----------------------------------------
July 2, 2023
Moonrise: 8:16 p.m.
Sunset: 8:31 p.m.
----------------------------------------
I woke to the rooster’s crow—sharp, insistent, cutting through the haze of sleep. No snooze button to slap, no muffling it. I groaned, reaching for the pillow to bury my head in, but instead of soft cotton, my hand brushed fur—Annie, curled up behind my neck, warm and content. I sighed, shifting, trying to ignore the fact that I was sprawled on the floor. Hot, humid breath washed over my face. I cracked one eye open.
Rosie, the lab-pit mix, was nose-to-nose with me, her head tucked beneath my chin like she was playing little spoon. So, this licker was also a snuggler. I huffed, half-amused, half-exasperated, closing my eyes again.
The floor was firm beneath me, shag carpeting providing some cushion, and bed sheets were in a tangled mess around my arms and legs. Sometime in the night, I’d been nudged out of bed by the ever-growing pile of dogs that claimed the bottom bunk. Coy, Emma, and Puddy lay in a sprawl of fur and limbs above me. Maggie and Murray were tucked close beside, while Rudy curled behind the bend in my legs. At least Boden hadn’t added his weight to the pile this time. Small mercies.
Despite the uncomfortable position and the light creeping in, it was cozy—warm, surrounded by the steady breathing and snoring of the dogs. The wolf had listened, and brought us back home. Well, not home home—my old place was probably welcoming its new tenant by now—but Sandy’s house. Which was better than some patch of woods or a stranger’s yard. The memories of last night were foggy, fragmented like pieces of a half-remembered dream, but at least they were calm. No panic, no danger. One of those rare mornings where disasters didn’t loom.
I breathed slowly, sinking deeper into the pile of fur and warmth, hoping to drift back to sleep. For once, there were no eviction notices, no landlords pounding on the door, no early shifts to drag me out of bed. Just the familiar smell of dogs, the rise and fall of their chests. A moment of peace, with only the slightest discomfort. I could deal with the house later—whatever mess awaited could wait until I was more awake. As long as I got it done before—
A car door slammed outside.
The sound sliced through the air, snapping me out of the sleepy fog. I bolted upright, the sudden movement jolting the dogs awake. Coy’s head shot up, alert. Maggie was already on her feet. My heart hammered as I scrambled to my knees. Shit. Shit. Shit. JT was here. I had to act fast. I couldn’t let him see the place like this. I needed a plan.
Problem: I was nude. My clothes were still in the washer, damp and on the other side of the house. If I was fast, perhaps I could try to pull them on—
No time. Gravel crunched underfoot. The soft jingle of keys. He was almost at the door.
“Coy, Maggie, the rest of you,” I whispered harshly, “meet JT at the door. Don’t let him in.”
The dogs, sensing my urgency, moved as one—darting out of the room towards the front door, tails wagging, ready to intercept. I stumbled out of the room, stubbing my toe on something small and hard. A garden gnome. What the hell was that doing here I didn’t have time to think about it. I needed to find Sandy’s pajamas.
I found them crumpled near the spot where Carl had fired his last shot into the floor. I yanked them on in a rush. The bottoms fit fine, but the top was missing half its buttons, torn off by the wolf struggling out of them. I pulled it over my shoulders anyway, clutching the front closed with one hand.
The door creaked open, and I heard the familiar commotion—barking, paper bags rustling, and JT’s exasperated voice as the dogs swarmed him.
I bolted for the door, stumbling over the pajama legs that had come unrolled. I slid to a stop just in time to catch it before it opened fully and stuck my head out, breathless. “JT!” I forced a smile that felt like it was cracking at the edges. “What a pleasant surprise... What are you doing here?”
JT stood on the porch, surrounded by a bulwark of dogs. Puddy was nose-to-nose with him, Rosie had wedged herself between his legs, and Emma and Maggie sat firmly on his feet. The rest crowded around him in a tight circle. Almost as if they’d rehearsed it.
In JT’s hands were two bags—a large one from Costco, the other smaller one from Dunkin’. He leaned against a porch column to keep from toppling over.
“Calm down, it’s just me,” he said, swaying as Puddy bumped into him, trying to keep the bags out of reach. “AJ, mind giving me a hand?”
He glanced up, locking eyes with me—and immediately burst into laughter.
My panic twisted into irritation. “What?”
JT was still trying to catch his breath, laughter bubbling between words. “You—you look like hell. Did Carl finally escape or something?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why would you assume that?”
He smirked, clearly amused. “Because it looks like he got into Murray’s Rogaine again. Went to town on your face.”
I froze, a sinking feeling twisting inside me. I glanced toward the mirror by the door. My reflection confirmed it—Frida Kahlo, back with a vengeance. My eyebrows had gone full werewolf and hadn’t returned. I felt a choked sob rise in my throat. Of all the days for this to happen... and he’d already seen it.
JT, still amused, shook his head. “Hey, don’t worry—it’ll wear off. At least Carl didn’t smear the stuff in your nose and ears. Trust me, that was a nightmare. Just... wash your face, maybe your pillows—heck, probably everything your face touched, just in case.”
My face flushed as I covered it with one hand—the one not desperately holding my pajama top together. I hadn’t even been up for a full minute and already looked like a clown—a werewolf clown. But at least JT thought it was just a prank by Carl. But, if I went along with it, though, I’d have to admit Carl had gotten out. Another mess to explain.
JT’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “So... raided Sandy’s wardrobe, huh?” His tone was hard to read—half amused, half something else. Disapproval? Pity? Either way, I felt like I was sinking deeper. Might as well confirm his suspicions. A little truth to hide a lie.
“My clothes are locked in my car, thanks to Carl swiping my keys. I had no choice,” I muttered, keeping my face hidden behind my hand.
JT raised an eyebrow, his smirk softening with something that almost looked like concern. “So, you tried to get them back, and that’s when he got loose?”
“No!” I blurted, too quick, too defensive. “I didn’t fall for that. He just... distracted me long enough to grab a different keyring. The one with his own key.”
“And you had that key on you because...?”
I swallowed, panic creeping in. He just kept asking questions. “I was going to check out the barn. V said I could borrow it for a few days. I forgot the keys were still in my pocket.”
JT paused, tilting his head, brow furrowing. “V mentioned something about that. So... how bad is it? The house, I mean.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I lied. Or half-lied. I could handle some of it, at least.
JT’s gaze lingered, and I felt the weight of his scrutiny. “May I see?”
My heart skipped. “Look, you hired me to take care of the house and the animals. I’m on it. Just let me... get things in order. It was a rough night, and I just woke up.” Even I could hear how weak that sounded. My throat tightened.
JT started to untangle himself from the wall of dogs, stepping forward. “Well, that’s actually why I’m here. Figured you might need some help after your first day.”
I moved to block the doorway, pulse racing. “No, I don’t need help. I’ve got this handled.”
JT’s expression softened, but that damn smirk lingered. He held up the Dunkin’ bag like an olive branch. “You also look like you could use some coffee. Good thing I brought some.”
I stood there, mind scrambling for anything to keep him outside. “Look, that’s sweet, but I’m not inviting you in.”
JT raised an eyebrow, grinning now. “I’m not a vampire, AJ.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“And what I meant is that I don’t need your permission to come inside. I’m technically a co-owner, remember?” He gave me a playful look and, with an annoyingly smooth sidestep, nudged the door open wider and slipped past me.
“Wait!” My voice shot up an octave, panic bubbling fast. “The house is still a mess, just—just give me a little time—”
JT glanced around as he walked toward the living room, shaking his head with a smile that was half-amused, half-dismissive. “Look, I’m sure I’ve seen worse. It can’t be that bad.”
I stood frozen in the doorway, unable to stop him, watching in horror as he entered the living room and his eyes took in the scene: the broken fish tank, the scattered debris, the shredded pillows, the bullet hole in the wall. Now, in the light of the day, it looked far worse than the night before.
JT exhaled slowly, his expressions blank. “Alright,” he said, letting the word hang, “I admit... this is pretty bad.”
----------------------------------------
JT had made his way into the kitchen, unpacking groceries while I half-heartedly cleaned the living room. Water stains darkened the hardwood where the fish tank had spilled, and Carl had left splintered floorboards from trying to shoot me. I mulled over how I was going to juggle house repairs, animal care, and not completely lose my mind, when JT reappeared, holding out two cups of coffee.
“This one’s sweetened, the other’s not. Both have cream. Take your pick.”
I grabbed the sweet one, muttering a half-hearted thanks.
“So... What happened? Those look like bullet holes,” JT said casually, like we were talking weekend plans, not near-death experiences.
“Carl snuck out and stole my gun before I realized he’d taken more than my car keys.”
JT blinked. “Why do you even have a gun?”
“Because I live alone in a sketchy neighborhood. Why wouldn’t I?” My tone came out more defensive than I meant.
His expression softened. “Were you hurt?”
I shock my head. “No. He had five shots, missed every time.”
This information seemed to edge JT out his usual calm. “Wait—he was aiming at you?”
“The first shot was at the fish tank,” I said, forcing a shrug, “but yeah, the rest were at me.”
“Jesus.” JT rubbed his forehead, his voice more tense now. “I’m really sorry.”
I frowned, this caught me a little off guard. “Why are you apologizing?”
He sighed. “Look, Carl can be an asshole, sure, but he’s not homicidal. Not usually. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Anyone else hurt?”
“No, just... inconvenienced.” I tried to sound casual. “I checked on everyone afterward.”
JT nodded, then his expression shifted, almost impressed. “How’d you get him back in his cage?”
“Carl didn’t count his shots. Once he was out, I had Coy and the dogs handle it.” This was true for the most part. No need to tell JT which dog it was who actually caught Carl. “Once we had Carl, I had Coy remove any stolen items from the cage, and then I locked Carl up again. The items are in the sink—still need washing.”
“Yeah, I saw them.” JT smiled and seemed genuinely impressed. “You handled it well. Most people would’ve quit after this.”
I blinked, surprised. “You’re not mad?”
JT shook his head, his voice steady. “Look, it is not a question of if things will go wrong, but when, and I can’t watch over everything along with the clinic. So, I need someone I trust here. And despite how it looks...” He gestured to the mess. “It’s really not as bad as it could have been. At least Carl or Cassie didn’t start a fire. I’ve had nightmares about this place burning down.”
My eyes widened. “Cassie starts fires?”
JT shrugged like it was nothing. “Only if she gets too cold.”
Damn, I really needed to finish Sandy’s book. JT clearly knew more about these animals—and their magic—than he let on. Meanwhile, I knew pitifully little. I couldn’t let him know that if I wanted to preserve the little respect I’d managed to salvage with him. Yet it gnawed at me. I needed to know what he knew about me. What Vanessa had told him.
“JT, can I ask you something?” My voice wavered before I could stop it. “What did V tell you about me? Did she say I was... a witch?”
I braced for surprise, confusion—something—but JT just shrugged, like it was the most normal question in the world. “No, she didn’t say that. I just assumed. You’re part of the sorority, after all.”
My brain screeched to a halt. “Wait—what do you mean the sorority?”
“Everyone I’ve met from Sandy and your sorority has been some kind of practitioner another. Figured you were one too.”
I stared at him, floored. My mind buzzed with a thousand questions—How did I not know this? Why hadn’t anyone told me? Now wasn’t the time to unpack that. I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady.
“So... what did V actually say about me?” I asked, a little more urgently.
JT tilted his head, considering. “She said you were a good friend of Sandy’s and that you could handle the job. I asked if you had experience with familiars, and she said no, but mentioned you had the right talents.”
“So she didn’t tell you much.” My heart sank. Typical Vanessa, letting people fill in the gaps themselves. She could’ve at least had the decency to lied.
JT smirked. “The day V gives me a straight answer is the day hell freezes over.”
I sighed. She’d left me hanging too, forcing me to connect the dots I didn’t have. But I wasn’t quitting. Not now. “Well, I’m not giving up unless you fire me. And unless that happens, don’t micromanage. I charge double for that.” Thought, that begged the question: what was I charging to begin with?
JT laughed, which eased my tension. “Fair enough. Most of the sisters have already quit anyway. Angelina and Samantha? Chased off by Carl. Jessica couldn’t handle the live feedings. And Tori? She bailed after seeing Elmo.” He gave me a knowing look, his grin widening. “I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel here.”
A splash of irritation shot through me. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
JT raised his hands in mock defense, but then stiffened as a small black device on his waistband beeped.
“You still use a pager?” I asked, incredulous. “I thought only doctors had those.”
“Vets are doctors. We just don’t specialize in one species,” JT said, checking the message. He frowned and clipped it back on his waistband.
“Well, since I’m here, at least let me help with the morning chores. You could use the time to clean up, get dressed—something tells me today won’t be easier than yesterday.”
I shook my head. “You’ve got places to be. Let me handle this.”
“I’ve got time, and I’m already here,” JT pressed, not budging.
Maybe he thought he was being polite, but it grated on me. “Look, I already have one supervisor too many. I told you, I don’t need—”
JT snorted, barely holding back a laugh.
“What now?” I snapped, irritation flaring.
“Your, uh... monobrow makes a ‘W’ when you’re mad.”
I reflexively reached to cover my face with my free hand—the one not holding the coffee cup. But in doing so, I let go of the pajama top. With no buttons left, it fell open.
My face burned. I fumbled to close it, mortified. JT smoothly took the coffee cup from my hand to free me up. Chest and face covered, I spun on my heel, heart pounding, and bolted for the hallway.
“Want me to lay out some clothes for you?” JT called after me, teasing.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” I muttered, disappearing into the living room.
The dogs were gathered in the hallway like a polite audience—close enough to be near if needed, but careful not to intrude. At the front were Maggie, Rosie, and Emma. I pointed at them.
“Ladies,” I said, forcing my voice steady, “escort Mr. JT to his car. He’s got important work to do—saving puppies, neutering cats, and all that.”
They didn’t need convincing. Maggie, Emma, and Rosie bounded forward, circling JT and herding him toward the door with military precision. JT tried to protest, but Maggie gave him a firm prod with her nose, goosing him forward. He stumbled, nearly tripping over Rosie.
“Hey, hey, easy!” JT laughed, trying to keep his balance. “AJ, do you really—ah!” Another goosing prod from Maggie. The dogs coordination was almost eerie. Sandy must’ve trained them to do all sorts of things
The dogs had their orders, and once in motion, there was no stopping them.
I glanced down to see Annie watching me, head tilted, curiosity in her eyes.
“Yes, Annie, you’re a lady too,” I said, patting her gently. Her tail wagged, and she scampered off to join the others, adding her tiny weight to the effort.
At the front door, JT twisted on the porch, glancing over his shoulder as the dogs nudged him along. “I left the donut and coffee on the table for you. They’re still warm.”
“Thanks, JT,” I called.
He paused on the steps as the dogs continued to urge him toward his car. “I’ll swing by this afternoon, alright? Help with—”
“Don’t bother,” I cut in, keeping my tone light but firm. No way I was letting him back before I got myself together. Then, maybe, I’d enjoy his company.
JT gave me one last look, a mix of concern and confusion flickering across his face before the dogs finally herded him outside. The front door clicked shut behind him, and I exhaled, leaning against the wall.
Not even up for an hour, and I was already exhausted.
----------------------------------------
I headed to the laundry room, intent on grabbing my clothes from the washer. As soon as I opened the lid, a musty smell hit me. Mildew. Great. I’d left them damp overnight. Sighing, I restarted the wash, dumping in extra detergent before moving to the sink to clean off my car key. I’d have to grab the spare clothes from the car.
But when I popped the trunk, my heart sank. The box with my clothes wasn’t there.
“Of course,” I muttered. I had packed it into the storage unit by mistake.
With no other option, I eyed yesterday’s clothes in the back seat—my dress suit and skirt, now sun-dried. I lifted the fabric to my nose. It smelled faintly of sweat but nothing too bad. Definitely better than mildew. Once inside, I grabbed a can of air freshener and gave them a thorough spritz. Febreezed clothes were as good as clean, right?
Then came the real dilemma—underwear. My bra, panties, and leggings were still in the washer, and borrowing Sandy’s was out of the question. I grimaced. Commando it was. Not ideal, but I wasn’t planning on going out in public, so I’d manage.
After a quick shower, I stood in front of the mirror, assessing myself. I was not as bad as I’d feared. The hair from last night’s transformation was sparse—no worse than someone who hadn’t shaved in a week. Definitely nowhere near wolfman—or wolfwoman—territory. The facial hair wasn’t terrible either, just a faint monobrow and some fuzz on my upper lip. Compared to the day before, it was a relief. But with the full moon tomorrow, it should’ve been worse.
I frowned, thinking back. The only thing different about last night was that I hadn’t fought the transformation. The wolf had come back tired, content, slipping away without the usual struggle. No fighting. No lingering.
I stared at my reflection, turning the thought over. The wolf wasn’t just a mindless force—it was aware, almost... cooperative. I’d asked it to return last night, and it had. Maybe the wolf-mind wasn’t simply a side effect of my lycanthropy but something more central to it. Had I misunderstood the dynamic all this time?
There was one way to find out.
I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and centering myself in front of the mirror. I reached out mentally, feeling around the edges of my consciousness, searching for that familiar presence, like reaching into the dark for something just out of sight. The wolf was there, slumbering deep in the back of my mind.
Wakey, wakey, I thought, sending a mental nudge. A flicker of irritation pulsed through me—I’d caught its attention.
I tried again, pushing a little harder. The wolf resisted, pressing against my awareness like a warning—let this sleeping dog lie. I prodded a third time, and a sharp flash of pain, like brain freeze, sliced through my skull.
The damn thing had snapped at me.
Well then, enough playing around. I narrowed my focus, gathering my resolve, and used the same command word as before: Come.
The effect was abrupt—and disorienting. The wolf was jolted awake and yanked from the recesses of my mind to the forefront. I stumbled as control slipped from my grasp. The wolf was confused and angry at being pulled into the driver’s seat so suddenly. It didn’t want to be here—not now, not like this. Frustration that was not my own surged through me as the wolf lashed out, sending sharp flashes of pain, before retreating, slipping back into the shadows just as quickly.
I let out a shaky breath, my whole body trembling. But I’d seen enough. In those brief moments, fur had sprouted along my arms, and my nails had started to sharpen and elongate. I’d triggered a transformation, if only for a moment.
Was that the trick?
Dizziness swept over me, and I had to sit down, gripping the edge of the tub as the room swayed. My limbs felt like lead, drained of energy, my head throbbing. I’d only held the wolf at the surface for a few seconds, but it had completely wiped me out. Perhaps it was because the moon wasn’t up. If so, I wouldn’t be able to push further until nightfall.
One thing was clear: the wolf wasn’t just a byproduct of my lycanthropy—it was part of it. Whether it was the cause or a resulting manifestation, I couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was a spirit of some sort, possessing me. Or some animalistic shadow self—a Mr. Hyde to my Dr. Jekyll. Whatever it was, this was the biggest insight I’d had into my condition in months.
And it had taken Carl’s asinine antics—and that smug cat—to figure it out.
I glanced at the mirror, a slow grin spreading across my face despite the exhaustion. If Sandy’s familiars had taught me this much, what else could Sandy herself teach me? I’d definitely have to talk to her when she got back. Maybe—just maybe—there was more to learn here than I’d realized.
I reached for a towel, only to remember I’d used them all last night to mop up the tank water.
So much for insight. I muttered to myself as I opened the bathroom door. Outside, the dogs were gathered, huddled like a pack waiting for orders.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” I asked. Wagging tails and expectant stares were my only response. They were all hungry.
Right. Breakfast.
They followed me as I dripped through the house, searching for a clean towel.
Once toweled off, I spent the next half hour shaving my face and legs. Call me optimistic, but if my theory about the wolf was right, I might actually enjoy smooth legs again. Besides, JT was coming by later, and I needed to replace his mental image of me. Preferably one with less hair.
Whining noses poked under the door, tails thumping in anticipation. When I stepped out, dressed in my fresh-smelling clothes from yesterday, I was greeted by an entourage of hungry dogs and wagging tails.
“Alright, alright,” I said, waving the dogs back. My voice had lightened, a small thread of cheeriness weaving through. This new information about the wolf had left me feeling... hopeful. Perhaps I could understand it—really understand it—maybe even control it. That I wasn’t just at its mercy. “Let’s get you fed.”
The dogs trailed after me to the garage, eager tails thumping against the walls. I started dishing out their kibble—Maggie, Coy, Rosie, Emma. All accounted for. When I reached Boden’s bowl, I scooped out his portion and half expected him to barrel into me.
But Boden wasn’t there.
I paused, frowning. Boden would never miss food. He should’ve been at the front of the pack, practically knocking the others aside.
“Boden?” I called, glancing around the garage. “Here, boy!”
No answer.
I looked at Coy, who was watching me, his head tilted. “Where’s Boden?” I asked, a note of uncertainty creeping into my voice.
Coy gave a short, almost casual bark, then turned his gaze toward the garage door—the one leading outside. He never came back, his thoughts echoed faintly.
A chill ran up my spine. “What?” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “He never came back? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Coy’s ears twitched, his head tilting the other way, confused. You were there. You knew.
It took a second to realize what he meant. The wolf. He meant that the wolf knew. I swallowed, trying to shake off the unease creeping in. I closed my eyes, reaching inward, prodding at the wolf’s presence again.
Nothing.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
I pushed harder, mentally grasping for it—and was met with a sharp flash of pain, like jaws snapping too close for comfort. The wolf didn’t want to be disturbed.
Frustration welled up. I opened my eyes, glaring at nothing. “We’re going to have a talk later, you and me,” I muttered. Then, turning to Coy, I said, “I need your help. We have to find Boden.”
Coy’s ears perked up, but he didn’t move toward the door. Instead, he glanced at the food bowls, then back at me.
I sighed, exasperated. “Fine, eat first. Then we’ll look for him.”
Satisfied, Coy barked once and settled down to eat. I continued filling the bowls, watching as the dogs tucked into their meals, but my mind was already racing. Boden’s missing. He never came back last night. The realization settled in my chest like a lead weight. Then another, darker thought occurred to me.
Could there be others?
Moving quickly, I started checking the enclosures throughout the house. My heart sank further with each empty space. Monty’s terrarium—empty. Phin and Ferb’s cage—silent. Nevermore’s perch—abandoned. Even Camellia and Elmo were gone.
Cassie was still in her personalized oven, and the guinea pig in their little mansion—because why abandon such luxury.
I checked on Carl and found him huddled at the back of his cage, wide-eyed and still. For once, he didn’t try to lash out or cause trouble. He just sat there, terrified. I could feel the fear radiating off him.
Good. He should be afraid.
But the rest of the birds, owls and Nevermore included—gone.
I leaned against the wall, a tight knot forming in my stomach. Each missing animal felt like a new thread unraveling from a rope I was barely holding together. I moved through the house with a growing sense of dread, feeding the remaining animals almost mechanically, my mind spinning with thoughts I didn’t want to face.
When I reached the living room, I sank onto the couch, putting my head in my hands. The house was a wreck—bullet holes in the walls, water stains on the floor—and now half the animals were gone. Well, technically a fraction if you counted all the fish, frogs, and turtles, but half of the ones that mattered. It was all starting to slip. The control I thought I’d regained in the bathroom was fading, replaced by that same gnawing helplessness pressing down on my chest.
I caught myself grinding my teeth and tried to use one of Dr. Anderson's breathing techniques—slow, deliberate inhales and exhales—fighting the wave of frustration rising inside me. I couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not now. Not with so much left to do.
But for a moment, I just sat there, head in my hands, trying to sort through the chaos. How do I fix this? Missing animals, a wrecked house, and a wolf that wouldn’t cooperate. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of my control.
Then, as I stared at the bullet holes in the wall, something clicked. A nagging thought that had been lurking at the back of my mind sharpened into focus. All these disasters—Carl, the familiars, the constant chaos—they hadn’t happened by accident. I’d been shoved into this mess, and I knew exactly who had done the shoving.
V.
She’d maneuvered me into this job, let me stumble through it clueless, and now everything was falling apart. My frustration boiled over, and before I knew it, I was dialing her number.
The phone rang three times before she picked up.
“V! What the fuck!” I responded the moment she answered.
“Good morning to you too, AJ,” V replied, her voice cool, almost amused.
“You call this pet-sitting?”
“I don’t recall using that term,” she said, sounding infuriatingly unfazed.
“Don’t play semantics with me! You knew I had no idea what I was getting into, and you just threw me in here!”
V sighed, maddeningly calm. “And what semantics should I have used?”
“How about a warning?” I shot back, the anger rising. “Maybe a heads-up that the animals weren’t exactly normal? Or that Sandy’s a witch?”
“And you would have believed me?” V’s voice carried that familiar smirk—I could practically hear it.
“I might have!” I snapped, though even I wasn’t sure that was true.
V let out a soft, almost pitying laugh. “AJ, you lived with the sisters for two years and never realized what they were.”
“Because no one told me!” My frustration bled into the words, sharper than I intended.
“Didn’t they? Didn’t Samantha and Angelica mention being psychics? What did you think they were talking about?”
“I thought it was just New Age-y nonsense,” I muttered, defensiveness creeping in.
“Then how did they always know when you were lying?”
“Because I’m easy to read.”
V coughed, perhaps stifling a laugh. “Fair enough. I'll give you that. But what about Diana? She could grow flowers in the middle of winter. Some of them even glowed.”
I hesitated, the memory clicking into place. “I thought she just had a really green thumb.” My voice faltered. Now that I thought about it... her skin was kind of green, too.
“And Tori? Her knack for picking winning lottery tickets?” V pressed. “Statistically improbable, don’t you think?”
“Not statistically impossible,” I countered, weakly.
V’s tone was calm, matter-of-fact. “Look, AJ, I didn’t hide anything, and neither did they. You either couldn’t see it, or chose not to.”
I clenched my jaw, anger simmering just below the surface. “So you dumped me into this job, knowing full well I wasn’t prepared?”
“You needed a job. Sandy and JT needed someone to look after the familiars. It seemed like a good fit.” V’s voice softened. “You’re smart, capable—”
“Capable?” I cut her off, my voice sharp with sarcasm. “I got shot at by a monkey, V. A goddamn monkey.”
“And?” V didn’t waver.
“And what?”
“Did you stop the monkey?” she asked, almost casually.
“Well, yeah, but he shot up the house!”
“Anyone hurt? Any fires?”
“No.” My frustration faltered slightly. “But that’s not the point.”
“The point is you handled it,” she said, like it was no big deal.
I groaned, rubbing my temples. “You should’ve warned me, V. You knew I wasn’t ready for this.”
“JT gave you Sandy’s notebook, didn’t he? Everything you needed to know is in there. It’s literally on the cover.”
“It’s ambiguous at best,” I muttered, irritation rising again.
V sighed, amusement barely hidden in her voice. “Well, seems like you’ve figured it out now, haven’t you?”
I huffed. “You think maybe you could’ve been a bit more direct?”
“And how would that have gone? ‘Oh, by the way, these animals are magic’? You wouldn’t have taken it seriously. You know that. You’d have thought it was a prank and ignored the warning signs. I did you a favor.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but stopped. She wasn’t wrong. I had tried to brush off the animals’ oddities at first. I clenched my fists, annoyed she had a point.
“You also let JT think I’m a witch?” I asked, the irritation flaring again.
“That’s not on me,” V replied smoothly. “He just assumed.”
“Assumed?” I demanded. “Why would he assume that?”
“Everyone in our sorority is a witch, AJ. Can you blame him for making the connection?”
I stared at the wall, biting my lip. “Except me. I’m not a witch. I’m just... a normal person.” Who just happens to be a werewolf.
“All witches are normal people too, AJ,” V said. “They’re as human as you are. They just… experience the world a little differently.”
My shoulders slumped as the frustration began to peter out. “What about you?” I asked quietly, the edge in my voice gone. “Are you a witch?”
V paused. “What do you think?”
I exhaled, rubbing my forehead, harder now. “I think you need to start being a little more straight with me.”
V’s voice remained calm, but softened. “How would you like me to do that?”
“Why am I involved in this?” I asked, my voice closer to pleading now. “With Sandy, the sorority—everything?”
V paused before answering, her tone matter-of-fact again. “With Sandy, it’s simple. You needed a job and a place to stay. She and JT needed someone to take care of the familiars. As for the sorority, we needed a treasurer. You were good with numbers, we were classmates, and you weren’t particularly judgmental. I figured you’d fit in.”
I blinked, feeling deflated. “Is that really it?”
“What were you expecting, AJ? Some grand prophecy? A cosmic scheme? Destiny?” V’s voice carried a hint of amused sarcasm. “Sorry to say, but it was just a crime of convenience.”
I let out a frustrated laugh, though there was no humor in it. “And JT? Is he a wizard or something?”
“He’s Sandy’s brother,” V said simply. “He looks out for her.”
That gave me pause. “...Oh.” I went quiet, processing the new bit of information. It actually fit in quite neatly when compared to everything else. “Is there anything else I should know?”
There was a pause on the other end. “What’s really going on, AJ?” V asked, her voice softening in a way that caught me off guard. “You didn’t call me just to rant.”
I sighed, the exhaustion creeping back in. She couldn’t have timed the question better—I didn’t have the energy to lie. “Several of the familiars are missing, V. I don’t know how to find them. I don’t have magic, and even if I did, I wouldn’t know how to use it.”
V was quiet for a moment before she spoke again, her tone almost gentle. “AJ, not to be trite, but you’re in a house full of creatures trained to assist magical practitioners. They’re literally here to help you. Why don’t you try asking for their help?”
I frowned, confused. “How? Do I have to make some kind of magic pact with them?”
“You don’t need to go that far,” V said, amusement slipping back into her voice. “Most of them understand English... well enough—you could just ask. If you’ve been feeding them right, some should already like you. That’s usually a good place to start.”
“Just ask them? Really?”
“No reason to make things complicated. Familiars are creatures of habit after all. Once you get to know them, they’re easy to predict. Give it a try.”
I closed my eyes, my frustration ebbing into something more like resignation. “Thanks, V,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“My pleasure, AJ. Take care.” And with that, she hung up.
I stared at the phone for a moment, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me again. So, I’ve got to ask for their help, just like that? I was pretty much going to do that anyway. V might as well have told me not to overthink it... which might have been her intention. It was hard to tell with her.
I gathered the dogs in the garage, giving them their assignments. Coy and Emma bounded off to retrace the wolf’s trail, while Rosie and Puddy started their search around the house. Murray, Annie, and Rudy would search inside. Hopefully, they’d find some of the missing familiars still close to home.
What I really needed was aerial support. If my canine team could track down just one of the birds, things would be a hell of a lot easier.
I finished straightening my skirt, adjusting my blouse. Maggie returned with her service dog vest in her mouth. “Good girl,” I said, slipping it over her head. She stood still while I secured the straps, her tail wagging just enough to show she was ready.
“Alright,” I murmured, scratching behind her ears. “Let’s go to church.”
----------------------------------------
If what V said about familiars was true—that they were creatures of habit—then intuition told me where I could find a pair of cockatoos who got a kick out of imitating evangelical preachers. Especially on a Sunday.
And wouldn’t you know it, there was a Baptist church right at the end of Wolff’s Lair Road.
The Palmetto Community Church didn’t look much like a church. From the outside, it was a big, gray sheet-metal warehouse with a cross bolted to the front and a few posters slapped on the walls. No steeple, no stained glass. If it weren’t for the cross, you’d think it was a workshop. I sat in the car for a moment, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. It wasn’t St. Andrew’s, that’s for sure.
Back when I was a kid, my family went to St. Andrew’s Presbyterian in Mount Pleasant every Sunday. I knew the routine by heart—the rhythm. There was comfort in it. Show up, nod through the sermon, bow your head when you’re supposed to, get your monthly dose of bread and wine. No fuss. You could just... exist.
Then my dad remarried, and we started going to Katherine’s church. That’s when everything changed. It wasn’t traditional—nothing like St. Andrew’s. Just like Palmetto, it was one of those modern church places. No pews, no hymnals, just folding chairs and people who looked way too happy to be there. And, they expected you to engage. That’s what I hated. There was no hiding, no just going through the motions. You had to show you care. It made every movement feel forced, made me feel like I was pretending to be someone else. Katherine thrived in that environment. Me? I always felt like a fraud.
I glanced at Maggie, sitting next to me, her big brown eyes watching me.
“I know,” I muttered. “But we’re here, so... let’s do this.”
Her tail wagged slightly, as if giving me a nudge. Maggie might be calm, but only because I was the one walking into something I didn’t want to face.
Stepping out of the car, I hesitated, taking in the scene. Families in their Sunday best—lots of denim, flannels, casual wear. That kind of modest effort that said, we’re here, but we’re comfortable. I left my Talbot blazer in the car, already feeling overdressed.
Most of the crowd was older, around my parents’ age or maybe a little younger. Hardly any kids. They all looked like they belonged here. Me? I stuck out. Young, well-dressed, and uncomfortable. At St. Andrew’s, I would’ve blended in. Here? I might as well have had a spotlight on me.
The scent of asphalt, fresh-cut grass, and cheap perfume hung in the air as we approached the entrance. Maggie stayed close, her service vest drawing a few glances from passersby. Perfect. I could already sense the sympathy in their eyes. People always had ideas when they saw a service dog—either they felt they should be extra kind, or they wondered if you were being pretentious. Or maybe that was just me. Still, I needed the extra pair of eyes and ears—and nose.
I made it to the double doors, bracing myself as I stepped inside. The floors were clean, but instead of the usual industrial cleaner stench, there was a light, lemony smell. A small blessing. Walking into new buildings was always a gamble—would it be an assault of cleaning fumes or cloying air fresheners? The joys of an acute sense of smell.
From the lobby, I scanned the room ahead. No pews, just rows of stackable office chairs. Instruments on stage, sound equipment along the back wall. If it weren’t for the cross and the baptismal pedestal, I’d have thought they were setting up for a concert.
As I hovered near the entrance, a woman approached me. Late forties, curly shoulder-length hair, modestly dressed like everyone else. Her face was friendly. Too friendly.
“Hi there! I’m Patty,” she said, extending her hand. “Are you interested in joining our congregation? If so, have you submitted a membership form online?”
My stomach dropped. Paperwork. Of course. I should’ve seen that coming. New church, new protocols. I scrambled to steady my voice. “I, uh... was hoping to fill one out in person. I just moved down the street.” I added quickly, “I’m already a member of First Baptist on James Island though.” It was technically the truth—that was Katherine’s church. I was banking on this place being part of the same SC Baptist Convention network.
Patty’s face softened. “Oh, how wonderful! We’d be happy to have you here.”
Relief washed over me, but my anxiety spiked again. “Would it be alright if I filled out the form during the service?” I asked. “And, uh, is it okay to bring Maggie?” I gestured toward my ever-patient service dog. “She’s a service dog.”
Patty’s smile somehow brightened even more. “Oh, she’s lovely! What a sweetheart. Of course, you’re both welcome.” She crouched slightly, offering her hand for a sniff. But Maggie, ever the professional, lifted her paw for a shake.
Patty let out a delighted laugh. “Well, aren’t you just the most polite thing?”
I forced a smile. “Yeah, she’s great.”
At least I wasn’t getting turned away. Patty led us inside, and I found a seat at the back, grateful for Maggie’s calming presence between me and the crowd.
Sitting down, I pulled out the clipboard Patty had handed me and pretended to fill out the form. My mind wasn’t on it—I was scanning for any sign of Phin and Ferb. The scents around me—perfume, laundered clothes, and a faint whiff of coffee from the hallway—clashed, overwhelming my senses. I wanted to walk around, but every movement I made felt watched, scrutinized.
A few older folks drifted over to introduce themselves. Kind faces, polite smiles, small talk about the neighborhood. Where was I from? Same story I’d told Patty—just moved here, member of First Baptist. Normal, boring, safe. Maggie was a perfect distraction, soaking up the attention and compliments, making it easier for me to slip under the radar.
With each passing minute, my nerves wound tighter. What if Phin and Ferb weren’t here? What if I’d been wrong? Worse—what if they were here, but I couldn’t find them before the service started?
Just as I was about to give up and make my exit, a familiar scent hit me. Feathers and... popcorn. Faint, but unmistakable. My heart leapt, then sank. They were here. But where? And what were they up to?
The congregation was settling into their seats, the service about to begin. Damn it. I’d missed my chance to look around.
Trying to stay calm, I stood up and made my way to the back, handing Patty my mostly filled-out membership form. She smiled as she took it, but I leaned in slightly.
“Hey, Patty, quick question,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I thought I saw two cockatoos flying around just now. Do they belong to anyone?” I tried to sound casual, something that wouldn’t raise alarms.
But my question had more of an effect than I expected. Patty’s face drained of color. Her smile faltered. “Oh, goodness,” she whispered, her voice tight. “They’re back.”
I swallowed, keeping my expression neutral. “Would you like some help finding them? I’d be happy to assist.” Please say yes, I thought, silently projecting my intention at her.
Patty shook her head quickly. “No, no. I’ve got it under control. This... isn’t the first time. You just enjoy the service, alright? I’ll handle it.”
Damn. Guess my dog-speak still didn’t work on humans.
I nodded, stepping back as Patty hurried off. Great. Now what?
The service kicked off with a band—if you could call it that. Four balding men, dressed in flannel or Hawaiian shirts, looking like they’d just come from a backyard barbecue. Off to the side, an older woman hunched behind an electric keyboard, her hands barely brushing the keys. A knot of discomfort formed in my chest. This wasn’t the quiet, structured service I was used to—this was so... improvised.
The prayer began, lead by one the older man in the Hawaiian shirt, thanking Jesus for blessings and offering safety to members away for the holiday weekend or dealing with ailments like COVID. When they welcomed their “new guest”—me—I gave a tight wave, trying to sink into the stackable office chair.
Then, as the “amen” left the speaker’s lips, the guitarist broke into a loud strum, followed by the percussionist. The man in the Hawaiian shirt belted out the opening lines of I Need a Ghost by Brandon Lake. The music hit like a wall—loud, pulsing. Several members stood, arms raised, swaying as if pulling the sound into themselves. Others moved toward the stage, hands outstretched in supplication.
It was too much. Too loud, too close.
I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to bolt. The beat pounded inside my chest, reverberating through my bones. My senses, already hypersensitive, were being overwhelmed. My head throbbed, and the glaring spotlight only made it worse. I tried to scan the room for Phin and Ferb, but the concert atmosphere made it impossible to focus.
Should’ve brought earplugs.
I shifted in my seat, trying to make myself as small as possible, avoiding the outstretched, swaying hands at the front. The noise was overwhelming. Prayer, to me, was something quiet—done in silent contemplation, not this loud, performative spectacle. This felt less like prayer and more like a show.
The band finished I Need a Ghost, and I started to relax, but then someone shouted—one of the band members maybe: “Don’t stop!” The next song kicked in—My Testimony by Elevation Worship. I winced as the sound swelled again. At least this one wasn’t as percussion-heavy. A small mercy. Very small.
But my nerves were already shot. Every guitar strum rattled through me. I kept my eyes down, pretending to pray, though all I wanted was to leave. Even if Phin and Ferb were here, their scent was too faint to trace. What if I was wrong and they weren’t here? What if they’d already come and gone? I’d be stuck here all morning for nothing. Except for, maybe, salvation.
Then came I Can Only Imagine. I knew this song too well. It played so often at Muckenfuss, I could hum it in my sleep. Great. This is going to be stuck in my head for weeks, I thought miserably, half-listening as the congregation swayed again, arms raised.
One man at the front, maybe late thirties or early forties, caught my eye. Dressed in blue flannel and denim jeans, he should’ve blended in, but something about him felt off—his reverence was too intense, too focused, like he was leading the charge.
I swallowed, hoping this was the last song. Maggie stirred at my feet, her leash tugging lightly. I glanced down to see her staring upward, ears perked.
Finally, the music died down, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The congregation had grown while the band played, latecomers slipping into seats as the service shifted. The man in the blue flannel stepped onto the stage, a wide smile on his face.
Apparently, he was the pastor. First place for most casually dressed.
He welcomed the congregation and introduced himself to the new faces. “If anyone feels called to share how Jesus has been working in your life,” he said, beaming, “come on up!”
I barely registered his words, too distracted by Maggie’s persistent tugging at the leash. She was still fixated on something above us. I stood, following her gaze, and suddenly realized I’d stepped into a small opening in the crowd—left for people to come forward.
The pastor’s eyes lit up, and before I could retreat, the entire congregation’s gaze fell on me—warm, expectant, and suffocating all at once.
“Well, look at that!” the pastor said, his voice full of welcome. “Would you like to share with us today?”
I opened my mouth to decline, but before I could say a word, I heard it—a soft voice, almost lost in the noise, but clear as day in my head: “Come.”
My feet moved before my brain caught up. Panic flared as I realized Phin, or perhaps Ferb, had used one of my command words. I walked calmly toward the stage while my mind screamed in protest.
“Come,” one of the birds repeated, then the other added, “Speak.” Their voices, hidden in the background noise, rang with the same magical undertone I used with the animals. The damn birds, using my own magic words against me.
The words weren’t particularly powerful on their own, they were birds after all, not wizards, but in this setting, with the entire congregation already willing me forward, they cut through my resistance. Like a lukewarm knife through soft spread. Before I knew it, I was on the stage.
I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of every gaze, every breath pressing down on me. My heart pounded as panic crept up the back of my throat. Of all the times for those birds to appear—they either planned this or saw their chance and took it. Cunning little bastards.
The pastor gave me an encouraging nod holding out the mic. “Go on, sister. We’d love to hear from you.”
Maggie, by my side, had her eyes fixed on the ceiling, ears flicking in agitation. I followed her gaze and spotted Phin and Ferb up in the rafters, bobbing with excitement. Probably waiting to hear what I’d say so they could twist and mimic it in my voice later.
I took a breath, trying to regain control. Fortunately, this wasn’t my first time being stuck in this kind of situation. Thanks to Katherine, I had plenty of practice giving testimonies at her church. I’ve got this, I told myself. If nothing else, I had a couple of stock stories I could pull out of my back pocket, worn from overuse but good enough for new audiences. The benefit of meeting strangers: you could recycle material and no one would know.
“I—uh...” The words felt thick in my throat. I glanced toward the rafters, hoping Phin and Ferb wouldn’t push me any further. “I’m just visiting today.”
I could hear them rustling, their anticipation palpable even from up above. I pictured them up there, bobbing excitedly like they were waiting for the punchline. I groaned inwardly at the thought of them soaking up my personal stories, ready to mimic my deepest feelings in my own voice, maybe even twisting them for laughs later.
The pastor’s smile didn’t falter. “We’re all just visiting, in one way or another. Go on, share what’s on your heart.”
I shifted on my feet, my mind racing. I knew what to say, but being on stage, with the birds lurking above, the pressure felt different. I couldn’t just walk away now. I had to say something.
“Alright, let’s get this over with,” I muttered to myself, and took the microphone the pastor held out to me.
I turned to face the crowd, Maggie sitting obediently beside me. The pastor gave me an encouraging nod, his eyes filled with kindness, like he believed I could handle this.
I wasn’t so sure. Phin and Ferb were up in the rafters, watching, waiting to swoop in with whatever scheme they had planned. They had already manipulated me with their command words, subtly nudging me into this situation, and I was only just starting to grasp how much trouble I was in.
Clearing my throat, the sound echoed through the speakers, louder than I expected. The congregation leaned forward, eager for me to speak. I’d been here before, stuck in the spotlight, expected to bare my soul in front of strangers. I could fake it. I’d done it plenty of times.
“My name’s AJ,” I began, my voice sounding steadier than I felt. “I, uh... wasn’t really planning on getting up here today.”
No kidding, I thought, glancing toward the ceiling where Phin and Ferb perched. Those birds would be the death of me.
A few soft chuckles rippled through the room, and that helped—just a little. I took a breath, trying to gather my thoughts, but I could feel Phin and Ferb tugging at the back of my mind, pulling me off balance, waiting for their moment.
“It’s... been a rough couple of months,” I continued, my voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “I’ve been struggling—trying to live on my own, keep a job, stay independent...”
The congregation listened, sympathy thick in the air. They didn’t know what I was dealing with, but with Maggie at my side, her service vest a clear signal, they thought they did. They were filling in the blanks with god knew what, and that only made me more uncomfortable.
Then Phin’s voice slithered into my mind: “Speak.”
I gripped the microphone harder, irritation flaring. They weren’t done playing with me.
“I’ve had to rely on Maggie a lot,” I went on, the words slipping out on autopilot. “She’s been helping me through things I never thought I could handle.”
That part was true. Maggie had been an anchor for me in ways I couldn’t explain here. This was a testimony, not confession.
“You know,” I said, trying to deflect with a familiar story, “my stepmom—Katherine—she used to make me get up in front of church all the time when I was a kid. Thought it would make me more... social.” I forced a laugh. “Didn’t really work. I still hate doing this.”
There were murmurs of understanding, sympathetic nods from the crowd. Too sympathetic. And then, right on cue, Phin pounced.
“Thank Jesus for His strength!” Phin’s voice rang out, perfectly mimicking mine. But it didn’t sound like it came from above. It sounded like it came from my own mouth. Goddamn familiars and their goddamn magic. This was Scooby-Doo levels of ventriloquy.
The congregation stirred, a few amens rising from the front rows. So this was their game. They weren’t just parroting my voice—they were twisting it, making me say things I hadn’t. Making me sound... pious. Grateful even.
Then another realization hit me, cold and sharp: if Phin and Ferb could do this—if they could hijack my command words, manipulate me with just a whisper—I might be stuck here for as long as they pleased. Even if I wanted to leave, even if I wanted to bolt, which I absolutely did, I wasn’t sure I could. They had me right where they wanted me. And the congregation’s eager, willing participation only amplified their power.
I was not even halfway through my testimony when another horrifying realization hit me—I was standing on an elevated stage, in a dress skirt, without any underwear. A teenage nightmare made manifest. If the lighting was just right, the men in the front row were likely noticing more than just my words.
Heat rushed to my face, and I covered it with my hands. But this only seemed to fuel the birds further. “I— I can’t even—” Phin’s voice echoed out, thick with emotion that wasn’t mine. Ferb followed, mimicking, “Thank God for my trials!” in an even more heartfelt tone.
Shut up! Stop! I shot the thought up at the rafters, desperate.
Of course, they didn’t stop. Those weren’t command words, just mental pleas. My magic vocabulary was limited to five words—Baby's First Spells. The congregation, oblivious to my internal battle, saw only a woman covering her face, seemingly overwhelmed by emotion. I probably looked like I was holding back tears—tears of shame. They were eating it up.
I tried to pull myself together, forcing out more words, but Phin and Ferb echoed everything back, twisting it with sanctimonious fervor.
“I don’t know what I’d do without... without God’s grace,” Phin parroted in my voice, turning it into a dramatic declaration. I wanted to melt into the floor.
At this point, it didn’t matter what I said. The cockatoos were doing most, if not all, of the talking. And with my face covered, the congregation had no idea.
I focused on the cockatoos, mentally pleading. I’ll give you whatever you want. Just let me get off this stage.
Phin’s reply slithered through my mind, eerie and calm. His flesh and blood.
What? I almost gasped aloud.
His flesh and blood, Ferb echoed ominously.
It hit me—Communion. They wanted Communion. Of course they did.
There’s no Communion today! I hissed at them in my thoughts, careful not to say it out loud. That’s at the end of the month! I’d seen it on the calendar in the lobby.
I felt their disappointment, and a new dread crept in. If they didn’t get what they wanted, they might settle for more entertainment.
Find Patty, I thought, she’ll give you some wafers or bread. Just go find her.
Phin and Ferb hesitated, skeptical.
Look, if she doesn’t have what you want, I’ll take you to the store after. I have $22 in my purse—you can spend all of it on snacks, just—please, stop this.
A pause. Then finally, Promise?
Yes, I promise! At this point, I’d promise them the moon if it meant they’d shut up and let me go.
Above, I heard rustling, and then, to my relief, Phin and Ferb descended from the rafters in a flurry of wings, landing with loud squawks on Patty’s shoulders. She had been standing at the back of the room, clearly startled but holding a small pack of something—crackers, if I had to guess. The birds bobbed and squawked with delight, as if they’d just pulled off the prank of the century.
Patty, wide-eyed and exasperated, tried to shush them. They quieted down, still bobbing in triumph.
I let out a shaky breath, the weight of their influence lifting now that their attention was elsewhere. Thank God.
I cleared my throat, forcing a smile as I delivered the last line of my testimony—a generic, rehearsed conclusion I’d used at Katherine’s church more times than I could count. I wasn’t entirely sure what Phin and Ferb had added, having tuned out their meddling toward the end, but the congregation’s warm applause told me I’d hit the mark.
Some of the tension eased, but there’d be no quiet exit for me now. Several members beckoned me to the front, eager to sit with me—a gesture of support. They must’ve thought I was some lost sheep, bravely wandering back into the fold. It was suffocating, but I couldn’t exactly decline.
Maggie, sensing my discomfort, rested her head in my lap. I held her face in my hands, leaning back in the chair, caught between anxious relief and crushing fatigue. Whatever I was feeling—be it the Holy Spirit or just stress hormones—it sure felt awful.
The service continued, but so did the congregation’s kind touches and whispered reassurances—pats on the shoulder, murmurs about courage and grace. They probably thought I’d faced some crowd-related phobia, overcome by divine inspiration. They weren’t entirely wrong, I mused bitterly. Just had to swap the part about God with two cockatoos.
Irony was a bitch.
When the service finally ended, I bolted for the door, muttering something about needing to get to work—which wasn’t a lie. In fact, if you ignored the blatant omissions, I hadn’t told a actually lie while in church. Well, aren’t thou pious.
At the exit, I found Phin and Ferb still perched on the shoulders of a now frazzled Patty. She was doing her best to keep them entertained, her strained smile telling me it was a losing battle. She was trying get them to fly home and they weren’t budging.
I sighed, rubbing my temple. “Alright, you two. Stop harassing Patty and let’s go.”
They flew from Patty’s shoulders to mine, immediately bombarding me with food requests.
“I’ve got twenty-two bucks,” I muttered—it was what remained of the fifty I broke at the IHOP. “Budget accordingly.”
Patty watched, bewildered, her gaze flicking between me and the birds. “Are... are they yours?”
“Nope,” I said over my shoulder, heading for the door. “Just looking after them.”
As I stepped outside, I caught a glimpse of Patty staring at the membership form I’d filled out. I’d scribbled Sandy’s information on it—so maybe I had lied in church after all. Her brows furrowed as she murmured, “Wait... you’re Sandy?”
I hesitated, wondering if using Sandy’s name had been a good idea. I just didn’t want to end up on some church mailing list. But by the tone of Patty’s voice, it sounded like she knew Sandy—or at least knew of her. Before she could ask any more questions, I let the door close behind me and hurried to my car. I'd already had enough drama for the day. Enough for the week actually.
I got into my car and drove off.
True to my word, I took Phin and Ferb to a nearby gas station—one with a respectable snack selection.
----------------------------------------