Page 26 of Blacktail

“The blood? Yes, it’s very thick.”

“That can’t be…two-legs’ blood…?” Cephus turned to Rex, eyes wide. “Can it?”

“I think it may be,” Rex said, uneasy. “Dead people. A bunch of them.”

“Oh.” Cephus’s tail drooped. “No wonder Dad’s so mad. I thought it might have been the slippers again. Something like that.” He went to a corner, sniffed. “There’s piss over here. Some dog marked this place.”

Rex took a sniff for himself. “Not dog. That’s wolf.”

“Yeah…no.” Sniff, sniff. “M-m-maybe a half-breed? But are there wolves around here?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so,” Rex said. “You’re right. Half-breed. But what’s the other half? It’s not doggy.”

“No…it’s not.”

“What, then?”

“Sniff first, then think.” This was what the two of them said when they had no idea what was going on.

“Yeah. Sniff first.”

Rex and Cephus waited for Dad to arrange their leashes. When all was in good order, he grabbed a gun—a big one—and led the three of them toward the entrance to the den of blood.

Rex whined, a high puppyish sound for such a big dog. “I don’t like this.”

“Me either,” Cephus said. “It smells…bad. Wrong.”

When they reached the patio, the front door opened. Dad pulled them off to one side. Another pack that they knew slightly from the fox hunts exploded out the door, all of them straining at their leashes. All had their tails tucked. They want out, Cephus thought.

One of the other pack—not someone he recognized—said, “Poop. On. That.”

“Look, it’s Rupert and Henry!” Rex said. “And Monica! Hi, Monica! Are you in heat yet? I want to have sex with you!”

Monica flinched, then froze. She turned to look at Rex with real terror in her eyes. “Don’t say my name! Not here!”

“What? Why?” Rex sniffed the air to see if she was, by some chance, in heat. He frowned. “Monica, why did you wet yourself?”

“Don’t go in there,” she whispered.

“What? Why not?”

One of her pack mates—Rupert?—licked her ear to comfort her. “Monica’s right,” he said. “Don’t let them drag you in there, fellows.”

“What the actual heck are you—” Cephus began.

“I will not speak of it,” Rupert barked. “Just don’t go in.”

“It’s hell in there,” Henry said. His tone was flat and distant. Normally he was a happy dog, full of jokes. Now he hardly seemed to be there at all.

Cephus felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air. “Was it a wolf?” he said. “Did a wolf kill the two-legs?”

“Killing is the least of it,” Monica whispered. “The Old Kitty Mother has been here.”

“Wait—the Old Kitty Mother was here? Herself?” Cephus broke off as Dad yanked his leash. Dad clucked at him to follow.

Rex was reluctant, but he entered the den as commanded. Cephus would not. His grandfather had told him of the Old Kitty Mother when he was a pup. Sometimes he still had nightmares.

Cephus lay on his belly and whined, looking up at his master with pleading eyes. Dad yanked the leash, first gently, then not so gently, then hard. Cephus gagged and gasped, but he would not move, not even when Dad dragged him across the porch to the threshold. Finally, with a curse and a slap, he lifted Cephus bodily, carried him into the den.