Turning
from dawn breaking over the Quarter, I crossed over to the canopy bed where
Mischief was having a completely different experience.
After
my thousandth time pacing the room, Mischief had crawled on top of the mountain
of decorative pillows placed against the headboard and fallen asleep. As
normal, she’d started off in a dignified little ball, resting her head on top
of her fluffy tail. Barely ten minutes had passed before she flipped onto her
back, front legs curved at her chest and hind legs spread in a most un-ladylike
manner.
Without
thinking, I mimicked her—flopping to the mattress on my back with a cry of
terrified frustration.
Mischief
snorted in surprise and tried to twist around onto her feet. Instead, she sank
between the pillows. She only disappeared for a heartbeat before she thrust her
head through a gap at the bottom and shook off a little trail of drool left
over from her nap.
“Sorry,
sweet girl.”
Mischief
only groaned, yawned.
Despite
everything, she could still make me laugh. I curled onto my side, snagged under
her front legs, heaved her free from the pillow avalanche, and pulled her to my
chest.
“Oh,
Mischief, what have I gotten us into?”
She
snuggled against me and in answer issued a long, relaxed sigh.
“You
know, I’m always amazed how much you understand what I’m saying and what’s
going on around us. However, you seem completely clueless at the moment, which
is surprising.” I buried my face in the large white patch of fur at the back of
her neck, tears stinging my eyes. “Although I have to admit, I wish I were
clueless right now too.”
Mischief
exhaled, sounding annoyed, then squeezed her way out of my embrace, trotted
about a foot across the mattress, and plopped down, staring at me.
I
laughed again. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to insult you or anything. I only…”
The
expression in her eyes brought me up short and ushered back the memory beside
Eudora’s body. How in the world had I forgotten?
“I
could have sworn you talked to me earlier.”
Her
annoyed expression deepened.
I
leaned closer. “Are you irritated because that’s ridiculous or because I’ve
been too busy being a stress-mess to remember until now?”
She
glared, though not necessarily angrily, but more like another flash of what I
thought was annoyance. She leaned closer so her nose almost touched mine and
held my gaze, staring so hard had it been anyone else, it would have felt
invasive and too personal.
But
it was Mischief, so I stared right back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re
trying to tell me.”
She
blinked, then stared again.
“You
are!” I gasped at the realization. “You are trying to tell me something.
Actually, trying to say something… right?”
Though
I couldn’t hear even the faintest reply, the expression in her dark eyes was a
resounding Yes. Truthfully, it was probably more of a Duh!
“Okay.”
In my excitement, I attempted to push aside being captured and my probable
purging and scurried up into a sitting position on the bed.
That
was instantly too high, so I repositioned to my knees, leaning forward and
resting on my forearms, returning our faces to eye level.
Again,
I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I got the impression she was laughing.
Strange.
Although I suddenly realized how I must look spread over the bed with my rump
up in the air. “Kind of like you when you want to play, huh?”
Her
eyes twinkled.
Another
thrill shot through me.
I
had always felt a bond between us and frequently had the impression we could
read each other’s thoughts and feel each other’s emotions. But I’d heard other
people who loved their dogs say similar. I figured every doggy parent felt
that. But this was different, even though I couldn’t hear any words like I
thought I had at the cathedral. This was new, even for us.
“Okay…
what’s different from earlier?” I thought back to the moment at the cathedral,
trying to recall. She’d been on my lap, and I’d buried my face in her fur, as I
so often did for comfort. But… I’d just held her a moment ago. Just had my face
buried in her fur while I tried not to cry.
Before
I could sit up, drag her into my lap, and try again, Mischief drew closer once
more and pressed her forehead to mine.
I
started to argue, to tell her of my plan of recreating the scene. However, she
seemed to know what she was doing better than I did, so I held my position.
Mischief
pushed a little harder against my forehead and took a long, slow breath, then
released it. Her breath didn’t smell minty fresh or anything, but the warmth
washed over my cheeks and felt as familiar and safe as home.
I
attempted a slow breath of my own, but it shook.
Mischief
did it again.
So
did I—longer, deeper, and slower that time. The tightness in my throat
lessened, and the claws gripping around my heart loosened ever so slightly.
Safe.
I
scrambled back, startled, as I hadn’t really expected it to work. “You said
that, right? Not just my imagination?”
Her
scowl was all the answer I needed.
“Okay,
you did say it. That’s… amazing. And I love you think we’re…” My turn to scowl.
“Wait a minute. Do you really think that, or is safe the only word you can
say?”
Her
chuff upgraded from mild annoyance to exasperation.
“All
right.” Despite our situation, I chuckled, because talking or not, Mischief was
Mischief.
I
wasn’t entirely convinced, but whether because of hope or delusion, I wanted to
find meaning.
“All
right, let’s say you really are talking and I can hear you. We’ll go a step
further and believe you’re choosing to say safe because you truly think we
are.”
She
blinked. Maybe confirmation? That seemed like a good sign.
“Great,
so… you believe we’re safe.”
Reality
broke through. I was sitting here talking to my dog. Although I always talked
to Mischief—all the time—I’d never expected her to answer back with actual
words.
Was
I losing my mind?
Mischief
growled softly.
“Okay,
good point. We’re surrounded by witches. Plus, black cats, otters, alligators,
and opossums while we’re at it. Not a huge leap that you might start talking.”
Her
growling stopped.
“I’ll
take that as agreement.” I couldn’t help but grin at her, then reached out and
stroked her beautiful face. “So you think we’re safe. I guess that’s good, but
there’s not a single thing that’s happened that leads me to believe that. Why
in the world do you think we’re safe?”
Mischief’s
tail began to dance behind her head. Magic.
I
gasped again. “You can say more than safe.”
Her
wagging ceased instantly.
“Sorry.”
She
sighed.
“You
think we’re safe because of magic. I don’t see how.” I continued to pet her and
try to parse through things out loud, attempting to make sense of it. “Don’t
get me wrong. I’m over the moon it’s all real, but magic is what put us in
danger—it’s definitely not protecting us.”
Mischief
shook her head, pulling away from my touch. She seemed to consider for a
second, then stretched out one of her white little paws and placed it on my
hand resting against the bedspread.
Magic.
My
heart thrilled again at hearing her voice—which mostly sounded like my own
voice, my thinking voice or conscience… but… different.
“Yeah,
I get it. There’s magic. But it’s being used against us, Mischief, not—”
Magic.
She batted my hand with her paw. Maeve. Magic.
“You
said my name!” I gasped again and yanked my hand away, covering my heart like a
parent whose baby just said “Mama” for the first time.
She
rolled her eyes, which… wasn’t new.
“Sorry.”
She
scooted close enough to touch again.
Maeve.
She glared again. Magic.
Mischief
shook her head in what looked like frustration. I didn’t get the sense she was
frustrated at me that time, however.
She
gave a little hop, then looked back at me before covering my hand with her paw
once more. Magic. Maeve. She tapped my hand, one of her claws accidentally—or
maybe not so accidentally—scratching my skin. Magic Maeve. Magic Maeve.
“Uhm…”
Mischief
shut her eyes, and her tiny little caterpillar brows furrowed like she was
straining. Maeve. Is. Magic.
She
opened her eyes, looking deep into mine again. Maeve. Magic.
