My laugh prompted Ren to ask, “Care to share your private joke?”
“Bixby’s complaining about Bijou’s speed.” It was half true. I didn’t want Ren and Sinda to worry unnecessarily. They had enough on their plates today. “I suppose I should let him walk more often so he doesn’t lose his figure.”
He glared back at me briefly. “I expect to stay exactly as I am in perpetuity. Can you say the same?”
We all laughed now. “I found my first gray hair the other day,” I said. “I guess that’s a no.”
Ren’s sleek black hair was out of the net and flowing down her back. “I had a few in my twenties. But your mom has aged well. Liberty, too.”
“When they’re not under the influence of spells and toxins,” I said. “And Sinda’s aging in reverse.”
She patted her hair. “I’ve actually lost some gray and wondered if you’d given me a secret gift from your magic book.”
“Nope. You sure don’t want me spelling all over your good looks, ladies. Remember what happened to Elsa.”
Ren smiled at the memory. “At least not until we get some lessons with a pro under our belt.”
Not long ago, I’d had a misfire that brought my beloved bronze sedan back with a few parts missing. She seemed fine now. Various clanks and groans had worked themselves out without a mechanic’s help, which gave me hope I could keep her forever. That car had been my best friend—and briefly my home—through all the years I had no one to trust.
We were passing the public library when my stilettos put their brakes on. A shiver ran through me that felt like a curious combination of excitement and dread. I had felt this way before. Five times, to be exact.
Mr. Bixby stopped straining at the end of the leash and said, “Uh-oh.”
“What?” Sinda peered around. “I don’t see a problem.”
“Sometimes, what you can’t see is the problem,” I said, staring into the storefronts across the street.
Ren swiveled, too, before whispering, “An invisibility spell?”
“Maybe. I feel like someone is watching us.”
Not us. Me.
And not someone. Something.
“Just ignore it,” Bixby said. “I know what you’re thinking and we can’t afford to stop for every Tom, dog and hairy that comes along.”
“If it’s what I think it is, we can’t afford not to stop.” I closed my eyes for a second to sense what I couldn’t see. “The library. She’s in the library.”
“Who’s in the library?” Sinda asked, glancing at the old building.
It was quite large, especially compared to other libraries in the region. I liked to think our ancestors had always prioritized both education and public access. The vines covering the walls were still green, confirming the place was well loved by magical patrons.
“Skye,” I said. “Her name is Skye.” I stooped to collect Mr. Bixby. “Detour, ladies. Unless I’m much mistaken, we’ll be welcoming another very special dog to our pack.”
Bixby squirmed in my arms, shouting protests only my friends could hear. “You can’t respond to every lonely bark, Janelle. Do you have any idea how many dogs are on the other side?”
“She’s not on the other side, though,” I said, climbing the library steps. “Skye’s right here, in limbo, waiting for her bridge back over.”
Bijou pranced alongside me. “Don’t be selfish, wiener boy. There’s enough of Witchy to go round and round and round.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. Because every time I successfully brought back a ghost dog, it took a significant event.
“A murder.” Bixby kept squirming. “Say it like it is. Someone dies and then you nearly die and voila, another varmint joins our ranks.”
“Not the last time,” I said. “It was dramatic but not deadly, remember?”
“Oh, I remember. You had two very experienced magicals backing you up. That won’t always be the case.”
“I know, but when I hear the call, I need to answer. It’s that simple.”
“There’s nothing simple about it.” He finally wriggled half out of my grip and I set him down at the top of the steps. “And you don’t hear anything. If you did, I’d hear it, too.”
“I feel it, then. It’s a tug on my heart. And I can’t turn my back on a dog in need. Remember, that’s how we found each other.”
“One and done would have been fine. I’m dog enough for all of you.”
Ren laughed as they caught the tail end of the argument. “You are, sir, but Bijou is the light of my life. Don’t deprive someone else of that joy. Maybe this one is destined for Sinda.”
Our friend shook her head. “Not in the market for a dog, dead or alive.”
“You’d be safer with a familiar,” Ren pressed. “Like Liberty said.”
“Perhaps fate will send me something smaller and low maintenance. Are there bird familiars?”
Mr. Bixby stopped sulking long enough to play know-it-all. “Of course. Rats, canaries and everything under the sun. The lowest maintenance and least useful of all is a human ghost, such as Sir Windbag.” He was referring to my mother’s lifelong loyal companion, Sir Nigel Boswell, who was indeed a ghost, and permanently so. There was no bridge back for humans. “That you know of,” Bixby continued. “You’re the first of your kind, too.”
“Sometimes I wonder about that,” I said, peering through the window in the library’s door. “This feels older than me.”
