As I had suspected, searching for rooms to rent turned out to be a lost cause. With my card still declining and holiday pricing in full swing, the options were as grim as I’d expected. Even if I found something within my price range, there was the small matter of accommodating a werewolf. Not exactly a hot selling point on VRBO or Zillow.
So, I decided to spend the next hour in the bathroom.
Not just to sulk, either. By some grace of God, I hadn’t wet myself when Elmo crawled up my arm, and it seemed wise to eliminate any future risk before tackling the rest of Sandy’s chores.
That, and the banana chips were running their course.
I turned on the faucet and let the water run—mostly to drown out the racket from the other side of the door. Between squawking birds, yapping dogs, and the rustling of mice and other tiny creatures, the house seemed alive with noise. Even the memory of handling the mice, crickets, and mealworms lingered—their frantic squeals, the chirping that never stopped, and the feel of tiny legs crawling on my skin. I shuddered, recalling the sensation of Elmo’s hairy limbs skittering up my arm and neck. The kind of experiences that would come back to haunt your dreams.
But here, at least, I could breathe. The bathroom, with its pale green walls, bamboo towel rack, and a potted succulent on the windowsill, was a little sanctuary. The soft trickle of the faucet blended with the peaceful décor—a ceramic leaf-shaped soap dish, clean white towels. Rather Feng Shui. It was the one place in the house where I didn’t feel smothered by the noise, the fur, or things that wanted to crawl on me.
From outside, I could hear the faint click of paws against the floorboards, and a few wet noses appeared under the door, sniffing curiously. Apparently, personal space wasn’t something these animals understood. I locked the door, just in case one of them felt I was in need of company. I imagined that Coy wasn’t the only one for whom doors posed no real obstacle. Like, say, a cat that insisted on bringing me bugs.
I settled in for the long haul, pulling out Sandy’s notebook, Familiar Care. Some light reading while perched on the porcelain throne. I also had my phone handy with Google Translate open, ready to decode Sandy’s cryptic Latin scribbles.
There was something about this notebook that didn’t sit right. Familiar Care. It sounded straightforward, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d missed something. Couldn’t ‘familiar’ also mean something else? Maybe this wasn’t just about the familiar aspects of animal care.
I flipped through the notebook. Most of the entries I tried to translate didn’t make any sense. Half the time, Google spit back exactly what I typed in, as if it were Lorem Ipsum text. Utter gibberish. Odd, because the syntax felt structured, and I recognized bits of scientific names sprinkled throughout. It had the look of Latin—enough to trick someone—but it didn’t read like Latin.
Perhaps some kind of transliteration—a different language, dressed up in the Latin alphabet—same as English, just different phonetics. Something meant to be spoken. But I’d seen enough horror movies to know you don’t go muttering strange words in a creepy house. At least, not unless you wanted the walls to start bleeding, or summon the Ghost of Rent Payments Past.
Instead, I skimmed through the rest of the notebook. Whenever Sandy made an entry for a new foster animal, she always ended with a hand-drawn picture of the creature. The drawings were surprisingly detailed—realistic but with a comic-book flair. Sharp lines, clean shading. Not quite what you’d expect from a biology journal, but weirdly charming, and, honestly, better than what I could manage. Dogs, cats, even more exotic creatures—all captured with enough detail to feel alive on the page.
Then there were the other drawings—the ones I’d thought were random doodles at first. In the margins, between notes on feeding schedules and behavioral quirks, Sandy had drawn symbols. Simple geometric shapes—circles inside triangles, spirals, intersecting lines—but they reminded me of logos or brand marks. I flipped through, seeing them repeated again and again. Harmless, maybe, but too deliberate to be just idle sketches.
Something about them tugged at my memory, like I’d seen them before, but I couldn’t place where.
Sandy had cared for a lot of animals over the years, though most of the notebook was filled with creatures no longer around. A few pages were dog-eared, marking those still here—my current charges. Most of those entries were toward the back, but oddly enough, a few up front were marked as relevant. Murray was among them, along with some of the turtles, which made sense. Turtles lived forever, and Murray was ancient, pushing… 11 years. Damn, no wonder he had arthritis. He was old as dirt for a dog.
But what really caught my eye was an entry for Nevermore.
JT had warned me not to say the raven’s name or quote Poe around him. At the time, I figured it was just a joke—something to keep the mood light. But seeing Nevermore’s image in Sandy’s notebook, surrounded by her cryptic script, gave me pause. The entry was older, tucked near the every front, as if it had been important once. Maybe still important now.
There, in Sandy’s looping handwriting, was something that looked like a name—his real name, written in the same strange cryptic script found throughout the rest of the notebook.
I sounded it out in my head, stopping short of saying it aloud.
Edgar.
I blinked.
You’ve got to be kidding me. The raven’s name was Edgar? Edgar, as in Edgar Allan Poe? That was it? All that ominous warning, all the buildup—and the bird’s name was literally Edgar?
I snapped the notebook shut, stifling a disdainful laugh. So much for deep and mysterious. I’d nearly fallen for a dumb inside joke.
“JT with his stupid little smile and his stupid little jokes,” I grumbled under my breath as I cleaned myself and washed my hands. This whole situation was getting under my skin. I’d started the day thinking I was just pet-sitting a bunch of eccentric animals, and now here I was, spiraling into theories about haunted houses and cursed pets. Ridiculous. I had bigger things to worry about than an overdramatic raven with a pretentious name. Managing nine dogs (ten, if I included myself) was hard enough.
And Nevermore was a better name anyway. The real Edgar would approved, I was sure.
The faucet gurgled as I turned it off, the dread easing just a little. Whatever was going on with these animals, it had to be the result of their quirky owner, Sandy. That said, I wasn’t about to start chanting strange phrases or drawing pentagrams in the margins. No need to tempt fate.
For now, I’d focus on getting through the evening alive.
Evening chores—aka dinner—were scheduled for 6 p.m., but I wanted to be in the barn before then, giving myself plenty of time to prepare for when things got hairy. Yesterday, I’d cut it too close, and I wasn’t about to make that mistake again. So, at 5 p.m., I kicked off the dinner routine.
Dinner mostly involved the usual suspects: the dogs, birds, and some of the bigger fish. I started with the dogs because, surprise surprise, they were an impatient bunch. The second I stepped out of the bathroom, they trailed behind me, their excitement building as I approached the pantry. They swarmed me at the sound of a crinkling food bag.
Puddy, the jumper who had knocked me off the fence earlier, launched himself right at me—paws landing square on my chest, his nose practically in my face. I stepped on his back paw, gently but firmly.
“Down,” I commanded, using both my voice and dog-speak. Puddy sat, trembling in place as if he were a coiled spring, ready to pounce again at any second.
Even Coy was dancing in place. Normally energetic, sure, but now something had elevated his mood. What was the big deal? This was just an extra meal, and they’d been fed earlier. JT had seen to that both this morning and at noon when we met.
Still, I knew from experience that hungry dogs were prone to mischief. Better to err on the side of safety.
“All right, everybody, sit.” I shot the command at the rest of the pack. Most of them obeyed, tails wagging madly, though a chorus of eager whines still filled the room.
Boden, of course, hadn’t even bothered to try. He stood right up against me, his face pressed against my navel, staring up with his wide grin, oblivious to the concept of personal space. I was pinned to the wall.
“Boden, move,” I ordered. But Boden didn’t see a reason to budge. In his mind, the logic was simple: here was food, so here he stood. He didn’t seem to grasp that I couldn’t move through walls or dogs.
“I can’t feed you if I can’t move, Boden. Come on, move over.”
It took a second for him to catch on, his brow furrowing like the concept of tangibility was such a foreign one. Finally, with a huff—like this was all some great inconvenience to him—he shifted aside.
Freed, I Pied Pipered the dogs into the garage, the crinkling bag my flute. I started in alphabetical order—the same order on JT’s food chart—but I skipped Annie just to get Boden fed first. Maggie and Murray would eat in the kitchen, so I’d save them for last.
I set Annie’s bowl near Boden at first, but the little Boston Terrier barely made it to her food before his massive wagging tail punted her across the garage. She sprang up and barked at the offending tail, then made a valiant attempt to subdue it, latching onto like a cowboy atop a bucking bronco. She was a tough little thing, but no match for that wrecking ball. I moved her bowl to a safer spot, out of the tail’s warpath.
Next came Coy, followed by Emma, another collie like Coy. Now that I was able to handle the dogs one by one, instead of as a mass of fur and tongues, I started to notice differences between them. Coy had a rougher coat, his ears a little too large for a purebred collie. Definitely a mutt. Maybe that mix of breeds explained his peculiar behavior.
Then came Puddy, followed by Rosie, another black lab, but stockier. She had a broader chest and a blockier head than Puddy, suggesting to me that she had more than a hint of pit in her.
Last was Rudy, who, by the time I reached him, was already humping the air. His flapping Fu Manchu looked like strands of Spanish moss swaying in the wind.
Finally, I turned my attention to Maggie and Murray, the old-timers stationed near the kitchen door, watching the activities in the garage like parents watching kids at recess.
After serving them their wet food mix, I poked my head back into the garage just in time to catch Boden making a move for Emma’s bowl.
“Hey! That’s not your food!” I shouted, both out loud and in dog-speak.
Boden blinked up at me, confused. But food must be eaten, said his thoughts.
“Not by you! Others need to eat too!”
That concept seemed lost on him—the idea that others might be hungry. I wrestled him off Emma’s bowl, using a submission technique Cadence had shown me, adapted for four-legged stubbornness. The results were... mixed. I got him off the bowl, but Boden was now sprawled on top of me.
Again.
Despite Boden devouring the rest of her bowl, Emma signaled she was full (it was an extra meal, after all) and rewarded me with a lick to the face. The others lickers quickly followed suit, even wise old Maggie, their breath ripe with the stench of dog food.
I struggled to escape, and Rudy ‘helped’.
Desperate, I made another plea to Coy, who graciously pushed his nearly empty bowl toward Boden. That little bit of food was enough to lure the big guy off me.
After shaking off Rudy, I fled into the kitchen, shutting the door behind me. My heart was pounding—more than it should have been. I headed straight for the sink, splashing cold water on my face. It was for more than just the slobber. The dogs’ excitement had been bleeding over into me, stirring the auto-dog inside, that restless wolf presence. Its energy pulsed through me, syncing my heart with the dogs’—too fast, too wild.
I gripped the edges of the sink, forcing myself to focus on the coolness of the water. My pulse thudded in my ears, and my chest tightened with a familiar, creeping panic.
Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe.
In through my nose, out through my mouth. Slowly, the racing in my chest eased, the wolf quieting as the cold water ran over my fingers. I didn’t know what had the dogs so excited yet again, but if this kept on, with moonrise drawing so near, it was going to be a problem. All the more reason I should finish up what I was doing and get to the barn.
I had just about collected myself when Phin and Ferb swooped down, perching on my shoulders like a matching set of shoulder devils.
“Give us this day our daily pancakes!” Phin squawked in his deep, preacher’s voice.
“And forgive us our apple pies!” Ferb added, bobbing his head in a cartoonish drawl.
I sighed. “Just tell me what you want, guys. Peanuts? Pomegranate?”
Phin clicked his beak, ruffling his feathers. “And lo, a feast!”
Ferb spread his wings dramatically. “A tithe of... popcorn!”
I groaned. “I’ll check the pantry.”
Sandy had a jar of popcorn kernels—the kind you microwave in a bowl. I measured out a reasonable portion, set it in the microwave, and hit start. Phin and Ferb mimicked the popping sounds, the noise right next to my ears like firecrackers going off indoors. I covered my ears, trying to avoid a permanent ringing for the rest of the night.
Once the popcorn was ready, I set the bowl on the table. Phin and Ferb dug in, making exaggerated moaning sounds, tweaking my earlier groan into something far more... suggestive.
“You guys are hopeless.”
I looked for Nevermore, but he wasn’t at his usual perch in the living room. In fact, I had no idea where he was. The rule of thumb was that he’d show up when he got hungry.
The Guinea Pig Palace was prepare yet another gourmet meal (which I felt inclined to try myself at some point), which just left one final item on the list: Carl.
“Here we go again,” I muttered, preparing his dinner. More veggies this time since he’d only eaten the meat and banana chips earlier. To my surprise, Carl actually ate everything. No fuss, no tantrum. That instantly made me suspicious.
Once his tray was clean, Carl pointed at a picture on his wall—a drawing of a banana. He gestured toward it like he was trying to negotiate.
“I can’t buy more chips until I get my keys back,” I told him.
He threw his tray on the floor.
Luckily, there was no food to spill, so no mess to clean up. Honestly, it had gone better than I expected.
As I was heading back to the kitchen with Carl’s tray, I heard a low mumbling sound. It was coming from the master bedroom—now the turtle room.
“Rap tap tapping on my chamber door,” the voice said, deep and raspy.
I pushed the door open and found Nevermore perched atop the open bathroom door, staring blankly into space, his voice a soft, gravelly murmur.
I crept closer, catching fragments of his strange monologue. “Once upon a midnight dreary...” he croaked, but then his voice shifted, deeper, almost human-like. “...Never finished the damned thing... Shall I dare to eat a peach?” His tone wavered, then back to his croaking voice: “...nevermore... nevermore...”
“There you are, Nevermore. Let’s get you something to eat,” I said, but the bird didn’t seem to notice me.
“Darkness there, and nothing more...” his voice trailed off before it deepened again, disturbingly human. “...unfinished business, indeed... ungrateful critics...”
“Hey, Nevermore, you want food?” I asked, hoping to snap him out of it.
He continued muttering. “...ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering... ‘Montresor, you fool’... the bells... the bells! Never again...”
I squinted. Was he quoting Poe or having a mid-life crisis?
“...forgotten lore... whispers of the night...”
I frowned. It was like he was flipping through radio stations.
I stepped closer, standing just below him, trying to get his attention. “Hey, Nevermore. Yoo-hoo?”
No response. His eyes stayed unfocused, beak twitching with more muttered fragments. “Nevermore... nevermore... so much work, so little time...”
“Hey! Edgar!”
Suddenly, his head snapped toward me, his eyes blazing white, and his voice shifted again—deeper, disturbingly clear, and shouted in my face, “For the love of God, Montresor!”
I jumped, dropping Carl’s tray with a loud clatter. The noise jolted me back to reality—and Nevermore too. He shook himself, his eyes back to normal. Without a second glance, he fluttered out of the room.
I stood there, gripping the edge of the door, trying to steady myself. That had to have been his nictitating membrane—those weird third eyelids birds have. Dogs and cats too. Perfectly normal.
Just the membrane.
When I returned to the living room, Nevermore was perched in his usual spot, pecking at his food like nothing had happened. Meanwhile, I was still trying to convince myself I wasn’t losing it. So the raven could quote Poe—big deal. People trained animals to do weird things all the time. TikTok was full of them. Phin and Ferb picked up lines from cartoons and church sermons, so why not Nevermore?
But those eyes... No. That had to be another trick. Just the nictitating membrane.
Right?
With the indoor animals fed, next up were the cat-sized koi in the garden. As I tossed in their food pellets, the ducks waddled over, quacking irritably at me, clearly demanding more peas. Sorry, pals, I thought. My fingers weren’t up for another assault. I tossed them some feed pellets instead, ignoring their grumpy quacks as they begrudgingly accepted the substitute.
I skipped the owls—they’d been fed twice today. Once by me at noon, and earlier this morning by JT. Besides, I wasn’t up for handling more mice.
Done with the evening chores, I decided it was time to change into something more comfortable.
Of course, my clothes were locked in my car. And my keys? Still locked in Carl’s enclosure. I hadn’t thought to grab any extras while I was at the store, since I was in a rush with ten dogs crammed in the car and short on cash. Still, if Sandy didn’t mind me using her guest room and her van, she probably wouldn’t mind if I borrowed a pair of pajamas for the night.
That meant finding her room—wherever that was.
Instead, I stumbled on the laundry room, tucked between the garage and the kitchen. Inside, I found a hamper full of neatly folded clothes. I paused. If Sandy had left in such a hurry, why would she have done laundry before running out the door? And if she had time, why leave it here instead of putting it away?
The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like JT had done some chores for her while she was gone. But that would mean JT had folded her clothes... and her underwear. Last I checked, folding someone’s underwear wasn’t exactly part of the pet-sitting gig.
Then again, V hadn’t said much about JT’s relationship with Sandy. She made him sound like some guy Sandy barely knew. JT, on the other hand, had assumed I already knew everything.
What else had he assumed?
I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I grabbed the first thing that looked comfortable: a yellow-and-pink pajama set. I slipped into them and tossed my filthy clothes in the washer. The pajamas were a little long, so I rolled up the sleeves and pant legs. Good enough.
When I stepped out of the laundry room, the dogs were waiting for me. All of them. Coy stood at the front, his eyes bright, a bundle of leashes clutched in his mouth.
I blinked. Oh... Oh!
That’s what had them worked up earlier.
A chorus of eager thoughts flooded my mind as the realization hit me: walk time. I’d promised them a walk later, and, judging from the snippets of thoughts I caught, it was also part of Sandy’s usual routine—dinner, then a walk.
“Aw, crap,” I muttered, guilt bubbling up. These dogs hadn’t done anything wrong. They’d waited patiently, and I’d let them down. I even raised their expectations without realizing it.
I checked the time—5:45 p.m. Moonrise was at 7:07. That gave me about an hour before the full moon took over. Maybe less.
A walk with this pack of excited dogs—a pack practically vibrating with anticipation—was a disaster waiting to happen. I wasn’t sure I could get them back before my time ran out, even if I tried. And worse, if the dogs were this amped up, the auto-dog inside me would be, too. The last thing I needed was to go full wolf while strapped to a bunch of leashes.
“Sorry, guys,” I said, feeling a wave of collective disappointment wash over me like a tidal wave. Coy’s big, questioning eyes only made it worse. They had every right to be excited, and now I had to let them down.
“We—I missed our chance.”
They deserved an explanation. Maybe even a bit of the truth, if they could grasp it. And it wasn’t like they could blab my secret to anyone.
I knelt down, scratching Coy’s ears as I mulled over how to put it. “I’ve got to go to the barn soon. Gonna be there all night. No time for a walk.”
The weight of their confusion pressed in on me—why wasn’t I taking them out? What had they done wrong?
I hesitated, feeling their disappointment settle like a heavy blanket around me. Could I even explain lycanthropy to a bunch of dogs? They deserved to know something, though. I decided to give it a shot. I sent them an image—the moon rising and me turning into a wolf. Clear and simple.
Coy cocked his head, clearly not getting it. The others just stared at me like I’d sprouted a second head.
I tried sharing a memory—one of my transformations, hoping it would bridge the gap. But that only seemed to upset Coy. His confusion shifted into unease, which rippled through the pack. Trying to explain this was like telling a kid their birthday party got canceled because the bank foreclosed on the house. It didn’t matter how much sense it made to me—it wasn’t going to make them feel any better.
“Alright, fine,” I sighed, giving Coy a reassuring pat. “Just... trust me on this, okay? Stay away from the barn.”
I turned to him, my unofficial second-in-command. “You’re in charge. Watch over the house tonight, alright? Maggie, Murray, help him out. Keep an eye on things.”
The older dogs gave me that steady, knowing look—or at least, I imagined they did. They got it, at least. The others? Not so much. They still watched me with those big, hopeful eyes, tails wagging like they were holding out hope for a last-minute walk.
“I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”
With that, I gathered my things: my bag, phone, a grocery bag of dog food and beer, and a spare dog bed I’d found stashed in a closet. The dogs followed me across the yard, their excitement lingering despite my refusal.
“Stay back,” I reminded them. “No one comes near the barn tonight. Got it?”
Coy gave me one last, questioning glance before heading back to the house, the others trailing behind him, their tails drooping. They’d listen. I hoped.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
I set myself up in the barn, dropping my things onto the cot and spreading out across the small table in the loft. A bag of dog food, a few cans of beer, and the spare dog bed from the house. After a quick check of the double doors and shutters—still locked—I climbed back into the loft, cracked open a Blue Moon, and sank into the dog bed. A bale of hay made for an adequate backrest.
The metal roof meant no Wi-Fi and no cell signal. So, no podcasts, no streaming. Just me, my beer, and Sandy’s weird notebook for the next hour. I flipped on the lightbulb and took another crack at Familiar Care.
I settled in, flipping through the dog-eared pages. I found a section on giving commands. It read like a dog-training manual, but the illustrations weren’t just dogs—they showed birds, monkeys, even a few reptiles. Strange, but kind of impressive. Dog trainers were everywhere, but someone who could train all these creatures? That took serious skill. Maybe that’s how Sandy made her living—training exotic animals. Or re-educating them, in Carl’s case.
By the time it was ten till seven, and I was about finished with my second beer, already feeling a decent buzz.
Since I was out of the house and feeling less paranoid, I decided to give pronouncing Sandy’s Latin-ish phrases another shot. Why not? Maybe she’d taught the animals to follow commands in this weird language. If knowing them helped me get Carl under control, it was worth a try.
Laying on my back, the book held up in front of me, I flipped to the page with basic commands—sit, stay, come—and started sounding them out in my head. They were nonsense, sure, but there was a weird echo to the words, like they carried some insistent undertone. Maybe I was slipping into dog-speak again.
Or maybe it was just the beer.
I moved on to other words like listen and speak when a low growl rumbled behind me. I yelped, dropping the book onto my face and sitting up, heart pounding. I turned toward the sound.
There, perched on the cot, was the black Maine Coon from earlier, its yellow eyes locked on me. It didn’t blink, didn’t move. Just stared.
My first instinct was to check for bugs or spiders. Nothing. Just the cat.
“What do you want?” I asked, throwing the word for speak into my thoughts, the way I would with dog-speak. Maybe it would work on a cat.
“Oh, clever,” the cat replied, in a deep, human-like voice. “Seems the dog has learned to read.”
I froze, mind blank.
I blinked again. Half-expecting some impression or feeling, like with the dogs, but this? His jaw moved. His mouth formed words.
“What the hell—when did you learn to talk?”
“I’ve always been able to talk,” the cat said with a dismissive flick of his tail. “You just haven’t been very good at listening.”
I stared. “Bullshit. I can communicate with dogs, sure, but they don’t use actual language. They’re smart, but not that smart.”
The cat stretched lazily, his back arching as he glanced at me, tail curling behind him like an exclamation point. “Don’t I know it.”
“No. You’re talking. Your mouth is moving. Listening’s got nothing to do with it.”
He rolled his eyes, sighing with exaggerated drama. His tail flicked again, this time more sharply. “If that’s what you want to believe, who am I to argue? The lengths you go to deceive yourself are far beyond what I’m willing to deal with.”
With that, he began licking his paw, the motion slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.
The patronizing tone dug at me. He was even more pompous than I’d thought. “So, what are you?”
He kept licking his paw, clearly in no rush to answer. After a moment, he paused, met my gaze, and said, “I’m a cat, obviously.” Then, as if to punctuate his point, he resumed licking, totally unfazed by the absurdity of the situation.
I wasn’t sure if the irritation boiling up inside me was mine or the auto-dog’s. Probably both.
“Cats don’t talk,” I asserted, folding my arms and glaring.
“Oh, my mistake,” the cat said, voice dripping with mockery. He coughed theatrically, then cleared his throat. “Ahem... meow.”
He didn’t even try to sound like a real cat.
I could feel my irritation rising like a slow boil. “What is it you want?”
“To lend you a paw.” The cat stretched, grunting contentedly, claws glinting in the dim light. “With how you’ve been floundering, I thought you could use the help.”
I snorted. “You call what you’ve been doing ‘help’? From where I’m sitting, you’ve just been a little asshole.”
His whiskers twitched, completely unbothered by the insult. “Figures. Wolves, dogs—you’re all the same. Ungrateful.”
I blinked. “Wait. How do you know about that?”
The cat sniffed, his nose lifting slightly. “Oh, please. The stench that clings to you is more than skin-deep. You should be honored I even tolerate your presence.”
“And why are you in my presence?” I asked, tossing in the word for speak again with my mind. I was one smart remark away from punting this cat across the barn.
The cat’s ears flicked back, eyes narrowing. “Would you stop that? You’re like a toddler with a loaded gun. Just because you’ve memorized a few words of Arcanum doesn’t mean you’re a practitioner. Leave magic for the adults.”
“There’s no such thing as magic,” I shot back, waving a hand as if to dismiss the idea.
“Said the werewolf to the kettle,” the cat replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
My heart did a slow, uneasy flip. I’d brushed off a lot of things today—chalked them up to stress or Sandy’s eccentricities—but the way this cat, whoever he was, was talking…
The truth was staring me in the face: the cat, maybe all of Sandy’s animals, weren’t just unusually intelligent—they were familiars. Like in the witchy sense.
Which probably meant that Sandy was likely a witch or something akin to it.
I mean, once you accepted lycanthropy, the rest wasn’t that much of a stretch.
Oh, AJ, what have you gotten yourself into?
“So, these Latin-looking phrases... they’re magic? Words or script?”
“In a sense,” the cat replied casually, licking his paw with deliberate care, as if the conversation bored him.
“If they’re so dangerous, why would JT just hand me the book?”
He huffed, his tail flicking with mild annoyance. “This JT likely assumed you were a practitioner. Or that you wouldn’t be able to read the script. Normally, the words are obscured to anyone untrained in Arcanum. Gibberish to most, or something innocuous if properly concealed. That you can grasp some of it? A testament to the author’s incompetence, not any talent on your part.”
“Well, go fuck yourself too,” I muttered under my breath.
He paused his grooming to give me a look, a stern look on his face, stern for a cat that is. “It’s important you understand how far out of your depth you are. Messing with magic won’t do you any good right now. It will only dig the hole you’ve stumbled into even deeper. Besides, you’ve got more pressing concerns.”
“Like what?”
He stood up, arching his back in a slow stretch. “Like I’m just going to tell you everything?” His voice oozed condescension. “How would you ever learn?”
“I thought you said you were here to help,” I shot back, frustration bubbling up.
“A proper instructor doesn’t hand out answers. He facilitates discovery.” His gaze was sharp, almost amused, as if he enjoyed watching me struggle.
I threw up my hands. “Oh, so you’re my instructor now? Alright, Instructor Cat, how am I supposed to ‘discover’ the answers I need?”
The cat flicked his tail again, smooth and controlled. “You may address me as Instructor Solomon. And you may begin by locking your door.”
I glared at him. “If this is a prank, you’ll find out what happened to the last cat that gave me sass.”
Begrudgingly, I descended the ladder and checked the double doors. They were locked tight.
“The other door, you twit,” Solomon called from above, his tone as smug as ever. “I’m beginning to think you’re a lost cause.”
I gritted my teeth. “I was getting to that one.”
I crossed the barn to the side door. Sure enough, I hadn’t engaged the deadbolt. But I needed the key to lock it. I sighed inwardly—back up the ladder.
As I rummaged through my bag, frustration gnawed at me. No keys. In fact, it wasn’t just the barn keys that were missing.
“You seem to have trouble holding onto things,” Solomon observed, his voice calm but laced with that infuriating smugness. “I wonder, where could they have gone? Or who might have—"
I didn’t wait for him to finish. I leapt down the ladder and bolted out the door, the buzz from the beer vanishing in an instant. My keys—Carl must have stolen them when he took my car keys earlier. The barn key was on that ring. So was the key to Carl’s cage. If he had the cage key, he could have slipped out at any point during the day, rummaged through my stuff, and stolen—
A gunshot cracked through the air, slicing through my thoughts.
Carl had a gun. My gun.
As a product of the South, I was raised in a gun-toting family. My dad, my brother, even my mom—they all carried, and I’d gotten my concealed permit at 19. When I moved out on my own, my dad gifted me a .38 Special revolver. Nothing says fatherly love like a housewarming present that goes bang bang. And, let’s be real, I was single, lived alone, and wasn’t exactly martial arts material, so the gun had always stayed tucked in my bag. Had being the key word.
At some point, Carl must have gotten his little monkey hands on it. Safety or no safety, it hadn’t stopped him from firing it.
The first shot should have scared him into dropping it. I hoped.
I sprinted across the yard, my heart pounding. The gun was loaded with target practice rounds, but those could still kill.
I burst through the back door and immediately dropped to the floor. Carl was standing on the coffee table, and swung to face me, gripping my five-shot revolver like a mobster wielding a tommy-gun.
Another shot rang out, wild and wide, shattering a window ten feet away. Carl’s aim was terrible, but judging by the angle, he might have actually hit the broad side of the barn.
That was the second shot. Which meant Carl had three left.
I slid behind the couch, yanking a couple of cushions for cover. Blindly, I chucked the first one over the top at Carl. I couldn’t aim the cushion any better than he could aim the gun, but it did the trick. Carl fired at it, using up another round.
On hands and knees, I scrambled toward the kitchen, slipping on something wet. The fish tank—Carl’s first bullet had shattered it, and now water was pooling across the floor. Of course. The little bastard had stolen my gun, and the first thing he did was break something. If JT found out, he’d never let me live it down. Assuming I survived this and kept the job.
Barking and screeching echoed through the house as the other animals reacted to the mayhem.
I glanced down the hall and saw the dogs poking their heads out of various rooms. Coy’s head popped through the back door. Stay! I commanded, using one of the words I’d learned from Sandy’s book, combining it with my dog-speak. The last thing I needed was a pack of dogs running into the crossfire.
Carl got the drop on me. I turned just in time to see him perched on the couch, the revolver aimed directly at me. But he didn’t fire right away. No, the little bastard was savoring it.
Seems he was still sour about the whole banana chip business.
From somewhere, I heard a bloodcurdling scream—Phin, or maybe Ferb, mimicking me when Solomon dropped Elmo in my lap. Carl flinched, turning just for a second. That was all I needed. I launched the second cushion, smacking him off the couch. The gun went off, the drywall above my head exploding into dust and plaster.
I scrambled toward the back rooms, staying low, trying to reach some place I could barricade myself. But I didn’t make it.
Moonrise had begun.
I collapsed mid-step, my body already starting to change. It was more abrupt than the night before—closer to the full moon now—but it still wasn’t fast enough. A minute or two at least.
Plenty of time for Carl to find me and put the last shot in my ass.
I had to speed it up. The transformation was happening, auto-dog was clawing its way out, whether I liked it or not. Normally, I fought it—maybe that was why it always took so long. But if I embraced it, maybe I could push the process along. Just this once.
I didn’t love the idea of handing the wheel to the auto-dog, but it was that or get shot by a monkey wielding my own gun. And if I ended up in the hospital with a bullet wound, I’d have to file a police report. I’d probably get fined for failing to secure my firearm and lose my concealed carry permit. Worse, I’d end up with a medical bill that would force me to declare bankruptcy. Or... end up dead, should I be so lucky.
I clenched my fists, trying to force the transformation forward. My skin prickled, muscles tightening as bones began to shift beneath them. I could feel the wolf creeping closer, the auto-dog ready to take over. It was either give in now or get shot—no contest.
Focusing on the wolf in the back of my mind, I used the command word come. It called the auto-dog forward, pulling it from the shadows, and I shoved it into the driver’s seat.
The wolf—the real wolf—was startled. It wasn’t used to this: being let out without resistance. I felt its confusion ripple through me, like it wasn’t sure what to do with the sudden freedom. That disorientation—being in a body still half-human—turned into a fierce drive to fully transform. Fur rippled across my skin, bones cracking, and within moments, I was on all fours.
My gamble had worked, but now the wolf didn’t know what to do. It was like tossing a kid behind the wheel of a car without any idea how to drive. It had control, but it hesitated, confused.
Move, I shouted in my mind, pushing my intention toward it.
The wolf sprang into action just as Carl’s shot struck the ground where we'd been lying. He had, in fact, been aiming for my ass. The wolf howled in surprise, then rage, as my emotions spilled over into it.
We turned toward Carl, limbs fully transformed now. He’d squeezed off his last shot, and it was time to negotiate. I directed the wolf’s attention to him and issued an ultimatum through dog-speak.
Carl, I’m going to rip you limb from limb, you little bastard!
Carl pulled the trigger again—click, click, click. Empty. The wolf lunged at him. Panicking, he threw the revolver at us, hitting us square on the nose. I say ‘us’ because we both felt it—the pain and the outrage. Between that and the pajamas still tangled around our legs, our jaws snapped shut inches from Carl’s face.
He screamed, bolting for the furniture, knocking over shelves and vases in his mad scramble. The wolf tore free of the pajamas, charging after him, my anger fueling its every step. Her every step. The huntress had taken over, and Carl was her prey.
Catch him, but don’t kill him, I instructed. But I could feel the wolf’s reluctance. She was in control now, no more playing the auto-dog, and I was stuck in the passenger seat—AJ, the Auto-Jane. I felt that I could still nudge her actions, as long as she wasn’t too focused on the kill.
Carl fled away from his room, darting down the hall—he had no choice since the wolf’s pursuit had cut him off from that side of the house.
Coy! We barked the command mentally, broadcasting it through the house. Close the back door. Don’t let Carl out of the house.
We couldn’t see Coy, but the wolf and I knew he’d hear us. Off in the distance, there was a click as a door shut—order confirmed. At the same time, I nudged the wolf to close Carl’s door too, cutting off his last route of escape.
Carl was going to learn some manners tonight.
He scrambled and dodged through the house, the wolf hot on his heels, as he hurled anything within reach—books, picture frames, even a lamp—but his options were limited. The wolf cornered him in the hallway near Elmo’s enclosure, the only exit a trapdoor in the ceiling he had no hope of accessing. He jumped onto Elmo’s tank, clearly thinking he could topple it and create a distraction.
The wolf rushed him before he had a chance to enact his plan, forcing him to abandon the tank.
He timed his jump, springing off the top of the enclosure.
With a burst of speed that surprised even me, the wolf leaped into the air, jaws wide, and caught Carl mid-leap. She had been listening to my thoughts when I anticipated his move. The instinct to shake him to death surged through us, but I wrestled the wheel back from the wolf, forcing my will onto her, quelling the urge.
He’s still our charge. We protect him, even from himself.
The wolf snarled but obeyed, clamping down just enough to hold Carl still and make him as uncomfortable as possible. Carl kicked and screamed, even bit, his free hand flailing, but the wolf held firm. Now that he was caught, she seemed uncertain what to do next. It was like a dog finally catching the car it was chasing—what now?
Her indecision loosened her grip on control, and I seized the opportunity to shove her out of the driver’s seat. I was back in charge, at least for the moment.
Stop squirming, Carl, or I swear I’ll eat you. I mentally shouted, projecting the thought through dog-speak. The wolf—now demoted back to auto-dog—reinforced the message with a deep, rumbling growl of her own.
Carl froze as instructed, though the screaming continued. Apparently, dog-speak wasn’t just for dogs.
Coy reappeared at the hallway’s edge. Search his cage, I instructed him. Find anything he’s taken, especially the keys. Despite the door to Carl’s room being shut, I had no doubt Coy would find a way in. He was a familiar, after all—one with a talent for getting into places he didn’t belong. He’d be fine.
When I caught up with Coy in Carl’s room, he’d already uncovered most of Carl's stash: the barn keys, my car keys, a kitchen knife, super glue, twist ties, and fifty dollars in crumpled bills I was pretty sure were mine. They were in a neat, albeit smelly, pile in the corner of the room. I asked Coy to drop them all in the kitchen sink.
Once Coy left, I turned my attention back to Carl.
Sit and Listen. I projected the command words with a growl, adding force to make sure he got the message. When I let go, Carl plopped onto the floor, sitting and quivering.
Now, Carl, I growled, baring my teeth. You’re going back to your cage. Willingly. You’ll behave yourself, or I’ll make good on my promise to tear you apart. Nice AJ won’t be around much longer, so don’t push your luck. Now, off with you!
Carl shot toward his cage, locking himself inside in a flash.
And who said I couldn’t be diplomatic.
With Carl secured, I surveyed the damage. The house was a wreck, but at least the immediate danger was over.
Carl’s first shot had gone into a fish tank, hitting it about midway up, causing it to half-drain. The fish would survive, though they’d be cramped until I could replace the tank. I’d need to measure it and swing by Petsmart tomorrow.
His last two bullets had gone into the floor and wall. The wall was an easy fix—I was pretty handy with plaster, and with the right shade of paint, no one would ever know. The floor, though, was a different story. One of the bullets had split the wood, peeling up a six-inch splinter from the polished plank. Whether the bullet was lodged in the wood or ricocheted somewhere else, I had no idea. That would take a deep dive into YouTube for a solution.
Then there was the second shot: a hole punched clean through one of the smaller windowpanes. Thankfully, I wouldn’t need to replace the entire window—just the one pane.
The third shot had obliterated the couch cushion. It looked like it had been through a war, or maybe Boden had gotten to it and used it as a chew toy.
Hmm… Boden might make for a good scapegoat.
So really, the floor and window were my biggest concerns. Maybe JT could help me fix it—after I broke it a little more to disguise the bullet hole. The last thing I needed was to explain how Carl had gotten his hands on my gun and decided to reenact Dirty Harry.
With the Fourth of July coming up, I hoped anyone who’d heard the shots would chalk it up to early fireworks.
Play my cards right, and no one would be any the wiser about what had just transpired.
Still, one little fact nagged at me: Solomon had known.
As I mulled that over, I felt several pairs of eyes on me. I turned to see the dogs—all the dogs—watching me from the hallway. Even Phin, Ferb, and the owls had gathered. Looks like I had some explaining to do.
The dogs were wary, unsure how to react. Even Coy, who’d followed my commands earlier, hung back, hesitant.
Right, I was a wolf now. There had to be some kind of dog etiquette I was supposed to follow, but I didn’t have the first clue what that was.
So, I just addressed them.
It’s me, guys, I thought, sharing memories of playing fetch, naps in the yard, car rides, being fed. You can approach. I won’t bite.
Maggie was the first to step forward, cautiously sniffing at me. I realized I was easily two or three times bigger than any of them—except for Boden, though at a hefty 130 pounds, I still outweighed him by quite a bit. Small for a human, but big for a dog. Still, one by one, they came over. First Maggie, then Coy, then Murray, until soon they were all sniffing and nosing at me, excitement growing as they realized it was still me, just... furrier.
Rudy, of course, got a little too curious, sniffing the base of my tail with too much enthusiasm.
Don’t even think about it, buster, I warned, and he backed off.
I straightened up, addressing the pack. Coy, Maggie, the rest of you—help me check on the other animals. Make sure they’re okay.
It occurred to me that maybe my dog-speak didn’t just work on dogs. Solomon had hinted that I wasn’t listening properly, and Carl had definitely understood the gist of what I was saying earlier. Perhaps the only reason I thought it worked just on dogs was because I’d never tried it on anything else.
Maybe I could communicate with other animals too.
I moved through the house, checking on each animal. A few were startled by the sight of a massive wolf entering their space, but as I suspected, I could relay my thoughts—calming, reassuring images of me feeding them earlier. Despite the initial panic, they relaxed. I tested out the command words I’d learned. Stay adapted into stay still and stay calm. The word for listen was especially handy, grabbing their attention and getting them to focus. Even the guinea pigs lined up in perfect formation when I commanded them to ‘listen’.
Maybe Vanessa had been right to trust that I could figure things out as I went along.
Once the checkups were done, I retrieved my gun from the hallway and hid it in the desk drawer in the guestroom. It would have to do for now. When I returned to the living room, I found Solomon lounging lazily on the coffee table. Phin and Ferb were back to watching television, and the parliament of owls had returned to their roost, perhaps to hold a late-night consortium. The dogs had mysteriously vanished.
My anger from earlier began bubbling up again.
You knew Carl had the keys all day, and you didn’t warn me, I projected mentally. I would have crossed my arms if I could.
“Whatever do you mean?” Solomon purred, his voice dripping with false innocence, his tail swishing lazily across the table.
I growled, stepping towards the cat. I’ve been thinking. Carl must’ve grabbed the key when he took my car keys—they were both in my pockets. So he was free to roam the house all day, giving him plenty of chances to steal things. Like my gun. And you didn’t think to mention it?
“As I said before,” Solomon replied, with a condescending flick of his tail, “my job is to facilitate your learning, not do your job for you. Considering the results, I’d say you’re doing a bang-up job.”
I gestured with my head at the wreckage Carl had left behind. And this is what you call a ‘bang-up job’?
Solomon’s whiskers twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes as he glanced lazily around the room. “Things are quite banged up, wouldn’t you say? And little Carl... well, I’d wager he’s learned his lesson. He won’t be setting a paw out of line anytime soon. Scared straight, as your kind like to say.”
I bared my teeth. Why do I get the feeling you’re not just here to give me backhanded compliments?
“Because I’m not,” Solomon said, his voice silky and infuriatingly calm. “You’ve still got work to do.”
I let out a low growl—more of a groan, really—exasperated. Like what? I’m not exactly in the right mind—or body—to fix what Carl broke. That’s a job for tomorrow when I get my thumbs back.
Solomon’s eyes gleamed, a slow, Cheshire grin creeping across his face. “I’m not talking about repairs. I’m talking about the walk you promised those dogs.”
A creeping suspicion crawled up my spine. I glanced at the clock, and my stomach dropped.
It was 8:25. Six minutes to sunset.
Shit! Look, I don’t have time for that right now. I need to get back to the barn—
“Nonsense,” Solomon cut in smoothly. “You’ve got the whole night. No one will bother you at this hour. You could go anywhere, as far as you want. Doesn’t that sound tempting?”
That sounds like a terrible idea, I snapped.
“I’m not talking to you,” Solomon replied, his voice dropping a pitch, an eerie edge creeping into it, making my fur bristle. “I’m talking to the other you. It'll be their turn soon. I wonder what they have to say.”
The auto-dog stirred at the back of my mind, perking up at Solomon’s suggestion. The prospect of a run tingled through my limbs, setting my heart pounding in my chest.
No, no, no— Panic surged, and I bolted for the back door. I had to get to the barn—now—before I lost control. But the second I hit the yard, the dogs were already there. All nine of them, standing in a little circular formation with Coy at the center, a bundle of leashes dangling from his mouth.
If at first you don’t succeed...
The barn might as well have been a thousand miles away.
I was trapped. Nine eager dogs stood between me and the barn, broadcasting their excitement. Even in human form, their emotions had riled up the auto-dog, causing my control to slip. But now, with the wolf fully awakened, the moon risen, and the sun setting, I couldn’t risk getting any closer.
I glanced at the house. The guest room? No, it wouldn’t work. I’d removed the doorknob—it wouldn’t lock. The bathroom? It had a knob, and I had no thumbs. I couldn’t even open the door if I tried.
The garage? There was food there, but only dry food, and the wolf hated dry food—it gave her hiccups, just like white bread did for me. Besides, Coy knew how to open doors, and he’d been the most insistent about the walk. I wouldn’t last ten minutes before he and the rest broke in.
I was out of options. The wolf was pulling me from the driver’s seat now, the shift inevitable. Night was coming, and it was her turn to drive.
I re-entered the house, pushing the door closed behind me and bracing it with my body. The auto-dog... no, the wolf was taking control. I could feel the subtle tug as she moved forward in my mind, testing the boundaries of my thoughts, ready to strike once night fell.
“You know,” Solomon’s voice drifted lazily from the coffee table, “this could’ve been avoided if you’d just taken them to the dog park. Familiars or not, they’re still dogs. They aren’t hard to please.”
What are you, my fairy feline conscience? I shot back, my voice strained as I fought to hold onto myself.
“As I said, I’m your instructor. Or, perhaps, a supervisor. Yes, that seems more fitting. I’m here to make sure you do your job... well enough.”
I exhaled through gritted teeth. Then help me stay out of trouble. If I end up in someone’s yard again, I’ll get arrested, and I won’t be able to do my job at all.
“Seems to me,” Solomon purred, “you and your other half worked together quite well earlier. I don’t see why you can’t do it again.”
But I can’t control it, I said, almost pleading. It’s a werewolf. I’m a werewolf.
“Still a dog.”
I growled—more human than wolf. Fine. If Solomon wasn’t going to help, I’d have to figure it out myself.
The wolf’s presence was undeniable. I felt myself slipping, so I let go, mentally pulling myself into the passenger seat. Now I was the observer, the Auto-Jane, watching as the wolf fully subsumed control.
Listen, I commanded, feeling the word vibrate between us. Return here before moonfall. Keep to the forest. Stay out of trouble.
The wolf paused, understanding. She examined the door behind us, letting out a soft growl, asking a question—how to open it. I responded, showing her the motion: pressing down the handle to release the latch.
The wolf moved forward, following the image I’d provided. She pressed down on the handle and stepped outside.
The dogs were waiting.
The wolf’s gaze swept over them but quickly shifted beyond, to the treeline, where the dark forest loomed just out of reach. A deep, undeniable joy surged through her—an ancient longing finally within reach. She had a pack and a forest. A home and a family, of sorts.
And she was their leader.
The wolf’s thoughts were primal, simple. She considered the fence—an irritating contraption. But then a voice—my voice—whispered in her mind, guiding her. She could leave through the house. The wolf’s ears perked at the realization. Usually, the voice tried to hold her back, making her feel tired and sluggish. But not this time. This time, the voice was helpful, offering knowledge in manageable pieces. Not the overwhelming surge that flooded her mind earlier—thoughts of guns, permits, and hospital bills, which branched into memories of bank statements and shooting ranges. It was all so dizzying. But now the resistance had faded, and she could absorb the bits of information the voice provided. The voice was fearful, but not of the wolf, the woods, or the night, but of others—the ones who lived in the forest of stone and light. Of people. Of what they would do to her if they discovered what she was.
That was fine with the wolf. She didn’t like people either, or the noise and smell of the beasts they rode. These cars—such awful creatures.
The wolf turned back to her pack. Their eagerness matched her own, tails wagging, bodies trembling with excitement. She met their eyes, confidence radiating from her. There was no doubt.
She was the leader.
Let’s go on a walk, she said, using the words she learned from the voice.
The pack responded instantly, barking, yipping, and jumping excitedly. Even the elders of the group were invigorated by the declaration. They all fell in line behind her.
She didn’t need to look back. She knew they would follow.