“As long as you stay inside the circle, yes. I haven’t survived this long by taking risks with magic. Trust me, the worst that can happen is that we both stand here looking silly.”
Cathy’s mouth firmed. “Okay. Go ahead.”
Aodhan swept his wand down, leaving a trail of light in its wake. The glittering sparks reflected in Cathy’s wide eyes, but she held still, not moving a muscle as he sketched sigils in the air.
Hear her need, and come with speed.He focused his mind on the invocation, willing a suitable creature to hear and respond. Swift of foot and true of heart—
“Aodhan!” Cathy lunged forward as he stumbled, but caught herself before she stepped out of the circle. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he gasped, every muscle rigid with the effort of holding position. The bloody spell had damn near catapulted him at her. “Slight miscalculation. Just have to make a minor adjustment.”
Not me, damn it.He flung up a hasty warding circle, removing himself from the summoning spell’s area of influence. Bring her what else she needs.
He could sense the magic questing out, spreading in all directions. It unfurled like a vast, intangible spiderweb, with himself at its heart. Pinpricks of soulfire blazed in his mind’s eye; some bright and fierce, others small and fleeting. The spell sorted through all the myriad lives, letting all those that didn’t meet his requirements slip through the magical net—and then, down one ethereal strand, he felt a tug.
“Well, paint my hide and call me a phouka.” Aodhan braced his feet, pulling at the spell like a fisherman reeling in a catch. “Looks like I’ll have to write a monograph about pretzels.”
Cathy’s anxious expression shifted to excitement. “It worked?”
“Apparently.” Aodhan could feel something racing toward them, caught by the magic. He turned, trying to catch a glimpse of it through the trees. “And whatever we’ve caught, it’s certainly fast. We’ll be able to get you to my library in—”
Excited barking interrupted his words. A black shape burst out of the undergrowth.
A very small black shape.
“—no time,” Aodhan finished, heart sinking.
The puppy ran straight for Cathy, barreling across the circle. Still yelping at the top of his lungs, he bounced around her, tail a mad blur.
“Um.” Cathy looked at him over the puppy frisking around her knees. “I don’t think I can ride this.”
“So much for the awesome power of human snack foods.” Aodhan collared the puppy by the scruff of the neck, dragging him out of the circle. “Thank you for coming, but no. Your services are not required. Off you go now.”
The puppy wiggled in his grip. He had a momentary odd, clammy sensation up his fingers—and then he was holding nothing but air. The puppy bounded back to Cathy, plumed tail waving merrily.
Cathy blinked at the small creature. “Did he just run through you?”
“Oh, wonderful.” Aodhan let out a groan. “He’s a black dog.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“I mean his species, not his color. Black dog, barghest, churchyard grim—they’ve got a lot of names in human languages. You might know them as spectral hounds.”
Cathy, who’d been bending down to hold out a hand to the puppy, froze. “He’s a ghost?”
“Not literally. They’re living creatures.” Aodhan glared at the puppy. “And bloody annoying ones. Black dogs are a subspecies of hellhound. They can walk through solid objects at will, so they’re damn near impossible to keep out of places you don’t want them. No wonder this one was able to reach us so fast. Go on, shoo. Get back wherever you came from.”
The puppy’s tail drooped. He whined, huddling against Cathy’s ankle.
“He’s wearing a collar.” Cathy brushed her fingers along the puppy’s black neck, revealing a studded leather strap hidden amidst the fluff. “But there’s no tag. Where did he come from?”
“Maeve’s court, in all likelihood. High sidhe breed various types of hellhound for hunting. Black dogs are particularly prized for their loyalty.” Aodhan pointed his wand at the puppy. “Which means you are badly letting down the reputation of your species. Off with you. Go find your mistress.”
The puppy promptly parked his rear end on Cathy’s feet.
“Wherever he came from, I don’t think he wants to go back.” Cathy tentatively stroked the puppy’s back. He leaned into her touch, tail thumping in canine bliss. “And if he did come from Maeve’s court, I can understand why. I got the impression she’s not someone who takes good care of her pets.”
“Let me guess. You want to take him with us.”