Page 19 of Last Call at the Doghouse

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Mitch tossed and turned in the little bed. He was keenly aware of Armi sleeping down the hall. She was literally feet away, and yet it seemed like the space between them stretched for miles. If he was going to protect her, he needed to be close. He wanted her in sight at all times. He wanted to be able to reach out and touch her.

When the tingle at the back of his neck started, he didn’t fight it. Not this time. Why should he? A quick check of the perimeter would be a good idea, no matter how that was accomplished.

He threw off the thin cover, grabbed the set of keys Armi had reluctantly handed over to him, and headed downstairs. His night vision was good, even in his human form, but Armi had a few dim nightlights here and there so he had no problem navigating the bar in the dark.

He stepped out the back door and locked it behind him. That probably wasn’t necessary, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He slid his boxers down and off and put them—and the keys—behind the dumpster. He wouldn’t be so far away that he wouldn’t see or hear someone snooping where they shouldn’t.

For a couple of minutes he stretched, in preparation for the change. He rotated his neck and his shoulders, working out a couple of kinks, and then the change began. First the world went gray. Even though it was dark around the motel and the bar he saw everything. Smells became keener; some were pleasant and others were not. His muscles re-formed, elongated and retracted, and long hair began to grow all over his body. Soon he was on all fours.

The moon wasn’t entirely full, but there was enough to light the night, especially with his enhanced canine vision.

When his dad had explained the family “gift,” Mitch hadn’t believed him. People didn’t change into dogs. It was impossible, right? His dad was off his rocker, or else he was pulling a very un-funny practical joke. But then it had happened. He’d had no control at all then, but luck had been with him and he’d always been alone when it happened.

In those days, alone had been his normal.

You’d think changing form would be painful. It had been scary as hell the first few times, but it had never actually hurt.

He’d never gotten a good look at himself in canine form, other than one indistinct image in a puddle on a sunny day a while back. From his father, he knew he—and other Duncans with the same gift—was a large mixed breed. Mastiff, Great Dane, maybe even a little wolf, though he took some comfort in the fact that he was not a werewolf. He didn’t always change during the full moon; it could happen at any time, day or night. Full control was impossible, but he was getting better at holding off the shift when it came upon him for no good reason.

To his knowledge he didn’t drool like a lot of big dogs did, and while his form changed his mind seemed to stay the same. He didn’t forget who he was and what was happening, and he never had the urge to chase cars or squirrels, no matter what form he was in.

Now he knew why he’d never liked cats. And more importantly, he understood why cats had never liked him.

He lumbered around The Doghouse, sniffing here and there, listening and checking spaces that would’ve been black shadows to him in his human form. All was quiet. Assured that no one was lurking about the place, he headed to the far end of the motel where Armi’s friends stayed. Were they in danger? Might they be the cause of it? Armi trusted them. That didn’t mean he did. Hell, he didn’t trust many people these days. Never had.

Their cars were parked in the gravel lot, as usual, in front of their rooms.

One room was dark; there was a light on in the other. He didn’t know which woman was in which room, though he should have. He should’ve been paying better attention to his surroundings, instead of focusing entirely on Armi.

Before he could backtrack, he heard soft voices from the lighted room. A moment later, the doorknob rattled. Mitch slunk back, finding a dark shadow near the door of an unoccupied room where he could hunker down to wait and watch. If he was very quiet, no one would know he was there.

The door opened, and a man stepped out. A stranger. Tall, silver-haired, clean-shaven, and dressed much too nicely for Angel Lake. He smiled at whichever woman was on the other side of the door. It was the smile of a viper.

Mitch’s instincts were pretty good as a man. As a dog, they were even stronger. Didn’t mean they were always right, but he was learning to pay attention. He didn’t like this guy at all. There was something… off.

The man said goodnight to the woman in the room. She whispered the same. The door closed; the smile vanished. The man scanned the area as if looking for someone, or something. His eyes fell on the shadow where Mitch hid and watched. Then he smiled again.

Just a dog. The words weren’t spoken aloud, but the response was pretty clear.

The man started walking. Mitch wanted to follow, but he didn’t. He listened. A few minutes later a car engine revved. The man had parked on the other side of a stand of trees, in the gravel lot where a building had once stood. All that was left of that structure were the remnants of a burned foundation and a few charred concrete blocks.

Why not park right in front of the door? There was plenty of room, with only the two cars parked in the lot, and there was no one around to see except a big stray dog.

Mitch walked down to the door at the very end. The light went off. Inside the room a woman sobbed softly. The sound was heartbreaking. He sniffed around the door, trying to identify the woman inside. He’d expected it to be the bartender who was entertaining men late at night. She seemed more the type, even though he wouldn’t have expected tears from her. But no, it was the other one. Mary, the blonde who sometimes looked as if she’d faint if a man said boo.

She was sad. She was angry. He smelled sex and regret and a deep, deep sorrow.

He left Mary behind and padded to the back door of The Doghouse. Had it been the presence of a stranger that had compelled him to change? He didn’t know. One of Armi’s friends getting laid on the sly was hardly a reason for concern.

Then again, strangers in this new world could mean trouble.

CHAPTER 6

Main Street was much quieter than it had been last time she was here, for the summer solstice festival. Downtown Mystic Springs looked much as it had when Armi had been a child, but somehow it was brighter. The light fell differently, as if a gray film had been washed away. The window displays were colorful. The hanging planters scattered here and there were more vivid than she remembered. There were a few people on the sidewalk at noon on a mild September Monday, but nowhere near the crush of any Mystic Springs festival.

Against all odds, Armi liked it. She felt comfortable; peaceful here in a way she never had before. That was unexpected.