The Source

[OhGodOfWriting]

Gecko does my seatbelt for me, for which I'm both grateful and irritated. I also realize belatedly that he kind of helped me with Red Polo back there, nor is he being a dick right now. I attribute this to well-deserved guilt. He still hasn't explained himself. The only answer he gives to me telling him that he should have warned me is: "I'm taking you home." I'd like to argue with him but really, it's the best thing I've heard all day.


He asks me where I live. I don't remember my new address, so I fish around for my phone to look it up. I see that my brother is calling me (still) and not just calling, but attempting to FaceTime. Ugh. I try to decline his call, but accidentally accept it instead. The deathly sound of impending video chat, to the tune of a quasi-ominous ding, fills the car. Too late now.


"My stuff is in the captain's office. Suitcase," I tell Seth.


"Berry?" My brother asks. Good, this is real good, I think sarcastically. "Hey Micky, one second, I have to find where I live..." I tell my brother, clicking around in my phone. He keeps talking, oblivious as usual. "What happened?" He's asking me. "Your aura went all...really, really dim. Are you okay? Do you have the crystal I gave you?"


I find my address, and hold the screen up so that Seth can see it. I'm still pretty weak, so my hand slips and I dismiss the address, and my brother's face fills the screen. Micky is six years younger than me, and probably the reason why I act half my age. He also acts half his age, so really our parents have always been shit out of luck. Micky is obnoxious and overbearing and forgetful, but he's also the single greatest thing in the world. He's wonderful, in the literal sense. He has a face so round that it looks a-gender, and the fact that his hair is curly and dyed faded pink doesn't help, either.


"Woah, who's the cutie?" Micky asks.


I lower the phone back to my lap and look at it balefully. Micky seems to remember what he was so convinced of, why he called me in the first place. "Ah! You look like shit! What happened to you?"


"Nothing, Mick, I'm fine."


"Who is the guy? Is he your new partner?"


"Yes," I say. "Seth Gecko." I decide to just go with it, and I tip the screen on my leg so that Micky can look up at the driver. "Gecko, this is my brother."


"Hi, Seth." Micky has dropped his voice several octaves, which makes me roll my eyes. "I'm Mike. ...Your aura is really interesting. This bright, really intense...like sky blue, but electric?" I truly cannot comprehend the fantasy world that my brother inhabits.


"But with sort of a void around it...like you feed off other people or something...ohmygod are you a mage?" (His voice has gone back to normal.) "Berry, is your new partner a mage!? That's why your aura went all...Hey! Seth...Seth Reptile, whatever-your-name-is, you can't overdraw from her!" I've already tilted the screen away from Gecko.


"I was so worried...your energy got so faded it was just the palest, palest pink, and smaller and smaller until it was only a tiny flame. You're usually this big fireball I can always see the light of, you know? God what would happen if it went out?"


"Micky, I'm gonna have to go," I say, and concentrate all of my rebounding energies on hanging up on him. I put up with a lot with my brother. Really I do. But calling my aura pink? That's crossing a line.


I glance sideways at Seth, and even though I'm still kind of slumped and melty in my seat, I deadpan: "He's such a drama queen."

 

[Scriven]

"We'll stop by the station," I tell her. At least that gives me a direction to drive, since she's digging her phone out of her pocket to presumably find her new address. I hear a familiar tone as she accepts a FaceTime request that was incoming and glance over curiously at her. I hear a man's voice, but Polinski is holding up her phone where her address is displayed. I read the street name and blink, then turn my attention back to the road. I know exactly how to get there because I happen to live right across the street. I guess that condo that just got pulled off the market now belongs to one Beryl Polinski, Source-to-be and my new partner. I say nothing, mostly because I anticipate this would start a fight, and the person on the phone is talking about auras.


"Woah, who's the cutie?" I hear, and even though it's a man asking my mouth curls into a grin as I keep my sights determinedly on the road. Thank you, kind strange. I'll take it. Beryl says nothing, which I can't blame her for, but my ego chalks this up to her being a friend of Ellen. If she were a straight female, wouldn't she find me cute? Just a little, maybe? I know I'm a ginger and that my mouth is too big for my face, that I'm blazingly white and my ears stick out a little, but I'm tall and I wear a uniform. Those two details have made up for a lot of shortcomings in the past when it comes to women.


What the man on the phone with Beryl says reminds me of my guilt though. He tells her she looks like shit, and while I think that's a little strong, she does look ready for a burger and a nap. She tilts her phone toward me and I look down for a second to look at the man on her screen. He's got a round face and soft, rounded, effeminate features. He's also got a cloud of cotton-candy colored hair. She introduces me to her brother, who's kind of the last person I'd expect of being related to the woman next to me.


"Um, hi," I tell him before looking back at the road. I take the exit for the station. I have no idea what he's talking about with auras and colors and I wonder if this person Polinski is talking to is either a new age hippie or a nut. Maybe he's onto something though, because he correctly surmises that I'm a mage, then chastises me for overdrawing from Beryl.


"It was an accident," I mutter under my breath.


She finishes up her conversation with Micky and ends the call, telling me he's kind of a drama queen.


"He's just worried about you," I respond, forcing myself to ease up on the death grip I've got on the steering wheel. "I didn't mean for that to happen," I tell her. "I'm really sorry. I don't even know what happened back there. It was never like that with my old partner."

 

[OhGodOfWriting]

While I was on the phone with Micky, I think that Seth said something like 'it was an accident.' Well of course it was an accident. What a lame self-defense. It's not like he intentionally energy-raped me. I don't know, my brother might believe that, but I can't. Seth is incompetent, not mean.


He also, apparently, has big-brother syndrome, something which I've had too much of right now. Especially considering neither of the sources is my big brother. "He's just worried about you." Who is Seth to defend my brother for me? I'll call him whatever I want to call him. I know I'm being more defensive than normal, but I can't help it. I'm at a disadvantage and the whole thing has me feeling bitchy.


Then Seth de-fuses me like a bomb.


"It's okay," I confess. "Fireball, remember? If my brother has any idea what he's talking about. Which he doesn't."


I'm flipping my phone over in my hands, contemplating what he's said, and what I've just said. My phone is an iPhone 5s, the small one. Micky got it for me because he insists that we both need to be on the same technology. I don't know if that's so that he can feel more connected to my chi, or so that he can break into my phone easier. Probably both.


I slide my fingers over the matte surface on the back. 'Space gray' the color is called, ridiculously. They weren't fucking inventing a rocket. I put it back in my pocket and stare out the closed window, realizing how far back into the city we already are.


"I hope we don't get in trouble for messing up the training center. I'm feeling the weight of tax payer dollars right now." I hope Sam doesn't care as much about precinct funding as my last boss did. I don't really want to go in there and get reamed out. I'll take a tongue lashing on a normal day, but I don't want to in my current state, which is improving, but only has so far up it can go without the intervention of sleep and food. And possibly, as my brother suggests, using a crystal to channel energy. I'm not that desperate yet.


"I've never done this before. What was it like with your old partner?" Sensitivity be damned, I should have probed sooner. I didn't realize how much it would matter.

 

[Scriven]

Wait, was that actual forgiveness? I don't quite believe it. She looked mad enough to spit nails earlier. No, that's not quite true. Spitting nails takes energy and she's pretty much been a puddle since ending the simulation. If Polinski feels like moving past this little incident, I'm not going to argue though. I'm not that dumb.


"Fireball," she tell me. "remember? If my brother has any idea what he's talking about. Which he doesn't."


I'm looking ahead of me at the road, but I smile slightly. "Your brother's kind of interesting," I tell her, choosing my words carefully. "I think he does know what he's talking about though. He called me cute, remember? Clearly he's onto something."


Beryl is looking down contemplatively at her phone and I try to figure out what she's thinking, but her face has gone from obscenely expressive to impossible to read. Women.


"I'll explain to the captain that it was a necessary, uh, experiment." The truth is, I'm not so sure we're not going to be in hot water either, but there's no point worrying her over it. She asks me how things had been with my old partner and I consider. "Well... I never thought it was hard with him, but there was effort there, y'know? And when I touch you it's like... effortless. Less than effortless. It's like your energy pours into me and I don't know how to direct it. With my old partner, everything was very... deliberate. I had to really concentrate to draw energy from him. And I was never able to do what we did. I mean, I know it was too much, but damn. It was kind of incredible. If I could do that, but control it..." I shake my head, because the possibilities seem endless.

 

[OhGodOfWriting]

'Interesting' is one of the least colorful words that could be used to describe my brother. It's almost inventive. Then he implies that maybe my brother is smart, or intuitive or something, which is higher praise than Micky usually gets. And then the good moment is ruined by the ass-faced comment about being cute.


My mind drifts back to the training center, and I speak up. To which he responds that he will brush it off as an experiment. Typical mages, I'm starting to think. Definitely better him than me having to face the chief. He's some kind of golden boy to them, if Sam and Caroline are anything to go off of. And Seth. Seth definitely thinks of himself as a golden boy.


Yet none of this makes any sense. The way I insist on viewing Seth doesn't hold up. I can see it's inconsistent, I can see how he's kind of sweet and an asshole simultaneously, or maybe neither. How he's sure of himself and insecure. Maybe he's just a normal person, like me. Normal people just aren't usually this fascinating. With Seth, I am staring at a blank piece of paper, trying to make sense of the grain, the weave, finding it beautiful for no apparent reason, and it's hurting my head.


"I've never done this before. What was it like with your old partner?" I say, because I need to know. Is it always like...this? Mages-are-jerks aside, I'm surprised more mages and sources don't...you know.


"And when I touch you it's like... effortless."


Hmmm?





My thoughts and his thoughts are going in two different directions, and I force mine back on track, listening to what he's saying. "...I know it was too much, but damn. It was kind of incredible. If I could do that, but control it..."





At last I smile at him, for once on the same page. It would be incredible. "What are sources supposed to do? I wasn't really doing anything. I mean there were times I tried to help you, but I'm not sure if it made much of a difference. Can I control how much energy I give you?"

 

[Scriven]

Her question makes me blanch and I splutter. What are Sources supposed to do? I have no freaking idea. "They didn't give you, like, Source training or something?" I ask. "I mean, I don't know if there even is such a thing." I ponder that for a moment. "We've got the opposite problem of most Mage/Source teams though. Normally it's hard to find someone who's got the knack for it. Not everyone can be a Source, y'know? It's kind of like not everyone can be a mage. You've either got that connection to magic or you don't. So with most people, I can try, but there's just not much I can wring out of them. That sounds bad, but you know what I mean. With someone who's a natural Source, like my old partner, there's this reserve you can draw from."


I turn my eyes onto Beryl as we pull into the parking lot of the station. "And then there's you. You're like... like a super Source or somthin'. I don't know what to make of it."


I unbuckle my seat belt and reach for the door's handle. "Sit tight for a minute, okay? I'm gonna go grab your suitcase. Sam's office, right?" I smile at Polinski and realize I'm still nervous around her. I want her to like me and I don't think she does. "No puking in my car."


I get out of the car, but I leave it running for her. Leaving someone in the car with no AC running in Florida is tantamount to first degree murder. I nod my head at a couple of people coming out of the station, then pass through the doors after them.


"Hey Caroline," I say as I pass by her desk at the front where she's ready to handle all the people who come in.


"Hey! How'd it go?"


"Umm, well, not bad," I tell her carefully. That's kind of the truth, right? Me and Beryl have a whole lot of potential, but we learned that at a pretty high cost to the Miami-Dade Training Grounds and the Miami Police Department. Caroline's face becomes sympathetic.


"Sorry, Seth. Guess that's another name in the 'no' column, huh?"


I give a noncommittal shrug and move past her toward Sam's office, scoping the place out. No sign of the boss. So far, so good. I peek into her office and it too is blessedly empty. Looks like me and Polinski are off the line for today, at least. Good, 'cuz I need a little time to practice my contrite apology speech. I already know Sam's going to rip me a new one for what I did to the training grounds, and for that I can't blame her. Right now priority number one is getting Beryl taken care of though.


I slip in to Sam's office and grab Beryl's one lonely little suitcase, then book it toward the door again, because I'm not in the mood to press my luck. When I make it through those doors, I feel like a man who has just escaped prison. I pop the trunk and stow Beryl's suitcase, then get back into the car. No sooner have I buckled than I'm pulling away from the station.


"So, Polinski, what's a girl like you doing so far from New Mexico?"

 

[OhGodOfWriting]

There's nothing I can say to his question about source training. I didn't have any. I read the manual, but that taught me about as much as manuals ever do. He's blaming me for what happened, in a way, but he's putting a flattering spin on it. I avoid the scrutiny of his blue eyes as he turns them on me, calling me a 'super source.' I don't like being studied like this, because I know now that there are things about myself that I don't know. And that is unsettling. Luckily the moment doesn't last long.


He tells me to stay in the car, that he'll grab my suitcase for me from Sam's office. I start to smile at him in acknowledgement until he tells me not to spew chunks. Honestly. I am perfectly fine. There is no danger that I'm going to puke, I'm hardly even nauseated any more. Although it is nice that the car's stopped moving.


He leaves me like a dog in the cruiser, and I lean my forehead against the window so that I can simultaneously feel the sun's warmth and the refreshing draft from the AC. I close my eyes, feeling a kind of guilty delight at how badly I need sleep.


The sound of the car trunk slamming wakes me, and I pull my head away from the window and wipe drool off of the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. Jesus, Polinski. Keep it together. You're almost there. I'm not sure how much of this is the draining magic, and how much of it is the tiredness I already felt. It just feels like being regularly tired, but a lot stronger now. Bone-tired. I-can't-think tired. The progression was just too fast, and that's thanks to Seth. Or me. Both of us, apparently.


He's slipping back into the driver's side, too chipper. I try to remember that he got my suitcase for me and saved me from the boss. I try.


"So, Polinski, what's a girl like you doing so far from New Mexico?"


I'm forcing myself to sit upright, like a human who wasn't just drooling-asleep in a strange vehicle. I think about his question, but I'm not going to say that I left my job and home just to get away from an ex. "Well, being a source is a promotion," I explain. Moved here for the job opportunity, is what I want him to deduce.


"Should I look up directions to my place, or do you know how to get to the street it's on? I don't think it's too far from here. Part of why I chose it. But it's hard to tell online. Thanks, by the way, for driving me. And handling the captain."

 

[Scriven]

She tells me she moved here because it meant a promotion, to which I can only nod. Still, that's a big move, all things considered. I wonder if her family is there and if she's missing them, but that's too personal of a question to push on a person I just met this morning.


When Beryl asks if I know how to get to her place, I quickly avert my eyes.


"Yeah, I know where that street is." Because I live on it. Should I tell her? I decide not to, even though the wiser choice is probably coming clean. Wait, coming clean? I lived there first. I didn't do anything wrong, so it's not like it's some sort of dirty little secret. While my thoughts have warred inside my head, too much time has passed for me to casually mention I'm her new neighbor across the street, so the decision is made for me.


As we drive, I'm faced with the same frustration I'm always faced with when I'm driving in the squad car: everyone around me has slowed to a cautious crawl, going at least five below the speed limit. Normally I'd just zoom past them, but we're off the clock and I'm not an asshole, so I drive the speed of all the other cars and lean back a little in my seat, a quiet sigh passing my lips. It's funny how I never have this problem when I'm driving around in my truck.


Together we pull up onto our street, and I slow down as we near her condo (and mine right across the street). I pull into her driveway, double checking the number on the house. Yup, this is it. I glance into the rearview mirror and look at my place across that thin stretch of road and pray to god me and Beryl can get past this stunted awkwardness between us, otherwise it's going to get real weird real fast living in such close proximity to each other. I already know I'm not going to move even if my relationship with Beryl turns out to be a nightmare, because fuck that. I've got my condo exactly how I like it, and that's taken time.


My condo is a squat, two-sided bungalow painted a pale shade of green with white trim. The guy who owns the other half is admittedly kind of an oddball, but he's alright. He doesn't complain about Doug, and I don't complain about the fact that I can occasionally hear the sounds of hentai coming through his walls. I'm not bothered by the fact that he's watching cartoon porn- everyone's got their fetish. But who listens to it at high volume? You turn that shit down low, even if you're alone, because we're living in a society of prudes and shame. He's breaking the code. But whatever, it's not that big of a deal.


My yard looks a little bit like a garden out of a storybook, all overgrown and wild, but that's how I like it. The grass is cut neatly, but the lantana is spilling over from its stone border, the rainbow blooms brushing the sidewalk. The side of the house is lined with red oleander that I planted a few years ago, and they're mature and in full bloom this time of year. I've got a loquat tree bearing pale orange fruit the size of oblong golfballs in the front yard, and in the back there's citrus trees.


I turn off the car and pop the trunk, then get out and fetch Beryl's suitcase. "This the right place?" I ask her, coming around to stand beside her once she's gotten out.

 

[OhGodOfWriting]

As I open my car door, I'm surprised again by how much stronger everything smells here, on the heavy air. It smells different in the city than it does in the marshes, but still, it's like every scent is individual and complex. There's an aroma of flowers, different types of flowers, and I don't know what they are even though I locate the source across the street. I smell distant saltwater, and the too-near scent of humidity. I smell car exhaust and hot asphalt. I have never been able to smell so well in my life. It's overwhelming. I can't even locate the stink of my own sweat over the air pressing too close around me.


I glance at the periwinkle-blue condo in front of me. It matches the pictures I looked at, but in person, it seems both less and more. What it seems like most, though, is a stranger's house.


"Yes," I tell him, taking the handle of my suitcase. "Want to come in for...a drink...of water?" Can you drink the tap water in Florida? Can I locate my glasses in the moving boxes? Has the moving truck arrived? Hopefully yes to all of those things, but I made sure to turn the utilities on before I came, so the air conditioner should at least be working. That's really all I care about at this second.


I walk up the path to my front door, rolling my suitcase behind me. There's a concrete stoop out front, railing overgrown with complex, swirling knots of dead vines that have dried to the consistency of twigs. In the pictures, this plant had been green and dotted with small white flowers. I do not want to think about trying to untangle this mess from my front porch. Not in this heat. I might have to do it in the middle of the night.


Under the beach-themed welcome mat is the spare key that's been left for me. I put it in the lock and turn it, letting myself in. I leave my suitcase just inside the door, and keep my shoes on. Inside the condo it's dark, every shade drawn. It's uncomfortably warm, but I hear the hum of the AC. Must just be turned down. It is also, however, empty.


The moving truck hasn't come yet.


Forgetting about Seth, I walk briskly through the rooms, looking for a stash of boxes or furniture. There is neither. When I pass the thermostat, I vent my frustrations by jabbing the temperature down a little lower than necessary. I pull my phone from my pocket as I head back for the front door, and dial the moving company.


"Yeah. This is Beryl Polinski. I thought my stuff was supposed to get here yesterday? Oh. Oh, I see. Is there anything I can...? ...But a discount doesn't really help me for tonight. Okay, great." I hang up. It is not great.


"Sorry," I wince at Seth. "Rain check on that water?" More importantly, what the fuck am I gonna do?

 

[Scriven]

<p>


I take Beryl up on her invitation for a glass of water, though it has less to do with the fact that I'm thirsty (I am, but a cup of room-temp tap water doesn't particularly excite me) and more to do with wanting to see that she gets in okay. She takes the handle of the suitcase from me and I find myself smiling benignly at her back. Okay, she can do the whole "independent woman" thing. She can carry her own bags. Point taken.


</p>


<p>


</p>


<p>


She stops on the porch and lifts the mat and I hold back a sigh. "Ah. Yeah, under the doormat. I wouldn't have thought of that," I mutter.


</p>


<p>


</p>


<p>


Whoever left the key there is <em>begging</em> for the place to be robbed. And as we walk in, I wonder if maybe it has been. Beryl looks... well, she looks devastated, so I'm ready to start writing up a report so we can get this called in. She beats me to it, pulling the phone from her pocket. I peer around curiously at the place while trying not to be too obtrusive. She doesn't call the police- she calls her moving company. Apparently they haven't come yet, which I think is a big improvement over the scenario I've envisioned. Beryl is still shit out of luck though.


</p>


<p>


</p>


<p>


"Sorry," she says with a wince. "Rain check on that water?"


</p>


<p>


</p>


<p>


I laugh. "It's kinda sweet you're still worrying about getting me a glass of water when you've got nothing but a suitcase and an empty house."


</p>


<p>


</p>


<p>


I look around again, feeling the oppressive heat shrinking in on me. She turned on the AC, but it's going to be a while before that cool air makes its presence known. I scratch my nose and look away.


</p>


<p>


</p>


<p>


"You, uh, want to come over to my place?" I ask. "I've got glasses and water. And, well, furniture." Because really, what's she going to do over here? Sit down in the middle of the floor and stare up at the ceiling of this stuffy little condo? No, she'd probably do that woman thing- unhook her bra while her shirt's still on and pull the whole thing out through an arm-hole like some kind of magic trick, <em>then</em> sit down on the middle of the floor and stare at the ceiling. I shift uncomfortably. Nope. Nope, I'm not thinking about my new, lesbian partner hanging out in her empty condo sans bra. That's a whole lot of dangerous, and I'm just not going there.


</p>

 

[OhGodOfWriting]

Seth calls me sweet, which I might have commented on had he not invited me over to his house before I could. "Sure," I agree. "Thanks."


It'll be nice not to be trapped in an empty condo for hours, ordering overpriced takeout since I don't have a car or dishes. And maybe I can parlay dropping by his house into a bid to sleep on his couch or something, since my stuff isn't supposed to get here until tomorrow. New estimated arrival date, or whatever. But hey, at least they're giving me a discount.


"Just let me get changed first. I'll meet you in the car." I take my suitcase into the bedroom - or is it the office? I haven't decided yet - and close the door. I open the case to find that everything has shifted down and been squished, wrinkled, and smells like airport. I fish out jeans and a fresh tee shirt and underwear. With the door closed, I get naked. I wish I had time - or the accouterments - for a shower, but I don't.


I leave my hoodie and jacket off and change into a pair of sneakers and clean socks. The tee shirt is a white V neck and just slutty enough (a peek of cleavage, snug under the armpits, with short sleeves), and just comfortable enough (loose over my abdomen). It's really the two-pronged approach of dressing, necessary for a girl like me. (The correct term right now might be curvy, but let's just say it: fat. And I'm comfortable with it.) My brother would far rather that I wear something a little more visually interesting, but when he says that, I gesture at myself or flash him and say "here's the visual interest." Fuck Micky anyway, what does he know about being a woman.


I pull the hair band out of my hair and comb it down with my fingers, touch up my deodorant, and then walk out of the bedroom. I left my stuff in the bedroom, but transferred my phone and wallet to the back pockets of my new jeans. Locking up the house, I slip my key into my front right pocket and then turn to head for the cruiser in front of my house.

 

[Scriven]

"'Kay," I reply, taking that as my cue to leave. I head back to the car, which is already getting hot from just a few minutes of sitting in the sun, and slide into the front seat. I turn the key in the ignition and cold air blows on me. Unbuttoning the top button of my uniform, I tug at my collar. Doug is probably laying on the cool tile in the kitchen with his belly up and legs spread, majestic little beast that he is.


Beryl doesn't take long, but when she appears, it's clear she's pulled another magic trick on me.


"Damn," I mutter as she approaches. Beryl went from cute to hot. Her jeans hug her legs, showing off all her curves, and it takes a steady internal mantra of 'don't stare at her tits' to not do just that. I manage, but damn. Gay, I remind myself. Not into the peen. Unsurprisingly, reminding myself that I can't have her doesn't make me want her less. It's like eighth grade year all over again, when my extraordinarily lush math teacher, Mrs. Pruitt, showed no interest in me whatsoever. It's only in adulthood that I can see that not only would such a relationship have been highly inappropriate (and illegal), but that my fourteen-year-old, 110 pound, flame-red-haired self also just wasn't much of a temptation. Much like now, with Beryl. 


"Don't bother buckling," I tell her once she slides into the car and closes the door. "We, er, don't have far to go."


In fact, getting in the car in the first place was probably unnecessary. I put the car into reverse and pull out of her driveway, reverse a little farther, then reach up to push the garage door button on the remote affixed to my visor. The garage door to my condo goes up and I pull into it next to my red, beat up truck, right across the street from where we were just seconds ago. 


"Looks like we're neighbors, huh?"


I don't know if she's going to be pissed or find this hysterical, so I don't give her enough time to respond. Instead, I shut off the car and jump out of the car, edging my way over to the door. "Welcome to Casa del Gecko," I tell her, pushing the door open. The garage door leads right into my laundry room, which is kind of unfortunate, because there's a basket overflowing with clothes right next to the door and a precarious pile of mail on top of the dryer. Beyond the laundry room is the kitchen, which isn't much better. It's clean (sorta), but... messy. I went grocery shopping a few days ago and only put away the cold stuff, and now the rest is still sitting in plastic bags on top of my counters.


I hear the clicking of little claws on wood as Doug races toward the sound of people, and a second later a rotund little pug appears, panting from his short run. I misjudged: he wasn't in the kitchen, which probably means he was on my bed. 


"You little fucker," I mutter, but he's oblivious, too excited at the sight of Beryl to even look at me. He throws himself at her, his mouth open in a curled grin. "Good thing I don't have a big dog, huh?" I tell her. "Anything bigger than a lab could probably knock you over right about now."