Instinct

Fugitive by Jim Butcher

MY NAME IS MOUSE AND I am a very Good Boy. Everybody says so.

When My Friend, Harry Dresden, asked me to guard his little girl while she was at school, I was proud to do so. They gave me a Service Dog Test, which I passed, because My Friend told me to just do whatever the testing man told me to do, so I did.

Now I am a Service Dog, and I wear a magic vest that makes everyone think I am very important to my Maggie, so they let me go everywhere with her. That is the best, because My Maggie can become very uncertain sometimes, and it is always good to have a friend to sit with you and wag his tail when you are not certain.

I carefully nosed forward one of the flash cards from United States History that read ‘This US President could write two letters at once in separate languages.’

My Maggie was already dressed for bed in one of her father’s t-shirts that read ‘Don’t Make Me Put You In The Trunk. It’s Already Crowded In There.’ She was a tiny child with dark hair and dark eyes.

She crinkled up her nose, frowning at the card and guessed, “Benjamin Franklin?”

I made a grumbling sound.

“I can’t help it, I like him best,” Maggie said. “Maybe John Adams?”

I lay down on my side and moaned.

Maggie giggled at me. “Ronald McDonald?”

I rolled on my back and made an exasperated noise. Terrifying Hamburger Clowns had nothing to do with the American Revolution—and there was a quiz tomorrow.

“You take class way too seriously, Mouse,” Maggie told me. “It’s Jefferson, everyone knows that one.”

I sat up and said, “Woof,” in my most approving tone, so that My Maggie would know she had gotten the answer right. My Maggie was a very intelligent student, but she sometimes wanted to do other things more than she wanted to do school.

I loved school! I learned so many things! Like Reading! And Math! And Science! I got to go to class with all the other kids and everyone petted me!

I think if more dogs realized how much fun school was, they would all want to go.

My Maggie and I worked on the American Revolution quiz until lights out, and then My Maggie got into bed, seized her flashlight and her comic books, and got under the covers with them. I lay down in front of the door, dutifully ready to snort a warning if one of the nuns came down the hall. My Maggie loved her comics, and even though she was breaking the rules, she always fell asleep in a few minutes, and she did so again tonight.

I dozed off, trusting my nose and ears to tell me if any trouble came.

It did.

At midnight.

One moment, all was quiet. The next, the very air quivered with subtle power. By the time I opened my eyes, a seam had opened in the air, flush against the floor of My Maggie’s dorm room. Within seconds, it had widened into a ragged oval of sullen red light and something huge began to haul its way through.

My Maggie was a heavy sleeper, and lay motionless in bed, her cheeks pink.

I got up and prowled to stand between her and the opening gateway. Power radiated from it—but no menace, and I decided to wait and see what was happening.

Slowly, almost impossibly, a great beast emerged from the gateway. Three huge canine heads arose from the red light, and enormous paws thrust forth to drag the great beast into the dorm room. There was barely room for it to fit, and I found myself nose to nose-nose-nose with an absolute monster of a dog, one that radiated sheer metaphysical mass and strength.

I leaned forward carefully, sniffing at the central head. Three heads sniffed back, taking in my scent before they focused on me, and then a deep, resonant voice sounded clearly in my mind.

“Please excuse my intrusion. I am here looking for Mouse Dresden,” the beast said, politely enough.

“That is me,” I said back, the same way. “I am Mouse Dresden.”

“My name,” the beast said, “is Cerberus.”

“You are famous,” I said.

“Yes,” the three-headed dog replied. “I need your help.”

“I am a Service Dog,” I said. “But I think that means I mostly help My Maggie.”

One of Cerberus’s heads sniffed curiously toward the little girl. “She is in danger.”

My ears came forward at that, very seriously. “Why?”

Two of Cerberus’s heads looked ashamed and hung low. “I failed in my duty. A prisoner has escaped Lord Hades’ custody. I must track down the fugitive. But I require your help.”

“Lord Hades and My Friend know one another,” I noted.

“Yes,” Cerberus replied seriously. “My Lord believes the fugitive was removed from Hades to harm Your Friend and his offspring. My Lord likes Your Friend, so he sent me to help.”

I let out a low growl. “Who would do such a thing?”

“When we find them,” Cerberus said, “I will tell you.”

I growled again, more thoughtfully. “I cannot go with you. I cannot leave My Maggie unprotected. I am her Service Dog.”

Cerberus sat down and pondered this thoughtfully. “What if My Lord provided security for her?” he offered.

“I do not know him,” I said. “Or you.”

“I swear to you by my noses and tail,” Cerberus said, “Your Maggie will be safe.”

“Oh!” I said, “that is a different matter, of course.”

“Thank you,” Cerberus said gravely. All three of his heads turned toward the still-glowing gateway.

After a moment, a cloaked and hooded form arose from the ruddy light, human in shape more or less, but smelling of dark and damp and of slithering scaly things. The figure emanated calm and power, its hooded head looking around the room for a moment before she settled calmly down in My Maggie’s chair at her desk and folded feminine hands over one knee. The hood over her head seemed to stir gently from time to time.

“This is a friend,” Cerberus said. “She is very protective of women. She will keep Your Maggie safe until dawn.”

“Then I must return by sunrise,” I said.

“Agreed,” Cerberus said. “Let us waste no time finding the trail.”

I rose and shook myself, going over to sniff the figure guarding Maggie, marking the scent. She smelled partly like a human, and partly like a snake, and I felt amusement coming from her as I snuffled.

Should anything happen to the little girl, Hell itself could not hide this creature’s trail from me.

“What are we tracking?” I asked Cerberus.

The three heads growled from three throats and one chest.

“A monster of the old world,” Cerberus rumbled. “The Nemean Lion.”

Cerberus turned one wall of the building into red light for a moment and we walked through it, which I thought much more practical than a doggy door. Once through, the Hades-hound shook his massive form and blurred with shadow. When he was finished, he had only one visible head and was the size of a very, very large but very normal dog like me, a black fighting breed, heavy and thick with muscle.

“That is a very good illusion,” I said, with a certain amount of insight. My Friend was a wizard, after all.

“Thank you,” Cerberus said gravely and began to run. I kept pace with him, which was difficult. I have been doing lots and lots of school, but there is not enough room on the grounds to exercise properly and I had become professionally soft and squishy as Maggie’s primary bodyguard and snuggle companion.

“I do not understand,” I said. “You can do so much. Why do you need my help?”

Cerberus let out a little growl. “When it escaped Hades, the Lion had help from the outside. And now there is a force at work against me. Not mortal magic, nor divine in the way I have come to know it.”

His eyes glanced aside at me. “Something like what you use.”

That made my hackles rise. “Oh.”

“You know of what I speak?”

I growled in the affirmative. “My Shadow. He is also a temple dog. But he is a Bad Dog.”

Both of us shivered at the mere words.

Cerberus flicked his ears. “My claim on the Lion is preeminent. But this creature prevents me from tracking the Lion somehow. I thought you might help balance the scales.”

“I like doing that,” I confirmed. “But I cannot simply tell you where the Lion is.”

My mythic companion slowed his pace as we rounded one last corner, and there before us was the Castle, the blocky stone house My Friend had taken away from Criminal Bad Man. At this time of night, the Castle should have been locked and dim, but instead there were half a dozen men outside with lights, mostly gathered around the large wooden front door, where the sidewalk was lit by a row of several overturned and burning automobiles.

One of them, a large white pickup truck, had a hole in it, through the engine block. The edges of metal around the hole still glowed with heat to my vision, so great had been the force exerted where something small and irresistible had gone through it.

“Here is where the trail begins,” Cerberus intoned. “The Nemean Lion has not had a body in millennia. Its shade had to take one to use as a vessel. It is still weak.”

I blinked at the cars. “That,” I asked, “is weak?”

“Yes,” Cerberus said. “In its day, it required the power of Heracles to be defeated.”

We both paused in the shadows across the street from the castle as the men shone their lights on the ruined cars and trucks and talked. I recognized two of them—Will Borden, the werewolf who fought beside My Friend in the great battle, and Michael Carpenter, who was just the best human ever, next to My Friend of course.

“I just don’t understand it,” Will was saying. He was a big man with a small man’s height and moved with tremendous power carefully concealed.

“You’re sure?” Michael asked carefully. He was a tall man, his hair and beard shot with silver, but his body was still thick with muscle. “You’re absolutely sure it was Mister?”

“The door guards said he got out again,” Will said with certitude. “Then, bam. He lets out a yowl and takes off down the street. Flipping cars.”

Michael frowned. “Could that have been an illusion? Concealing something else?”

Will shook his head. “I don’t know. Harry said something about hostile illusions not working near the Castle now that he had initiated countermeasures.”

“Did he really say that?” Michael asked.

“No, he mumbled something like, ‘I’ve buggered hostile illusions and veils for the foreseeable future, so if it’s there, assume it’s real.’ Then he shambled off to his room.”

Michael sighed and glanced back at the Castle with worry on his face. “It’s been a hard year for him.”

“Yeah,” Will said. “But he’s still trying.”

He grimaced. “Look. This is Mister. Should we wake him?”

The larger man frowned thoughtfully. “He’s in very rough shape. I hate to think of him taking more hits.”

“You want us to lie to him?” Will asked.

Michael gave him a faint smile. “No. Never that. Lies, even kind ones, are seeds that sprout trouble.”

Will sighed.

“But,” Michael said. “Given how shaken up he’s been, I doubt he’ll be much help to us. We’ll start the search now and let him sleep until morning. It’s only a few hours until he wakes up in any case. Keep combing the castle and see if Mister turns up. Perhaps whatever the guard saw was some kind of facsimile.”

Will nodded with a grimace. “You believe that?”

“It’s too early to believe anything,” Michael said calmly. “Let’s get more information.”

“You know who you sound like, right?” Will said with a lopsided smile.

Michael grinned. “He does tend to rub off on people.”

“Hey,” Will said. “Isn’t that your truck?”

Michael sighed and glanced up. “Yes. At least it’s insured.”

The two of them kept talking quietly as they went back inside, taking all but two of the other men with them. Those two stared at the shattered cars for a moment, glanced at one another, and then stood a little closer together to face the night.

Cerberus turned to regard me seriously. “The Lion’s shade took the wizard’s cat.”

I stared at him for a moment, shocked. “What? Why?”

“The Lion’s spirit needed a body. I suspect whoever helped it escape had control of the spirit and directed it to seize the wizard’s cat when it got outside.”

“But that is Mister. He is my friend.”

Cerberus growled and narrowed his eyes. “The cat has been taken by the Lion. And the Lion has made him invincible.”

He tilted his head toward the glowing hole in Michael’s truck. “See?

The cat struck the vehicle with such force that the metal burst. It didn’t tear. All the way through the engine, and all the different materials inside.”

“I do not care about engines and metal,” I said. “I care about my friend Mister!”

Cerberus looked at me steadily for a moment.

“The cat,” he said finally, “has been possessed by one of the deadliest creatures my region of the world ever knew. It took the power of a demigod to stop the Nemean Lion back in the day.”

He stared at me and said, “The Lion will kill those who have not earned such treatment. It must be stopped.”

“I will not hurt Mister,” I said firmly. “Or let him be hurt. By anyone.”

Cerberus’ chest vibrated with a growl so low I could not hear it, only feel it. “What did you say?”

I tilted my head at Cerberus and said, “You have six ears. Did none of them hear me?”

Cerberus was silent for a moment, and then snorted out a breath.

“The Lion’s hold on him will be too tight to sever. But perhaps there is a way. I have no particular wish to harm this Mister. But I will do my duty.”

“We both will,” I said. “My Friend’s heart is badly wounded. He needs Mister to help him feel better.”

The legendary dog sighed. “I do not know what can be done. But we must find the Lion before it begins harming innocents. You can see how dangerous it is, even weak with hunger.”

I stared at the shattered cars. I could smash cars like that if I had to. Mostly. But it would take me time, and the Lion-possessed Mister had done so in seconds.

Cerberus was sober and wary—which implied that the Nemean Lion was a creature at least as formidable as he.

Mister, possessed, was very, very dangerous, and not only to cars or innocent people.

It would break My Friend’s heart if Mister hurt or killed an innocent.

And there was only so much heartbreak a man, even My Friend, could take.

And perhaps that was the point. This escape had been no accident, no quirk of fate.

It was an attack on My Friend.

Suddenly I felt like biting someone.

“How long before the Lion is at full strength?” I asked.

“Not long,” Cerberus said. “It will regain strength as it kills. If I follow the scent, can you make sure Your Shadow does not interfere?”

“We will find Mister,” I said firmly. “And we will save him.”

“We will find him,” Cerberus agreed, though his voice was cautious.

“And then we will see.”

Cerberus took the lead, lowered his great blocky head to the ground, and began to course after the scent. He had an excellent nose. I could barely track Mister’s passage myself, and my nose was better than almost any dog I knew. But Cerberus was a Big Dog. And also, he had three noses, which I think gave him an unfair advantage.

But still. A dog is his nose, and Cerberus’s nose was amazing. He was so much cooler than me, which was awesome.

Almost instantly after we set out, I felt a force working against us—gentle but inexorable, like gravity, pulling against our progress, as if no matter where we ran, we would be running uphill.

Shadowy energy permeated the very air, causing chance to bend against us—it sent a truck belching smoke and stench on the street near Cerberus as he tried to recover the trail. It caused other cars to blare their painfully loud horns distractingly and sent gusts of wind eddying between the buildings to stir up twenty thousand city-scents to hide the trail.

I growled in my chest and the air around me flickered with light as I poured my will against that shadow, increasing my pace to race at Cerberus’ right side. This working of My Shadow was meant to harm My Friend, and the very thought had my fur expanding as azure light rippled and sparkled from it. My outrage pushed the light out from my fur into the air around us, expanding to shield Cerberus, enveloping the legendary dog in flickering spectral blue light.

“There!” Cerberus growled. “I have the trail! Well done!”

I barked, sending waves of unseen energy of light flowing like a river out ahead of us, to help make sure no poor humans would suffer a collision with a determined hellhound—and the two of us broke into a tireless—well, mostly tireless—run.

We raced out of the city to the west, passing through neighborhood and park and shopping center in the darkness. More of my will spilled out to bend chance in our favor, so that we passed through the shadows of momentarily flickering streetlights, or between cars so that their lights never shone on us. We passed from city to suburb to ex-urb, racing at a pace far faster than most…well, cars.

The hellhound ran in a straight line. He leapt metal fences and leaned a bit to one side to streak around houses—wooden fences and outbuildings he simply ignored, and we left a trail of holes the size of a small car in those.

“The trail grows fresh,” Cerberus told me, and I could readily follow it myself now. Mister had passed this way less than five minutes before. We drew to a halt at the edge of a housing development that was full of bare earth and skeletal wooden frames. Beyond it were rolling fields with occasional groves of trees, where Illinois farmland and rural properties began.

We were out of the city.

“That farm,” Cerberus growled. “The Lion is there.”

I lifted my nose to the wind and said, “I smell blood.”

“Cow,” Cerberus confirmed. “The Lion needs to kill. It must have been forced to refrain from killing mortals until it could regain some of its strength from other sources.”

In the night, something screamed. Perhaps it was a cow.

I shivered. “What now?”

Cerberus was silent for several seconds before he said, cautiously, “Let us sniff them out first.”

Them? Ah, of course. If the Nemean Lion had been assisted in its escape from the outside of Hades, it would be foolish to assume it was alone. A cautious approach seemed most wise.

We ghosted forward, crouched low, noses and ears alert. The farm was a small one, a square divided into quarters. Two were fields, one was pasture, and one held the farmhouse and outbuildings. A winding stream, lined with trees offered the only cover, and so we used it to approach. The wind was in our noses, giving us a good picture of what was ahead, and we crept to within a few seconds’ worth of sprinting of the farmhouse and its buildings.

We crouched in the cover of the trees and brush supported by the stream, and I watched as a streak of motion flitted across the pasture and slammed into a third cow. The cow made a screaming sound of pain and staggered, and I was just as glad that I could not see clearly what was happening to the poor beast. It thrashed and kicked and moaned and then slowly went still as the life bled out of it.

After that, a shadow blurred toward the chicken coop next to the farmhouse. Birds screamed, though their sounds ended with little splatting noises—and something very large, with a very big chest, let out a coughing sound that stirred the grass in a wave rolling out from the farmhouse.

“We must hurry,” Cerberus said. “The Lion is remembering how to move in the mortal world again.”

I inhaled deeply and said, “There are children in the farmhouse.”

Cerberus gave me a sharp look. Then he leaned forward, and I could hear the snuffles of his extra noses. “Ah,” he said. “So there are. You have a very good nose for that.”

“Children matter,” I said.

And that was when we finally saw the Nemean Lion.

It was in the form of Mister the cat. Mister was a very large tom cat (but still much smaller than me), with short grey fur and a bobbed tail and with one ear notched from fighting. But at the same time, he was very much not Mister. The moon cast a shadow of the cat that was far too large and far too lumpy and far too dark, and the darkness around him seemed to have a shape of its own—like something that was massive but trapped one dimension over.

“The more blood it spills,” Cerberus noted, “the more the Lion will have access to the mortal realm.” The hellhound leaned forward, preparing to move.

“Wait,” I said. “Watch.”

Cerberus glanced at me but waited.

And the door to the farmhouse opened.

A human figure stood in the doorway, covered in a heavy black robe with a heavy black hood. It faced the Lion, holding up a gloved hand in a salute.

And a moment later, My Shadow appeared beside the hooded figure. My Shadow was a temple dog like me, only he wasn’t all plump and snuggly. He was lean and strong-looking and there was something about the way he moved that spoke of a hunger he could never fulfill. Dark energy radiated from him.

My Shadow leaned against the robed figure and let out a low growl.

“Oh,” I said with quiet dread. “I think that is Cowl.”

“What is a Cowl?” Cerberus asked.

“One of My Friend’s foes,” I said.

“A mortal wizard?” Cerberus asked.

“Yes.”

“That is bad,” the hellhound said. “This world is not mine. If his will is strong enough, he could trap or banish me.”

I flicked my ears thoughtfully. “We must overcome them,” I said. “Distract the Lion somehow. I will push him out of Mister.”

Cerberus grunted. “Or I could kill the cat and the same thing will happen.”

“We will not do that,” I said. “I must save Mister for My Friend.”

“It is but a cat,” Cerberus said.

“I will be a Good Dog and save him,” I said.

“For me to be a Good Dog, I must send the Lion back to my master,” Cerberus said. “I am a very Good Dog. He always says that.”

My Shadow took a couple of steps forward and stared directly toward me.

I held my breath.

“What is it?”

I looked at Cerberus. “He knows someone is out here. He can feel me thwarting his will.”

My Shadow sniffed the air, but the wind wasn’t with him. He took a few restless paces while Cowl faced the Lion.

“You are freed from eternal punishment thanks to me,” Cowl said, his voice resonant and rough.

The Lion paced back and forth, tearing at the earth with its claws casually. Mister’s little paws tore furrows in the earth a foot across. It let out a coughing sound and another growl.

“Because if I permitted you to take mortal lives, you’d have attracted immediate attention,” Cowl said, his voice annoyed. “There are at least four wielders of Power in Chicago who might have banished you. Continue questioning me and I will do so myself.”

The Lion growled and raked at the earth with its back claws. It threw up shovelfuls of dirt as it did.

“I have mortals for you, obviously,” Cowl said calmly. “You missed the pigs. Feed. We will discuss the plan when you have done so.”

The Nemean Lion let out a snarling sound, turned, and streaked away toward another outbuilding.

This time the screams were truly hideous, piteous, high pitched and terrible.

Cowl turned and vanished into the farmhouse. After a moment, My Shadow went with him, if reluctantly, looking back over his shoulder with his hackles erect.

“Cowl is going to bring out the children,” I said. “We must protect them.”

“That is not how I am a Good Dog,” Cerberus said.

“But it is how I am a Good Dog,” I told him.

“By the time the Lion feeds on mortal souls, it will be a very difficult fight,” Cerberus said.

“Perhaps we should go bite Cowl and My Shadow first.”

“They are behind the farmhouse’s threshold,” Cerberus said. “I cannot enter without being invited.”

“Oh. What if we both go fight the Lion,” I said, “while he is in the piggie building.”

“Perhaps you can exorcise the Lion swiftly,” Cerberus said. “Then we deal with the wizard if necessary. Unless we cannot.”

“If we cannot,” I said, “the wizard will be there. And My Shadow. And he is skinny and fast.”

“Then there is no time to be gentle,” Cerberus said, his voice regretful. “I am sorry.”

“We must save Mister,” I said. “My Friend needs him.”

“I am sorry,” Cerberus repeated. “The Lion is too dangerous.”

I eyed Cerberus.

And I showed him my teeth.

“What are you doing?” Cerberus said. I noted that his shadow, too, was much larger than it should have been. Much larger than me.

“If you will not help me save Mister,” I said, “I will help Cowl and My Shadow defeat you.”

Cerberus looked indignant. “You will not.”

“I swear it,” I said, “by my nose and tail.”

The mythic dog stared at me, exasperated.

In the distance, another piggie screamed.

“That is different,” he said after a second. “There is no time for this. What is your plan?”

“Plan?”

“If you wish to be the Big Dog,” Cerberus said, “you should have a plan.”

I tossed my head and shook my ears until a plan came. “Very well,” I said. “But you must do what I say. And you must trust me. And then we will both be Good Boys.”

Cerberus wagged his tail hopefully.

I concentrated and started altering energy to help the plan work.

The first part of the plan was simple. Cerberus dropped his illusion under the cover of night and was suddenly enormous and fearsome. And also, he had three heads. He hurtled across the yard to the building where the piggies were kept and smashed a hole the size of a garage door in the side of it.

From within the barn, there was an enormous sound that was part cough and part snarl, and Cerberus answered with a ferocious series of roaring barks. Piggies began squealing in even greater panic as the sound of shattering wood cracked through the night.

A big machine went flying out one end of the building, some kind of tractor about the size of a truck. It tumbled across the ground and crashed onto its side.

Inside the farmhouse, lights flicked on. The front door, tearing off its hinges with a squeal of protesting metal, slammed flat down onto the porch, and My Shadow stood on it with all four paws, staring intently toward the barn. Umbral energy began to boil off him in roiling waves that a mortal could not have seen, and My Shadow hurtled across the ground toward the barn to join the battle.

He did not see me where I lurked in some nearby brush. That was the trouble with working with dark energy—it tended to blind even those who use it. My Shadow flew across the ground with his own supernatural power and grace, and I was once again sad at what my brother had become.

But though I felt sorry for him, there were also innocent children in danger, and that was more important.

I waited until My Shadow had entered the barn.

Then I picked up the large stick I had chosen and sprinted forward. It was difficult, but I turned my head sideways so that the stick held in my jaws dug into the earth, and I began to sprint around the farmhouse in a circle, leaning so that my paws were on the inside.

The side of the barn exploded in a shower of splinters and shards of broken wood, some of which flew out very fast and went very far.

Cerberus landed on his back, all three heads snarling and biting, while something that was shaggy and looked like one of those saber-toothed cats from the Stone Age, except with an enormous mane, landed atop him. It was grotesque with muscle and power and speed and landed atop him. Cerberus’s great jaws raked and tore, as did his claws, but the Nemean Lion did not care. Its hide was invulnerable and where Cerberus’s jaws and claws struck, green sparks flew up, but nothing was torn, and no blood flowed.

Cerberus was not to be so easily overpowered, though. The great dog levered its paws beneath the Lion and flung it away, then regained his footing so quickly that it seemed its own kind of magic. Cerberus flung himself in a chest-to-chest clinch with the Lion. The two great beasts staggered back and forth, tearing vast gouges in the earth as supernaturally powerful muscles strained against one another.

But Cerberus was bleeding from marks of claw and fang. The Lion was not.

The doorway of the farmhouse darkened, and suddenly Cowl stood there, all dark robes and dark hood, gripping a wizard’s staff in one hand. He stared toward the battle for a moment and then I saw a flash of white teeth in the hood.

“A gift, Lord Hades?” Cowl murmured. “Why bind one when I could have two?”

And he raised his hand and began to mutter beneath his breath. Power gathered around him and began to snake out toward Cerberus.

And that was when I finished the circle, dropped the stick, and touched the furrow in the earth with my nose and a surge of bright energy.

An invisible curtain of my energy leapt up from the circle, rising up to enclose the farmhouse in a dome, and Cowl’s Power was snuffed out like a candle on Maggie’s birthday cake.

The dark wizard froze and stared at his hand for a moment. Then he drew in a breath and extended it again, snapping a louder word—and nothing happened.

I let a growl explode from my chest and sprinted toward the dark wizard and went for his throat.

I am a Good Dog. But people who hurt children deserve to be bitten. My Friend would agree with me.

Cowl saw me coming at the last second and brought his staff up. He managed to get it between his throat and my jaws, but I overbore him and drove him to the ground with all the power in my body. The breath exploded of him in a huff, and I closed my jaws, shattering the staff as if it had been a dental bone treat.

Perhaps I should have considered that.

A wizard’s staff is a powerful magical tool, one that is often used to store Power so that the wizard can unleash it when he is tired or otherwise does not have access to the natural flows of energy in the world. The energy stored in the staff exploded outward and flung me up into the ceiling of the farmhouse.

I hit hard enough to hurt even me, and I fell heavily back down onto Cowl, who let out a weak curse. We both sort of flailed at one another, stunned and weakened. He got his arm between my teeth and his throat, and I bit down, but his robes were enchanted with protective magics, and I could not get my teeth through them.

This Bad Man had attacked My Friend when he was so sad he could not fight. He had endangered Mister the Cat, who I had known since I was a tiny puppy.

So, I clamped down like a vise on the armor, twisted my head and shoulders and hips, wrenched my jaws, and snapped both bones of his forearm like sticks.

Cowl screamed.

He twisted and I lost my grip on his suddenly wobbly forearm. He wriggled out from beneath me and staggered into the farmhouse’s kitchen. I followed, still dazed.

He seized a red metal fire extinguisher with his good hand, and suddenly my nose and eyes were full of powder that smelled very bad. I reeled to one side, shaking my head and sneezing uncontrollably to clear my nose. When I could see and small again, Cowl was running out the front door.

“Ash!” he howled.

I chuffed and growled, my throat raspy with powder, but I did not pursue him—for this part of the plan Cerberus was on his own.

My nose had already told me where the children were—locked in a bedroom. I reared up and threw my whole weight of my body and bright energy at the door and smashed it open. Inside the bedroom, three children, all of them smaller than My Maggie, and with darker skin, were huddled together and sniffling, staring at me with wide eyes.

“Woof,” I said encouragingly, and wagged my tail. I probably looked silly covered in all that white powder.

The children just stared at me.

Oh.

They had been with My Shadow. And he looked like me. But he was not me. He was not all squishy and snuggly.

I went into the room and flopped down on my back to show them my tummy, wagged my tail and said, “Woof!”

The largest of the three, a boy, peered at me. “Different doggie,” he said quietly. “He’s fat. And he has a collar.”

“Woof!” I said again and wriggled around encouragingly. Then I got up and went to the broken door, turning in circles and wagging my tail. “Woof, woof!”

From outside, there were more crashing sounds, and Cerberus let out a shrieking bellow of pain and fury. The children heard the sounds and flinched back—and at the same time, I felt the power of the circle I had raised around the farmhouse fray and vanish. Cowl must have scuffed the magical circle and shattered it.

I went to them and began nudging the children with my nose, making encouraging chuffing sounds, wrapping them in layer after layer of bright energy, calling forth courage and banishing fear.

“I’m scared!” said one of the little girls.

The other just cried quietly.

The little boy made eye contact with me for a long second. Then he swallowed, and I felt the power far greater than his small body leap up in his heart as he looked at his baby sisters and said, “We have to get out of here.”

“Woof,” I said seriously, and bumped him gently to his feet.

“Come on,” he said firmly. “Hold hands. We’re going home.”

He got his sisters up, and made them hold hands, which is always a good thing for humans to do with each other when things are bad. Then he put a hand on my collar and grabbed on, and I walked them forward, my fur glittering with thousands of little blue sparks of bright energy.

I led the children out of the farmhouse, and into a battle of myth and legend.

Cerberus and the Nemean Lion were ripping and tearing at one another. They roared and bellowed and rolled, struggling to keep the upper hand, smashing their way through the little chicken building so that splinters flew everywhere.

Over to one side, Cowl the Bad Man was struggling. He snarled and lifted his good hand, and a bolt of purple lightning leapt across the farmyard with a crack of thunder. It struck Cerberus in one shoulder and tore supernaturally tough flesh from the great dog in gobbets.

Cerberus howled in agony, and as he did, My Shadow darted at him from behind, shadow power wrapped around him in a shroud, and My Shadow went for the legend-dog’s hamstring.

Cerberus went down, blood spraying, shadow spreading up his wounded leg, and the Lion landed atop him, raking and tearing with berserk abandon.

I led the children around the side of the house, and out of sight, toward the doors of a root cellar, set at an angle in a block of concrete. Bright power tilted the world so that the doors had not been locked, and I grabbed one of the handles and tugged it open.

“Down here!” the boy said. “Come on! We have to hide!”

He led his sisters down the stairs into the shelter, just as I heard Cowl scream, “Ash! Get the children!”

Lightning flashed and thunder cracked again. Cerberus screamed. The Lion roared in berserk triumph.

I nudged the doors to the shelter shut, and whirled, power shining from my shoulders and the fur around my neck, just as My Shadow came sprinting around the side of the farmhouse and came to a sliding stop facing me, all lean power, with his darkness rolling off him in waves, meeting my bright power in a cascade of little red and blue sparks like a battle line of fireflies meeting halfway between us.

“You,” he growled. His contempt was plain. “You have gotten even fatter.”

“You are mean,” I said back. “They are children. How can you help hurt children? That is not why we were born.”

“Simpleton,” sneered My Shadow. “Fat, foolish slave in a collar.”

“It lights up,” I snarled, “so cars can see me at night. Because My Friend cares about me.”

My Shadow bared his teeth and took a step toward me. The conflict between our energies grew brighter and more intense, and the grass blackened and curled away from the showers of sparks.

“Run away, brother,” My Shadow said, sneering. “The Underworlder’s slave is all but destroyed. You cannot withstand us.”

“They are children,” I growled, from deep in my chest. “I have feelings about that.”

“They are meat,” said My Shadow.

I showed him my teeth. “You,” I said quietly, “are a Bad Dog.”

The deadliest insult I knew hung in the air in perfect silence.

And My Shadow and his dark power shot forward to kill me.

We met in a shower of clashing energy, made manifest and visible, blue light and dark shadow smashing together along with our fangs, our claws, our bodies. My Shadow was a terrible opponent. Our power was close to equal, the raw source energy of darkness and light from which all terror and hope, all fury and devotion, all lies and truth were created, and I felt his power trying to make me slip and fall—but my own power matched him, and my claws dug firmly into the earth.

My Shadow was strong and swift, but I was stronger and sturdy. He smashed his chest into mine and I fought him off, our jaws dueling for grips on the throat. He almost got me, but the thick ruff of fur around my neck and shoulders made getting purchase more difficult, and I raked at his ears.

We struggled furiously for the space of a breath and then parted, smashed into one another again, and this time I knocked him back. He was on his feet again with sinuous speed that was a little frightening. I did not dare to follow him up for fear that he might slip past me and harm the children.

“Get him, doggie!” the boy shouted, encouragement from behind me, his own little beacon of bright energy adding to my own.

I planted all four feet in front of the door to the root cellar and lowered my head, blue sparks leaping off my fur, while My Shadow prowled left and right. Around the far side of the house, there was another thunderous detonation and the sound of the old car in front of the farmhouse being crushed in the battle.

And then there was a great, mournful howl from where Cerberus fought Cowl and the Lion.

And then silence.

Fires had begun to burn on the other side of the farmhouse, or perhaps in one of the outbuildings. The flames made the shadows behind the farmhouse darker, and my brother grew less visible, his eyes and teeth gleaming.

My Shadow came to arrogant attention, staring at me with his ears flattened back with hatred.

“The Master of the Future comes,” my brother growled, breathing hard. “This is your last chance to flee.”

In response, I kicked my feet back, throwing up dirt, and did not move.

Cowl and the Nemean Lion came around the corner of the farmhouse. The human wizard was limping and clutched his wounded arm against him in pain, but his back was straight. Rage emanated from him in its own cloud of dark energy, reaching out to My Shadow and causing him to snarl in the same fury. The dark wizard stopped behind My Shadow with the Lion looming behind him, its eyes peering with feline intensity over his shoulder.

All three of them stared at me, and I could feel the weight of their regard like knives pressing against my skin.

“Harry,” Cowl muttered, staring at me. “You are an almighty pain in my ass.”

The fires leapt higher on the other side of the farmhouse, and the shadows darkened.

Now we came to it.

“Ash,” Cowl said. “Nix his aura if you please.”

My brother growled, and I felt my bright energy dimming, even as the shadows around him lessened, his darkness and my light blurring and diminishing in tandem.

“Now you die, brother,” My Shadow said. “For nothing.”

The dark wizard lifted his hand and I felt him gather power for another stroke of lightning—and without my own shield of energy to protect me, I would be helpless against it.

I shook my mane defiantly and said, “You have forgotten two things, brother.”

My Shadow paused, suddenly wary.

“First,” I said, “that no one tells cats what they may or may not do. Not even wizards.”

My brother let out a warning growl, and Cowl paused, suddenly tense.

“And?” My Shadow asked. “Second?”

“I cheat,” I said.

Fires appeared at the base of the darkened farmhouse wall behind them. Six fires. Utter, inky, void-black solidity appeared around those fiery eyes, and Cerberus, Hound of Hades, implacable and unyielding warden of the mythic dead let out a growl so deep that it shook the earth.

Cowl whirled.

The three-headed monster dog rose up on its hind legs, and hellfire kindled in three sets of jaws. With a roar, Cerberus swelled in size and power so that his heads were higher than the farmhouse and unleashed three furious jets of deep red and blue flame that shot toward Cowl, scorching the summer grass black for thirty feet on either side of them.

Cowl lifted a hand and cried a desperate word, and the will of the mythic beast, met that of the Master of the Future. Flame cascaded out from the shield the wizard raised, and even the Nemean Lion and My Shadow flinched back from it, suddenly terrified.

“Mister,” I snapped. “I know you have been enjoying yourself. It is time to stop playing. Harry needs us now.”

And with my brother suddenly distracted, I gathered my bright energy and barked hard and loud, the sound reverberating for miles across the countryside, smashing into the dark spirit possessing my friend the cat.

Cowl whirled to the Lion and screamed, “Kill them! I command you to kill them!”

The Lion flinched away from the sound of my barking, reeling, and in the fury and cacophony of clashing forces the old monster became suddenly insubstantial, a darkness, an idea, a memory.

Here, with the turbulence of forces shaking the air, torn by Cerberus and Cowl and My Shadow, the old spirit could not keep its purchase upon its mortal host in the face of my power, and suddenly the Nemean Lion was nothing but an enormous shadow stretching out from the sturdy, scarred body of the veteran tomcat Mister.

Who looked at Cowl. And then quite deliberately looked away and began fastidiously cleaning one paw.

Cerberus had been waiting for that, and the terrible fire of the underworld swept away from Cowl and over that shadow, burning it away, making it curl up like newsprint in a fire, while the distant roar of the Lion began to fade into an unfathomable distance and depth, burning the Nemean Lion’s spirit into the earth, while wave after wave of my own energy washed over it, adding to Cerberus’s efforts.

And in seconds, just like that, the Nemean Lion was once again a story, a memory, a piece of history.

“No!” Cowl screamed, pain and frustration welling up.

Cerberus’s great jaws closed, and the enormous dog came crashing back to the ground so hard that it shook, trees in the old farmyard swaying.

The Lord of the Underworld’s Good Boy stood tall and proud over Cowl and My Shadow and slowly, slowly bared his three sets of fangs in a triple snarl.

I did too. It was the right moment for that sort of thing.

“Now, brother,” I growled, taking a step forward. “It is time for you to flee.”

Cowl turned his hood back and forth between me and Cerberus. I could smell the pain rolling off of him.

And sudden fear.

With a curse, he turned and spat a word and ripped open the veil between the mortal world and the spirit realm, rending reality with his will. Then he seized My Shadow by his wounded ear and dragged him forward into the veil and vanished.

The portal sealed itself behind him a second later, and they were gone.

Fires burned in the quiet. The farmhouse began to burn down.

Mister the grey tomcat purred and began arching his back and rubbing it against my chest.

“That is that,” Cerberus noted with professional satisfaction. “I am getting three treats when I get home.”

“I did not know you could breathe fire,” I said.

“Yes,” Cerberus said modestly. He dwindled from his gargantuan size until he was merely enormous.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Only those who have earned it,” Cerberus said seriously. “It was a gift from My Lord, and he is very concerned with justice.”

“Oh,” I said, and wagged my tail.

There was a creaking sound behind me.

We turned and found the three children peeking out of the root cellar and staring at Cerberus with very wide eyes. Mister walked over to the boy, still purring, and calmly rubbed against himself against the boy’s knees. The boy leaned down to pet the old cat. And then the little girls giggled and did too. One of them came over to me and petted my mane, just like My Maggie did.

In the very far distance, my keen ears picked out the wail of emergency sirens.

“It was a good plan,” Cerberus said. “Pretending to lose.”

“Bad People always look for weakness,” I noted. “And once they think they have found it, they cannot see anything else.”

“I must go,” Cerberus said.

“Not yet,” I said seriously.

“But the mortals are coming,” Cerberus said. “They will care for the children.”

“We have minutes and minutes before that,” I replied. “And we are Good Boys.”

Cerberus tilted all three heads at me. And then he started wagging his tail.

And in the light of the burning farmhouse, Cerberus and I, and even Mister, spent the remaining time playing with the little ones.

Jim Butcher is the author of the Dresden Files, the Codex Alera, and a new steampunk series, the Cinder Spires. His resume includes a laundry list of skills which were useful a couple of centuries ago, and he plays guitar quite badly. An avid gamer, he plays tabletop games in varying systems, a variety of video games on PC and console, and LARPs whenever he can make time for it. Jim currently resides mostly inside his own head, but his head can generally be found in the mountains outside Denver, Colorado.

Jim goes by the moniker Longshot in a number of online locales. He came by this name in the early 1990’s when he decided he would become a published author. Usually only 3 in 1000 who make such an attempt actually manage to become published; of those, only 1 in 10 make enough money to call it a living. The sale of a second series was the breakthrough that let him beat the long odds against attaining a career as a novelist.

All the same, he refuses to change his nickname.

Learn more at: https://www.jim-butcher.com/