Mongrel did not like waking up early.

Neither did he like walking. Or sleeping outdoors. Or eating flavorless rations so tough his jaw was always stiff. Or listening to a troll talk about the artistic subtleties of pornography. Or being in mortal peril every fucking day.

I should never have come on this trip, he told himself each morning.

And he thought it again on the tenth morning. I should never, ever, ever have come on this trip.

I should never have let Will talk me into this nonsense. Practice dungeon, really? What a joke. That bullshit artist just made it up on the spot.

He didn’t know what it was about that kid, that he always managed to rope Mongrel into the stupidest, most dangerous shit.

I wonder where I’d be right now if I hadn’t picked up that freshie five years ago. Probably sipping beers in a nice rocking chair somewhere, just living the good life. Enjoying the sunset.

That mental image made him smile. Until he came back to reality and realized that he wasn’t admiring a beautiful sunset after all, but looking up at an ugly gray cloud cover.

Looks like rain.

Fuck my life.

The only thing that had made this disaster just a little bit more liveable was, for whatever reason, the demon. By the time he sat up, he found her already at work making breakfast, cooking up the last rashers of bacon they’d bought in Timbryhome over the fire.

He’d never understand that woman. One minute she was nice and sweet with him, and the next she was acting like a witchy mother-in-law, just nagging and mocking and criticizing.

All that being said, she had been making his life easier. Cooking for him, washing his clothes. And her company had helped take his mind off the worst of it.

He still didn’t quite believe that she wanted to be his familiar, but she was clearly taking the gig seriously, even before officially landing it. Her cooking was even getting better. She’d learned to soak any meat in water before cooking—unless it was caught fresh—to get some of the excess salt out of it. It was usually still extremely salty, but it helped a little.

No matter how long he spent in this world, he’d never get used to all the salt. It couldn’t really be helped, since there weren’t many other methods of food preservation available, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

They ate the last of their bacon with the last of their bread, and then it was back on the road again.

It did rain after all. They all put on their coats, and those that had cloaks wore those, but it didn’t take long before they were soaked anyway. They had to walk next to the road as it became a wet mire of squelching mud that would suck the boots right off your feet.

Something was off that day. Something felt wrong, outside the usual misery that the trip entailed.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. A strange tightness in his chest, a shortness of breath like he was about to get up on stage in front of a thousand people.

But why? Am I sick or something?

He didn’t feel sick. It wasn’t that.

Nothing was wrong.

But it felt wrong.

He tried to ignore it, tried to push it to the back of his mind, but it kept on annoying him. An itch he couldn’t reach.

Nix spoke to him throughout the day, but he couldn’t remember any of what she said. He couldn’t remember his replies, either.

He let Zero lead him more than he led her, just focusing on putting one foot in front before the other in endless repetition.

He checked in on Number One around the afternoon, stepping into the ape’s brain to see the world through his eyes. Being back in the house was always a comfort. For just a minute, he could pretend that he wasn’t exhausted and soaking wet in the middle of monster-infested goober land.

Everything was fine back at the house. Number One was doing all right. The chickens had been fed, the crops had been tended to, and no one had come by to make trouble.

Everything is fine.

The road departed from the river that day, snaking deeper into the woods. Oaks and redwoods were replaced by squat, twisted beech trees that wore long beards of hanging green lichen. Many were dead and gray. The tree branches extended above the path like huge gnarled hands, just waiting to swoop down and snatch them up.

It was more than a little unnerving. He didn’t much appreciate the haunted forest vibe.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Will assured everyone that it was fine, nothing to worry about. Mongrel wasn’t sure he believed that. Will liked to sound like he knew what he was talking about, but Mongrel knew better than anyone that he was just making it up as he went along half the time.

Gug spent all day writing in that notebook of his. Reading on the go was one thing, but Mongrel couldn’t understand how the troll was able to write and walk at the same time, only that he was pulling it off. He resisted the urge to ask Gug what he was writing about. He suspected the troll might never stop if he got going on the subject.

Mongrel jerked up when his ear received a sharp yank, pulling him out of his ruminations. He looked up to find the demon staring, boring into him with those dangerous yellow eyes that always looked like she was sizing him up as a potential meal.

“Hmm, what?” he asked.

“I said, what’s your favorite position?” she repeated, sounding deeply offended that he hadn’t been paying attention.

Mongrel tried to summon enough focus to think of an answer. “Um… Doggy, I think?”

She grinned at that, showing sharp canines. “Not bad. It certainly suits you, Dog Man.”

Mongrel snorted. “Didn’t think of it like that, but I guess you’re right. What about you?”

“Probably reverse cowgirl. You Earthlings brought that one with you—very enjoyable. You are a delightfully lecherous race.”

“On behalf of my people, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was intended as one.”

Mongrel opened his mouth to reply when something snapped inside him like a piano wire. All that sense of wrongness that had accumulated throughout the day was released all at once.

Mongrel fell to his knees, groaning. He felt at his chest in a panic, but he wasn’t in pain. Not physical pain, anyway. He pitched forward onto all fours; gasping, unable to take a proper breath.

“What in damnation are you doing?” Nix asked, hands on hips as she frowned down at him. “Has the day finally come? Are you completing your transformation into a dog?”

“Please be quiet,” Mongrel panted.

What just happened to me?

What’s going on?

He felt the alarm of his boys as they shared his anguish, both Number Three up in the trees and the others who were resting inside of him.

Except…

Not quite everyone.

Number One wasn’t there anymore.

No matter how much he reached out for that connection, he couldn’t find it anymore. He couldn’t trace his consciousness back to the house, or open himself to the mind of the old chimp.

He was gone.

It didn’t take Mongrel very long to realize what he had done. That one had always been too sly for his own good.

When he looked up, he found everyone standing around him, wearing worried expressions.

Will got down on one knee and put a hand on his shoulder. “What’s the matter, brother? Are you hurt? Ill?”

“No,” Mongrel said, shaking his head. “It’s Number One. He severed the familiar bond.”

*****

They called an early stop for the day and made a fire by the side of the road under an improvised wind shelter—made from a tarp and scavenged wood—so that Mongrel could explain everything in detail. Although, as always Will had already riddled out most of it by himself.

The boys sat on his left and right. They were all nursing a cigarette, himself included.

“That old bastard knew I would never tag him out,” he said. “So he took matters into his own hands. Waited until we’d gotten too far to turn back.”

“I understand that this is very difficult for you,” Will said from across the fire, not a shred of sympathy showing on that one-eyed prick.

“You understand, but?” Mongrel bit out.

“But I have to admire Number One’s cleverness. I think this is what’s best for all of us. Including your boys.”

“Don’t talk about them like you care.”

“I do care, Matt.”

Mongrel scoffed. “You’re not as good a liar as you think you are, brother. We both know there’s not room for a thimbleful of love in that black heart of yours.”

Will just pursed his lips and regarded Mongrel with a long, patient look. Like a teacher waiting for the problem student to stop kicking up a fuss.

God, I want to fucking strangle him.

He was right. Of course he was. He was always right. That only made it twice as infuriating.

Number Two put a comforting hand on Mongrel’s back, rubbing him in small circles. Mongrel patted his head back with a shallow sigh.

There was no point in getting angry—nothing that could be done now. Until they made it back to the house, there was no way to reestablish the connection with Number One. And it really was too late to turn back. Even if he wanted to, no one would come with him. There wasn’t even any point in asking

But as soon as he let go of his anger, a great sinking worry overtook him instead.

If Number One got killed while they were gone, he wouldn’t come back. Bandits, monsters, even the lord’s toughs could come by the house, and there wouldn’t be anything that one chimp alone could do to fend them off.

Mongrel didn’t even know what would happen to Number One now that he was no longer a familiar. Would he lose the attributes he had gained from Mongrel? Would he lose his intelligence and go back to being just a regular chimp? If that was the case, would he even stay put? Or would he wander off into the woods, no longer able to reason the significance of caring for house and home?

“Matthew?” Nix asked with an unusual softness in her voice. She stood up on his right and rounded the campfire. She wandered over to him, hands clasped before her. “Could I speak with you alone for a while?”

“Yes,” Will cut in, “you two should take some time. The rest of us will see to dinner.”

Mongrel had already decided not to be angry, but Will was making it very difficult.

He stood up with a sigh, wiping wet leaves from his behind. “All right, then. Let’s go.” When the boys went to follow, he motioned for them to stay.

As they were leaving, Will fetched a sparkling glass vial from the saddlebags and gave it over, folding Mongrel’s fingers around the elixir with his free hand to make sure he was holding it securely.

“Best of luck, brother,” Will said.

Mongrel nodded.

He and Nix walked into the hoary old wood, the demon sauntering in front and him plodding behind her.

She certainly seemed to be in a good mood.