George Knows

by Mindy Mymudes

  Back Cover

  Midgrade Urban Fantasy by Mindy Mymudes

  An egotistical magical basset hound named George believes it's his duty to train and protect his 12-year-old Girlpup, a greenwitch named Karly. He and his Girlpup, must solve a murder as well as save their park from being developed. George is the perfectly designed familiar for the job.

  GEORGE KNOWS

  MINDY MYMUDES

  MuseItYoung, division of

  MuseItUp Publishing

  www.museituppublishing.com

  Chapter One

  “George, what is wrong with you, you stupid dog? Why’d you trip me?”

  Humph. She calls me stupid? It wasn’t me that stomped on the plant. Way to finish the plant-smooshing process. Guess Auntie Heather isn’t going to get her herbs today.

  Does that mean no treats?

  As Karly’s familiar, my job is to help train her to use her skills as a witch. Karly isn’t the easiest Girlpup to teach, even with the help of our Auntie Heather, who is very old and experienced in the ways of witches.

  Grrr! Why is my Girlpup so senseless? Bend down, Karly. Bend down, already! It’s right there, in front of your nose. If you take another step, you’ll squash it and your aunt’s going to be upset. Groan. Karly takes the step and squishes the plant we’ve spent all afternoon looking for. Like most Peeps, Karly walks with her head in the clouds, forgetting there’s a whole world at her feet.

  Snort. This is about to be fun.

  Well, for me, not so much for Karly. I step in front of my Girlpup. She trips over my handsome, low-slung body and lands on her face. The grass is soft enough—she’s not hurt. It’s just more proof of how silly it is to only have two feet. If she were lower to the ground, the Girlpup wouldn’t fall so far. I am built low to the ground, like a sleek motor car. A black, furry car with tan and white trim, that’s me. I’m not a racing car, though. It’s wrong to waste energy.

  Auntie Heather says Karly is a normal Girlpup. She doesn’t always pay attention to my lessons. She’ll learn…eventually.

  Sigh.

  Peeps take forever to grow up. She’s already too tall for a good basset hound, but short for a Peep. She could use more fur, too, she keeps getting it cut off. It’s not very pretty, not like my contrasting patches of light and dark. She looks like a Cavalier King Charles spaniel—her face is too flat, with practically no nose, eyes too round and white, and useless ears on the sides of her head.

  At least I get to be with my Girlpup to train her—something I can’t do when she’s in school.

  I shake my magnificent long ears and give her a soft nudge. Karly falls sideways and reveals the smashed remains of the leopard’s-bane. Basset hounds are short, but powerful. I bay at the plant, a long “arooo!” Come on, Girlpup—think. Think! You can do it. I’ve seen it.

  Once or twice.

  “Isn’t that the plant Auntie Heather wants us to get?”

  I look into her eyes and show her the picture Auntie Heather left with me. She giggles as she always does when she looks through my eyes. I’ve seen through hers, too. There are some very strange colors when she pictures something for me. They’re very distracting. How do you enjoy smelltastes, feelings, and sounds if you’re tied up with all those colors?

  She sighs. “I guess it’s lucky you tripped me then.” Karly removes her backpack from her shoulder and pulls out pruning shears and a brown paper bag. She snips off a handful of the blooms and tucks them into the bag. The bitter smelltaste fills my nose with cold. There is one last flower on Auntie Heather’s list. It’s something with dark dots. I concentrate on the image in my mind. It sort of looks like an upside-down mouse. Our aunt calls it jewelweed. I snoofle deeply. Let’s see, the plant likes it wet. The smell of wet muck, sweet petals, and… and…rabbit…

  Rabbitrabbitrabbit. I’ve got you. Dinner’s in the pot, Karly! Hurryhurryhurryup! “Arrrrooooo!” I look behind me. My short legs are great for keeping me close to smelltaste. My ears scoop it up and feed it into my nose and mouth. Karly, even though her legs are long, is slow. “Arooo!” She’s too far behind. I look at the rabbit’s trail, blazing warm with new heat. I glance back at Karly and let my legs give way, collapsing with an “oof” on my belly. No way can I get the rabbit and keep an eye on my Girlpup. Auntie Heather would hang me from my ears on the clothesline if I lost her. I don’t think it is a meaningless threat, and my ears are plenty long without stretching them.

  With a rumble, I wait for my Girlpup to catch up to me. My nose sorts through the smelltastes without my thinking about it. The long-gone rabbit scent, the trail tasting gray. The doe and her young are too far off to chase. From the edge of the park, car exhaust smelltastes oily and burned.

  What is that? A slithery gassulfurdrysnakecatstink? It’s very wrong and doesn’t belong here. I lean into the smelltaste and get to my paws. Scratching the ground, the scent boils up—old, musty, damp from spring rains, and frost-raised. Frost makes rocks hatch from underneath the ground, not whatever this is. This is interesting. The thing calls to me.

  Where is this thing from? I scrape the ground again, wondering what else is under there.

  “George, where are you?” My Girlpup calls. I hear her mumble something about losing her phone, and I’ll need to find it.

  My hearing is exceptional.

  When I need it.

  Now is not the time—she’s distracting me.

  “Agggh! You blockheaded freak. I bet you’re chasing a rabbit again. Why aren’t you a golden retriever?” Karly has a lot to learn. If she’d just learn to use her nose more, or use mine—that’s why we have a mind-link.

  I don’t understand my Girlpup; the rest of my Pack adores me. Packmom Doreen is always an easy conquest. She saved me when I was a puppy and I fell over my ears, and my legs wouldn’t stay under me. She is the most important member of the Pack—she feeds us.

  Just not often enough.

  Packdad Brian is very well trained and does whatever Packmom Doreen wants. In the last two years, I’ve become a model of the perfect hunting hound. Karly needs to see me for what I am, and she doesn’t.

  Yet.

  When I prowl in her mind, I see how she pictures me—a clumsy, stupid, wobbly pup. I shouldn’t have to prove to her I am the best familiar in the world or that I am brilliant. I shouldn’t, but I know I’ll have to.

  “George!” she shouts through panting. Why is she running? “Where the heck are you?”

  Although Karly’s scent changed after her twelfth birthday from sweetmilkFrootLoops to that fakeflowerchemical that she thinks removes her odor, I know it’s her. Even if I can’t smell her, I can still hear her stumble over the path. Big rocks and trees that scrape the sky get in the way. She needs to get lower to the ground. Now she’s sneezing. If only she’d work with me, her allergies would go bye-bye. Whoever heard of an allergic witch-in-training? We can use green magic. But Karly will first have to trust me.

  And she doesn’t.

  Yet.

  Maybe when she gets older.

  She will.

  I continue to scrape my claws into the damp ground, searching for more smelltastes and listening for my Girlpup. She’s panting like it’s a hot day. At least she’s catching up. I am satisfied she’s okay, and dig like a badger with my wonderful big paws and claws, the ideal excavation tools. I wish I was digging up the den of a rabbit. I slow to sniff.

  No.

  There’s no rabbit here.

  Something different’s calling me.

  What the heck is it?

  Dirt and roots pile up behind me, and my rear is now higher than my front as I dig. I scrape against rocks and try to push them away. They aren’t rocks—too long and thin. I wrap my jaws around one and toss it with a headshake out of the h
ole. I find another and do the same thing, until there is a pile of buff-colored things that look like bleached driftwood.

  I heave myself out of the hole and investigate my find. The thick sticks are hairy with fine roots. I pick one up. It’s light for its size, hollow, and about the size of a rawhide bone. It has a round knob on one side and is broken off on the other. I retrieve more pieces from the hole and sit. Maybe they are old branches.

  No.

  They don’t smelltaste like old branches.

  Hmmm.

  Karly finally shows up, huffing and puffing, out of breath. She needs to get out more. I poke my nose into the pile of things I’ve dug out. “George, what are you doing? You aren’t, um, eating those, are you?”

  I look at her like she’s crazy. I don’t eat wood.

  Anymore.

  Karly points to the things and counts them. “So what did you find? There are nine of whatever they are.” She bends down and touches one. “Weird, they look like someone snapped them in half.” My Girlpup takes one of the longer things and rubs off the dirt.

  She drops it like it’s a pan just out of the oven. I take a sniff; it’s not hot. There’s something here, though.

  Not a good something, either.

  “G-G-George, those are bones,” Karly’s voice breaks as she stutters over my name. I take another sniff. Yeah, they could be bones. What’s the problem with that? I lick one. It tastes like dirt. They’ve been here a long time.

  Yup.

  That’s it.

  Just a bunch of animal bones. Maybe a big dog buried them. What’s bothering her? The hackles rise on the back of my neck. The not good gassulfurdrysnakecatstink smelltaste spins around my brain like smoke.

  Oh.

  Oh no.

  I hack and cough. I know exactly what kind of bones these are.

  I look Karly in the eye and push a picture of a Halloween skeleton. I know she doesn’t like it when I go into her head without permission, but this is important. I am not sharing the good stuff, like manure, rotting fish, and dead animals.

  “No way. These aren’t human bones,” she squeaks and backs up.

  Nope, she can’t ignore these. I pick one up gently between my teeth and carry it to her feet. I carefully place it in front of her toes then shake my muzzle, lips flopping from side to side, trying to get the taste of Peep bone out of my mouth. Peep bone.

  It’s awful.

  Bassets do not eat Peeps’ bones. We only chew non-peep bones. We need our Peeps to hunt for our fresh, meaty bones.

  “George, leave it. We need to talk to Aunt Heather about them. She’ll know if they’re human or not, and what to do if they are.” Karly gulps. “If they aren’t…I hope they aren’t. You’ve never smelled human bones, so how’d you know?”

  Um, I am your familiar. I have magical skills? There’s something off about the bones, and a weak scent gets stronger as I inhale.

  Blegh.

  It’s a really bad smelltaste

  I watch as Karly runs to the parking lot where her bike is stashed. Yellow plastic tape wraps piles of rocks and lumber and large trucks with big scoops and flat fronts are parked behind barrels. Auntie Heather told Karly someone called a Developer is going to turn the park into houses. She also said it’ll be “over her dead body.”

  While Karly unlocks her bike, I mouth the blue bandana off my neck and lay it on the ground. I pick up each bone and nose the corners together. Now it’s easy for me to carry the bones back to Auntie Heather.

  “George! Hurry up, we need to get Auntie Heather’s before something happens to the bones.”

  What will happen?

  Will a big bird scoop them up?

  No bird is going to like dry old bones.

  I’m better than a bird and I don’t like the idea they’re Peeps bones, either.

  Maybe they aren’t.

  Probably are. I’m never wrong about Peep’s bones.

  The package in my mouth, I carry them to Karly. Why bother Auntie Heather when they’re just as easy to take with us?

  “George, I told you to leave it!” Karly doesn’t sound very happy with me. For what might be the first time, she finds the spot where two shiny silver chain leashes are clipped together in our minds, the bond between us that was linked when Auntie Heather gave her to me. She shows me an image of me taking the bones back to where I found them. I snort. There are better uses for the link, but it’s a good first try. Except, I am not going to do it. I picture her on the bike with the bandana pouch hanging from the handlebars.

  “I don’t think so.” She drops her bike and goes after me. “Give!”

  I shake my head and slobber flies all over the place. The bandana pouch wraps around my muzzle, making it harder for her to get if she’s going to steal it. Karly wipes her face where some of my drool makes a direct hit. My Girlpup grabs my collar and it slips over my handsome head. She doesn’t expect that, and falls back onto her rump. I walk onto her chest to make sure she’s in one piece. Strings of drool drip onto her face. It’s good to make her wake up.

  “George! Off! Stop it!”

  Oops, I guess she’s awake. Hey, why’s she laughing? An image shoots down our link. My wrinkly face, muzzle wrapped with a wet bandana, hanging over her face. Why is that funny? Snort. This is serious business.

  “Fine. I give up. We’ll take it to Auntie Heather.” She pushes me off, dresses me in my collar, and hooks up her leash before she unwraps the bundle and takes it from me.

  “I wonder what Auntie will think of your treasure. They can’t really be human.” Who’s she trying to convince? My Girlpup ties the bundle to her handlebars and takes off for Auntie Heather’s den. Karly is dragging me on the hot sidewalk forever. I like Auntie Heather’s den, it’s surrounded by big gardens. It’s not the same as the woods, though, and it’s far away.

  Chapter Two

  Huff, huff, huff. My mouth is dry as a new rawhide.

  I need water.

  Now.

  Nownownow!

  Karly forgets I am not built for speed—I am an energy-saving breed. She drags me by her leash while she rides her bike. Cough. Hack. Karly, I can’t breathe! I think I should put the brakes on and sit with my legs out, but the road is pebbly. I don’t like road rash and I like my tail, so I trundle behind her. At least it’s cool. Spring’s the best time. No time is good for running, though—unless there’s a rabbit at the end of the run. There is no rabbit.

  Sigh.

  No rabbit.

  It’s a good thing that Auntie Heather’s house is near the park where we were.

  Pant, pant, pant.

  I smelltaste tuna fudge and Auntie’s strong herbplantcinnamonSnickerdoodle smelltaste fills my mouth and nose. She always knows when we’re coming and makes me nummies. She’s one smart Peep.

  Drool.

  Not as dry as I thought. My feet sound like thunder—badoom, badoom, badoom on the sidewalk—until I slide out of my collar, again. I break into a gallop and the sound turns to the racket of hail. There are nummies at the end. Karly tosses her bike on the car path and runs to the house after me.

  “George! Slow down, you need to keep this on.” My Girlpup holds out my collar, she’s unsnapped her leash and it’s hanging around her neck. I return to her and she buckles the collar back on. That’s good; I feel naked without it.

  We reach the big house. Auntie Heather opens the door and comes out onto the covered porch that wraps around her house. The screen door slams behind her with rattle. A metal bowl of water sloshes in her hands. It’s not as yummy as in the toilet, but it smellfeels cold.

  Excellent.

  Put it down already. I stomple my feet to make my point clear. She frowns down at me, hair hanging over her eyes like an Old English Sheepdog, still holding my bowl, making a point to look at my paws.

  Uh oh.

  “When were your toenails cut last?” Her eyes track from my feet to Karly. I try to curl my toes under.

  What’s this thing with short t
oenails? My claws are tools. They dig, they scratch, they are important. They aren’t meant to be short. Ugh. Aunty Heather is staring at me again. Wait a second, I’m magic. What if I think them into shortening a little? I put everything I can into my nails.

  Nothing happens.

  I think harder, my wrinkles folding on top of each other.

  Still nothing.

  I try one more time and peek down at them.

  Nothing.

  What good is magic if I have to accept the torture of nail trimming?

  Auntie Heather finally places the water in front of me. I dunk my mouth and ears into the bowl and slurp as fast as I can.

  “It’s not torture and if we don’t cut them they’ll curl under and you won’t be able to walk. Sometimes I wish magic worked for cleaning and grooming too—then I wouldn’t have to dust and vacuum.”

  When I finish, I shake my ears dry. Ahhh, I needed that.

  “Oh, yuck! George, you have a deadly aim,” Karly says to me. Auntie Heather is still looking at my feet. I need a distraction. I nudge my Girlpup’s hand.

  Karly wipes her face and turns. “Auntie Heather, look what we found!” She hands over the lumpy bandana pouch. “Are they human?”

  What we found? Snort. Get real, young friend, I found them. You can’t find anything under the ground even if you fall over it. I drink more of the sweet water and carry the last mouthful to Auntie Heather. I drop it on her feet to thank her for her thoughtfulness.

  “You’re welcome, George.” She shakes her feet, one at a time.

  The proper way to dry off.

  Karly makes gagging noises. She doesn’t even have a tight collar on to choke her.

  “So, what did you bring me that you think could be human?” Auntie Heather opens the bandana pouch and looks at the bones inside. “Interesting. Oh, before I forget, did you bring my leopard’s-bane and jewelweed?”

  Auntie Heather waits while my Girlpup digs in her pack for the sack of plant bits and they trade bags. “I didn’t get a chance to get the jewelweed. We found the bones and thought we should show you right away. We can get the jewelweed tomorrow. I promise.”