source. Suddenly, a shape loomed out of the snow, resolving itself into a small cabin no more than fifty feet from where I stood. There was a white glow in one of the front windows as if someone had hung out a Coleman lantern, and what looked like flickering candlelight farther in. It made sense; in a storm such as this the power was probably out all through the region.

  I staggered the last few steps to the front door and pounded on it with numb hands. It flew open as if someone had been waiting there for me and a blast of blessed warmth rolled through the open doorway. Framed with the glow of candlelight stood a woman who reached toward me like a welcoming angel.

  “You must be Mason,” she said.

  Ten

  For a moment I thought I’d encountered a supernatural being. A spill of blond hair backlit by flickering candlelight created an aura around her head, projecting the illusion of a metaphysical apparition. Then the warmth pouring out through the open door melted the frost from my eyelashes and the figure morphed back into that of an ordinary woman. She stepped aside and as I half staggered into the house she closed the door behind me.

  The cabin was one large room. The source of the gratifying warmth was immediately apparent; in one corner of the room stood a cast-iron potbelly stove, except that it was square instead of potbellied. Close by was a futon on a raised platform, and next to it sat a low wooden bench with amber bottles of various sizes, cobalt blue glass jars, crystals, dishes of vegetable matter, and sundry other things. I guessed they were all the stock in trade of a Wiccan healer.

  Near the stove, on the floor, lay a piece of patterned fabric that looked like a prayer rug. I walked over to it, shrugged out of the backpack, opened it, and lifted Lou cautiously out. His body was cold. I pointed down at the rug.

  “Is here okay?”

  She nodded, and I placed him carefully down, shrugging off my coat and taking off the warming spell on my hands and feet to save some energy. She walked over to us and knelt beside the still form.

  “I’m Campbell,” she said, running her hands along his body. “I can’t believe you made it here. Where’s your car?”

  “It’s a ways,�
�� I said. “I had to hike the last mile or so.”

  She glanced briefly out the front window, where the snow was battering harder than ever. “How in the world did you find the place in this storm?” she asked, continuing her examination.

  “I had a map.”

  She had her head down on his belly, listening intently. I don’t think she heard my answer. She lifted his head, examined his ears, ran her fingers down his spine, acting for all the world like a judge at a dog show. I started to wonder if Victor’s faith might have been misplaced. Finally she straightened up and moved over closer to the stove. She stood there silently regarding me until I finally broke the silence.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “It’s hard for me to tell much yet,” she replied. She hesitated, started to say something, then stopped.

  “What?” I prompted.

  She stood there without replying. She no longer seemed like an angel, at least not like the traditional image that we grow up with. But she burned brightly with health and boundless energy, with the animation that makes even an ordinary woman seem especially attractive. And she was anything but ordinary. A wide mouth, strong nose, and weather-streaked blond hair. Or maybe that was just a look. What do I know? She wore a faded red sweatshirt and jeans, but even so, I could see she was strong and firm underneath, like an athlete. A silver chain holding a smooth green stone hung around her neck, and she reached up and pushed her hair away from where it had fallen over her face.

  “Well,” she finally said, “usually when someone is ill or injured, I can focus in on the problem.” A small frown appeared on her face. “Doing something useful about it is another matter, but I’ll usually have a good idea what’s wrong. But something’s blocking me here. Since Victor sent you here, I’m going to assume you know what I’m talking about. Most people just think I’m a New Age flake when I mention things like that.”

  I nodded. “I do understand,” I said.

  “The other thing is maybe more important. I need all the information I can get to be able to help. And to put it bluntly, that’s not exactly a dog, is it? What is it, and what are we dealing with?”

  I mentally apologized to Victor for doubting his judgment. This woman definitely was no flake.

  “He’s an Ifrit,” I said. “A sort of semimagical creature, I guess, but I can’t tell you exactly what he is because I don’t know. No one does. But, I think, he’s also very much a dog. If you just consider him in that way it should work out.”

  She nodded without comment. “And the blocking energy?”

  “It’s a stasis spell. As long as it’s in effect, his condition won’t deteriorate. I wanted to wait until you were ready before I removed it. I don’t think he has that much time.”

  Campbell slowly walked over to the bench containing all the bottles and jars. She started sorting through them, picking out some and discarding others.

  “I understand the logic,” she said, “but unfortunately I won’t know what I’ll need until I can get a look at what his problem is. He seems to be injured, but at the same time he seems to be ill. What did happen, anyway?”

  “We had a disagreement with someone and it turned violent. He got caught by a power surge, or a spell, or a psychic blast. It doesn’t matter what you call it, because none of those things are anything more than labels. If I knew what the mechanism of it was, I could have fixed him myself.”

  “Wrong word,” she chided. “You fix cars. Living things are healed.”

  I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t in the mood for hair splitting, and I certainly wasn’t about to alienate someone who might be Lou’s only hope. Something must have shown on my face, though, because she apologized a second later.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Now is obviously not the time for grammar lessons. I tend to say things like that when I’m worried.”

  She reached under the bench and pulled out a small cast iron pot sitting on three stubby legs. It couldn’t have held more than a pint. She set it up next to Louie, lit a can of Sterno, and placed it under the pot.

  “Witch’s cauldron,” she said, smiling to show she wasn’t serious. Or at least, not completely. She started rummaging around in the glass containers again. “I can at least set up the basics, things I’ll need whatever the specifics turn out to be.” She picked up a bunch of small earthen bowls and started placing herbs into them, a different herb in each bowl. “Spearmint leaf,” she murmured. “Always good for clarity.” Another pinch of something went into another bowl. “Hyssop. Burdock root. Eucalyptus. Maybe some angelica? Couldn’t hurt.” A long pause. “Hawthorne berries. That should do it.”

  I started having doubts again. Magical energy, as far as I knew, was not affected by twigs and berries. She turned and gave me an appraising look. Whatever else her abilities, this woman was adept at reading body language.

  “You don’t have to believe any of this is necessary,” she said. “If it makes you more comfortable, just think of it as metaphor. It may well be just that, but one thing I do know is that I can’t work without my tools.”

  I realized she was right. It was no different than my needing a folded piece of paper before I could work a locating spell. She was simply a practitioner from a different tradition, a folk tradition, even if she didn’t view herself that way.

  She crossed over to the small kitchen area on the opposite wall of the cabin. She turned on the sink tap and ran her fingers under the stream of water. I thought she was just cleansing her hand, but she crossed back and flicked water off her fingers onto the heated iron brazier. The drops sizzled and popped with a satisfying crackle.

  “Hot enough,” she said.

  She picked up the small earthenware bowls filled with herbs and put them down next to the pot. Then she lowered herself down next to Louie, sitting cross-legged, and looked up at me.

  “Okay,” she said.” I guess I’m as ready as I’m going to be.”

  I walked over to Louie and bent down over him. I didn’t feel very confident, but there was no point in worrying now. As was usual of late, there weren’t a whole lot of options. I placed my hand just over him, less than an inch away, utilized the technique Victor had supplied, and took up the energy surrounding him. Campbell immediately bent over him and ran through the routine she had done when I first arrived. When she was done, she straightened up, and I didn’t like the look on her face.

  “This is going to be more complicated than I thought,” she said. “And you were right; we don’t have much time.”

  “What’s the problem?” I asked.

  “Do you know anything about computers?”

  I didn’t see the relevance, but as she said, we didn’t have much time so I simply said, “Not much.”

  “Well, let’s just say that his problem is in a place I can’t access, so I’m going to have to move it to somewhere where I can. But there is one good thing. His problem is artificial, not organic, so if I can bring him back he’ll be fine. It will be like nothing ever happened.”

  While she was talking, she headed back to her herb collection. She opened an amber jar. “Lavender, valerian root.” She reached under the bench and came out with a sandalwood box. “And something stronger.”

  Campbell threw a touch of the lavender and valerian into the brazier. They started smoldering together, and a thick, syrupy odor filled the room. The fragrance of lavender combined with another scent both pungent and almost offensive. I assumed that was the valerian root. The wood-burning stove was already pumping out enough heat to make the room feel close, and the heavy scent started making me sleepy in spite of myself. Then she opened the sandalwood box and added a hefty dollop of a dark treacly paste. A perfume I was somewhat familiar with immediately crept into the room, creamy and distinctive. Campbell looked over at me.

  “Opium,” she confirmed. “I have to shift what’s left of him out of the space he’s in and into a natural coma before I can bring him out of it. That is, if you can consider a drug-and spell-induced coma natural.
It is dangerous, though. There’s so little life force left in him that the opium might be the last straw that pushes him over the edge.” She suddenly looked unsure of herself. “I’m sorry. I don’t know any other way to go about it.”

  I didn’t say anything, giving tacit agreement. She picked Louie up and cradled him in her lap. The fumes from the brazier grew thicker, cloying and heavy. Without the slightest trace of self-consciousness she started singing in a low, pleasant voice, a lullaby I had never heard:

  Slumber my darling

  I’ll wrap thee up warm

  And pray that the angels

  Will shield thee from harm…

  Her voice trailed off until there was only an inaudible whisper of song echoing in my head. She gave me a quick smile. “Stephen Foster,” she said.

  I thought I noticed a slight change in Lou. Although he hadn’t so much as twitched, he now appeared more asleep than dead. Campbell laid him back down on the rug and sprang to her feet. She quickly seized a metal cover and put it over the brazier, cutting off the fumes. She grabbed a couple of pot holders on the refrigerator where they hung from their magnets and dumped the contents of the pot into the sink. Then she started trying to scrub out the gummy residue, burning her arm in the process as it brushed against the side of the pot. She pronounced a couple of choice words that are not to be found in most healing rituals.

  “Good enough,” she pronounced, and set it back on the floor. “I knew I should have bought that extra pot, though.” She gestured at me. “Get a chunk of wood ember out of the stove and put it in the cauldron. Quickly, he’s barely hanging on.”

  As she spoke, she picked up a muslin bag and started emptying out wood shavings onto the floor, selecting the ones she wanted using criteria I couldn’t even guess at, except that they were all paper thin.