And then, somewhat against my recent run of fortune, it went light again. And cool. I was on my back, and I was, improbably, alive. I rolled, gathered myself onto my knees and retched, hacking and spitting black slime onto the ground.
“Classy,” said Renthrette. “These theatre types are such sophisticates, don’t you think, Garnet?”
Garnet’s face swam into view, and he gave me an appraising look.
“A study in elegance,” he remarked.
I sat up, a rope of gray drool trailing across my chest.
“I’m alive,” I said. “Unless you two idiots are my special hell, which is not beyond the realm of possibility.”
“You’re alive,” Renthrette confirmed.
“I got out!” I gasped. “How did I…?”
But Renthrette’s broad and knowing grin told me all I needed to know. As if to make the point, a wet muzzle thrust itself into my face and licked me.
“The bloody dog,” I said, trying to escape and failing. “The dog saved my life and pulled me from the forge before the building collapsed.”
“Correct,” said Garnet, matching his sister’s grin.
“And his fur got singed,” said Renthrette in her talking-to-a-baby voice, “and will take weeks to grow back properly just to save smelly old Will. Isn’t that right, Durnok? Isn’t it? Aren’t you a brave boy?”
“Is there another burning building someone can put me in?” I asked.
“There is not,” said Garnet.
“And are we under arrest?”
“We are not.”
I sat up, putting one hand gingerly around the great hound’s head in a way which was supposed to be friendly, and checking the street for any sign of the Empire soldiers. The forge was a blackened ruin, and the officer and his men were all gone.
“And are we…” I ventured, “by any chance, a bit richer than we were yesterday?”
Orgos loomed over me, lowered his face toward mine, and whispered.
“As a matter of fact,” he said, “we are.”
“Yeah?” I said.
Lisha squatted beside me and grinned at Mithos.
“Yeah,” she said.
I sat up, braced myself, and turned to the great hound.
“Who’s a good boy, Durnok?” I said, matching Renthrette’s tone. I ruffled the dog’s fur and his tail thumped rhythmically against my leg. “Who’s a good boy? That’s right. You are.”
A.J. Hartley is the bestselling writer of mystery/thriller, fantasy, historical fiction, and young adult novels.
Look for more Will Hawthorne short stories and check out A.J. Hartley’s full-length adventures in Act of Will and Will Power. His most recent novel is Burning Shakespeare.
Visit https://ajhartley.net for more information.
Howl-O-Ween
By Alex Erickson
MY VAN NO LONGER LOOKED LIKE MY VAN.
“I…it…” I turned to my husband, Manny, for help…
“I don’t know, Liz,” he said, vainly trying to hide his grin. “I think it suits you.”
The van, which once had the name of my rescue, Furever Pets, sprayed across the side, now looked like something out of a cartoon. Literally. As in, a well-known cartoon involving a dog who really loved his snacks.
“It’s not painted on,” my son, Ben, said. He was practically dancing with excitement. Even into his twenties, his childlike glee had yet to dissipate. “Once this is over, you can peel the wrap right off. It’ll look just like it used to.”
“I guess, but…”
“It’s for a good cause,” Manny reminded me. “And, really, I kind of like it.”
I sighed. “All right. But I’m not dressing up like one of the gang.”
Ben sighed dramatically and then sprinted for the house. “Hey, Amelia! We’re a go!”
My daughter, who was likely in her room, blasting her music through her earbuds, didn’t reply for obvious reasons.
“It’ll be all right, Liz.” Manny put an arm around me. “Do you think I’ll look good as a blond? I’m thinking you might, but I’m not so sure about me.”
I elbowed him in the gut, causing him to back away, hands up in surrender. He chuckled as he returned to the house to get dressed for the party. Across the street, my neighbor, Joanne, shook her head and went back into her house.
She’s probably thinking the Dentons have gone insane. Standing there, looking at my poor van, I couldn’t say I disagreed.
I headed inside to get ready myself. Tonight’s event was for a good cause, so I couldn’t be too mad at Ben for desecrating my van. The Howl-O-Ween event was held every Halloween at Jon Luckett’s farm. It raised money for shelter pets, while also promoting the neediest of animals in the hopes of finding them their furever homes.
I didn’t know a lot about Jon, but knew his reputation well enough. I’d helped out on other events, but he was always too busy to interact with us mere mortals. This year, I hoped to become more involved, but to do that, I needed to talk to Jon directly. He probably wouldn’t know me to see me, especially considering the event was a costumed one, and yet I planned on talking to him anyway.
Manny was in the master bathroom getting dressed by the time I was upstairs in the bedroom. I quickly threw on my outfit and stepped out into the hall. Manny had tried more than once to get me to agree to dress up, but I wanted no part of it. I was going to this thing to work, and I couldn’t do that with some outlandish outfit getting in my way.
“Really, Mom?” Ben asked with a frown as he looked me up and down. He was wearing a blond wig, a white shirt, and a neckerchief. “Can you get any more boring?”
“What’s wrong with this?” I was wearing jeans and a Furever Pets shirt, which proudly displayed our slogan, Purrfectly Defective, on the back.
“It’s not a costume.”
“It is!” I smiled. “I’m going as myself.”
Ben rolled his eyes in perfect imitation of his sister, who’d come out of her bedroom wearing a purple dress and a red wig.
“He’s right, you know?” she said. “Boring. I have another wig, an orange sweater, and some glasses you could use if you want.”
“Come on, Mom, it’ll be fun.”
I was about to respond when Manny joined us in the hall, wearing a green shirt and a goofy grin. “Not you, too,” I groaned. His dark hair was a mess atop his head, and he’d used what looked to be my eyeliner to dot his chin with stubble. This was going to be a long night.
Despite my family’s insistence I change, I refused to budge. I led the way downstairs, and paused to pet Wheels, the family cat, on the way out the door. She purred, butted her head against my leg, and then rolled away, her useless back legs tucked gently into her harness. I took her affection as approval for my attire.
We piled into the van a few minutes later. Manny drove, leaving me to fend off Amelia, who was sitting behind me, insisting I change before we got there. She’d brought the spare costume, just in case I changed my mind about dressing up.
I wouldn’t.
The sky had taken on a burnt orange hue that was perfect for this time of year. It was quickly fading to black.
“Did you talk to Lisa?” Manny asked. “She left you a message.”
“I did. She’s not doing great.”
Lisa Edmonds had lost her husband and golden retriever six months ago, and still had yet to recover. I’d tried to find her a rescue that would lift her spirts, but none of the dogs or cats I’d taken in seemed right for her. I was afraid she would slip away if things didn’t change. At seventy-six, her heart could only break so many times.