Cleo was silent.

“Well?” Val asked.

“Well, what?” Cleo started licking the other paw.

“Is it true or not?” Val snapped.

“Oh, you asked if you could ask a question, and you asked it.” Cleo continued licking. “I never said I would answer.”

“Cleo!” Val yelled.

Genevieve’s horn blared, but Val’s attention snapped back to the road a split second too late. The Mustang’s horn wailed in her ears as a shadow loomed in her headlights. Val saw the lights reflecting scarlet from wide, frightened eyes.

She stomped on the brake with everything she had, and Genevieve’s tires squealed. The Mustang screeched to a halt, but her nose met something with a sickening thud, and a yelp resounded through the night.

“Shit. Shit!” Val unbuckled her seat belt and shoved the door open. “Look what you made me do!”

Cleo dug both sets of claws into the beautiful leather covering Genevieve’s seat. She was still purring.

“I hate cats!” Val yelled as she stormed out of the Mustang and slammed the door behind her.

A soft whimper turned her anger to sorrow as she hurried to the shadow lying in Genevieve’s headlights. Her dwarven eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom, and she made out the hairy figure of a large dog. He lay on his side in front of Genevieve, breathing quickly, his pink tongue spilling onto the asphalt between startlingly white teeth.

“Oh, crap. Oh, man. I’m so sorry.” Val edged toward the dog. Her gut flipped at the sight of blood on his scruffy coat, which was a dark chestnut. “Aw, man. I’m so sorry, boy.”

The dog whimpered again. Val didn’t know what to do. If she touched him, would he bite her?

She couldn’t leave him here. His left front leg jutted awkwardly, the paw dangling, useless.

“It’s okay, boy. I’ll help you,” Val murmured. She sank to a crouch and slowly extended an arm to the back of the dog’s neck. Her fingers brushed filthy, matted fur, and the dog tensed, but he didn’t growl. She stroked him gently, feeling for a collar. His neck was bare.

“Good boy,” Val whispered. “Good boy.”

Her amulet thrummed.

“Screw you, amulet,” Val muttered. That stupid Sphynx always made the thing go haywire.

She continued stroking the dog’s fur and edged nearer, her fingers working through his thick coat. His panting slowed.

“Good boy!” Val told him.

The dog wagged his tail, which thudded quietly on the asphalt.

“Aw, you’re such a good boy.” Val’s heart melted. “I’m so sorry for hurting you. I’m going to get you help, okay? Don’t bite me.”

She shrugged her denim jacket off and wrapped it around the dog’s neck and shoulders, hoping it would protect her from a bite, then slid her arms under him. He whimpered, but his tail went on wagging. Despite his large frame, he was strangely light. Ribs dug into Val’s arms as she lifted him.

“Poor dude,” Val murmured, edging to the car door. “When last did you have a square meal?”

The dog’s tail rhythmically brushed her hip. Genevieve opened the door, and Val awkwardly slid the dog into the backseat, still wrapped in her jacket. He tensed, one front paw flailing, and Val stroked his ears until he settled down. She tried not to think about the fact that his back paws hadn’t moved.

“It’s gonna be okay, boy,” she told him, hoping that was true.

The dog lay back, a heap of motionless fur, and sighed.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Val assured him.

She shut the door and hustled around to the driver’s side. There was no sign of Cleo when she got in.

“Where did the cat go?” Val demanded.

Genevieve’s blinker and windshield wiper levers twitched in a shrug.

“Well, good riddance,” Val growled.

She pulled out her phone and typed in an address: the veterinary clinic from which she’d picked up Jess from work several times. She glanced in the rearview mirror as she slid her phone into the bracket. The dog wasn’t moving.

“We’re going to get you help,” she told him. “Let’s go, Gennie. Quick and smooth.”

The Mustang pulled away so gently that Val could have held a full champagne glass without spilling a drop.

CHAPTER NINE

The vet clinic was tucked into the corner of a grimy shopping center. Val steered into the closest parking space, which wasn’t hard. Only a few cars stood nearby. The clinic was the only building with lights in the windows.

24 Hours the blue neon sign over the door proclaimed. Posters in the windows advertised lost pets, adoption drives, and specials on sterilization.

When she opened the back door, Val was surprised to see that the dog was still alive. His tail twitched feebly, and when she reached toward him, his pink tongue lapped her palm. That made her feel much shittier about hitting him.

“I’m so sorry, dude.” Val scooped him into her arms as gently as she could.

The dog was limp and unresisting in her grasp as she carried him into the clinic. The silent, bare waiting room was so small that six chairs barely fit in the space between the door and the counter, behind which Jess drooped over a stack of paperwork.

She looked up at the sound of the door swinging shut behind Val, and her green eyes widened behind her glasses. “Val?”

“Hey.” Val strode to the counter. “I hit this poor dog on my way home. Can you help him?”

Jess jumped to her feet. “Bring him through. Dr. West is in surgery, but I can examine him in the meantime.”

Val followed her into a cold, bare examination room. A stainless steel table stood in the center with a drainage hole on one side and a bucket hanging beneath the hole. The opposite wall featured a steel sink and a countertop covered in medication bottles. A computer monitor was lost amid the chaos.

“What happened?” Jess asked.

Val laid the dog on the table. I was arguing with a magic cat and thought my car would drive itself. “I didn’t see him,” she told her friend. “I hit the brakes and heard a thump, and he was lying in front of the car.”

Jess stroked the dog’s neck. He whimpered and tensed but didn’t resist as she pulled back his lips to look at his mouth. “The wheel didn’t go over him?”

Val shook her head mutely, surprised by the tightness in her throat.