Dani Harper - Storm Bound

George shrugged. “Hey, I’m just listing off some of the stories. Besides, a hellhound’s not evil; it’s just doing what it’s told, like any dog does, right? And the legends aren’t always bad. In some religions, it’s a dog that guides your spirit to heaven. In Colima, Mexico, where my uncle lives, people used to get buried with a little clay dog, so it could carry their souls to the right place.”

Brooke nodded at that one. Many in her craft believed dogs capable of perceiving both the mortal and the spiritual realm, and even of being able to cross from one to the other.

“Of course, then there’s El Guardia—my grandmamma called on him sometimes, and she said he always came to help her.”

“Sounds like Zorro. Who the heck is El Guardia?” With a cheesy superhero name like that, it just had to be something George made up to tease her.

“More like a what . It’s a spectral hound, a ghost dog or something. Sometimes Grandmamma would summon the dog to her circles.” George glanced around and lowered his voice as if revealing a secret. “Look, I’ve never told you this. One night, when I was about seven, I was supposed to be in bed sleeping, but I hid in the big cupboard in mi abuela ’s spell room to watch her. I saw the dog, Brooke.”

She scrutinized her friend’s face, but he was on the level. “You’re not kidding. You actually saw it ?”

He nodded, his rigid blue and black mohawk dipping with the movement. “I’m telling you, it was effin’ crazy, Brooke. The thing just appeared—walked right out of the damn fire. It was big and black and had wicked-looking teeth, but I remember the glowing eyes the most. Didn’t get to see anything else after that, though—I was so scared, I pissed my pajamas and fell out of the cupboard. The dog vanished and mi abuela was über-mad at me.”

“I’ll bet you were grounded for life.”

He rolled his eyes at that. “Please. Grandmamma was from a whole different generation. She’d never even heard of grounding. I got my butt whacked with a wooden cooking spoon.”

“Ouch. But what about the dog, G? Do you know anything else about it?”

“Years later—which is probably how long it took for Grandmamma to finally cool off—she told me that El Guardia protected the integrity of the circle and defended those who were in it. The creature also facilitated difficult castings. She’d call on the dog for help if a spell wouldn’t go right, or there was a troublesome situation, or a possibility of danger.”

“So he was like a sentinel or something? You never, ever told me that one,” chided Brooke.

“I know, I said that, remember? I just—well, you don’t tell just anyone you saw a ghost and peed your effin’ pants. You’re the only one who knows. I didn’t tell my mother, and neither did Grandmamma.”

“I’d probably wet my pants too, if I saw something like that. El Guardia sounds scary. But the things that he does? I’ve never heard of calling an animal spirit to fill that role before.”

“Not many people call on him because the hound is very strong, but mi abuela was—”

“Your grandmother was the most powerful bruja in Catemaco. I know, I know. Your mom talks about her all the time, and dammit, I wish I’d met her. Better yet, I wish you’d been more interested in magic and allowed her to train you. Then you could train me . There’s so much more I need to learn.”

“Cut yourself some slack. You’ve come a long way, to the point where you’re able to help a lot of people now. You learn fast and you have mega natural ability—your spells almost always work.”

She winced at that. “ Almost is the operative word. You haven’t seen the hole in my back wall yet.”

“A hole ? I didn’t see one last night when we were watching TV.”

“It’s only about four inches wide.” Through a solid brick wall. “It’s in the kitchen over the window by the sink and I—um—stuffed the hole with newspaper, sealed it with duct tape, and then hung the clock over it until I can get it fixed.” Brooke sighed. “It’s my own fault. I was working on a brand new spell last week, and I conjured without buffering the effects, so I got some kind of energy release. I should have known better, but I let myself get too excited about the charm. I’m just glad it blasted through an outside wall instead of shooting into the building next to me.”

“It’s not like anyone would notice,” he laughed. “There’s like, what? Three whole businesses on this block? You could shoot a cannon through six of these old buildings and no one would even know.” He shoved playfully at her shoulder. “Don’t be discouraged, hermanita .

“I’m not your little sister —I’m six months older than you!” she protested. It was an old argument, and not one she would ever win, the facts notwithstanding. Perhaps it was because he had three older sisters in addition to his twin, Lissy, and no younger siblings. Maybe it was because they’d been best friends ever since the first grade, when he’d bonked her with a storybook, she’d punched him in the nose, and they’d bonded while sitting on the detention bench in the hallway. It might even be because he’d once inserted himself between her and a playground bully—despite the fact that he’d gotten his nine-year-old butt handed to him. Whatever the reason, he had always insisted on treating her like a little sister, his very own hermanita . From anyone else, she might have found it patronizing. From G, it was annoying and endearing at the same time. “Anyways, your grandmother really said that about the craft, that it’s a matter of practice?”

“Well, technically, no. Mi abuela was usually lecturing me on my schoolwork when she said that. You know how much I hated grammar and spelling.” George gave a mock shudder. “But the same principle applies. You keep at it and you get better. It’s just like art.” He waved at the sketch pad in his lap. “So do you want that blog post?”

“Hellhounds sound scary and fascinating, and therefore perfect for Monster Monday. My readers will love to hear about them, and so will I, so yes, please.” She leaned over her friend’s artwork again. “So have you got more ferocious dog drawings in there?”

George suddenly flipped the sketch pad closed like a clamshell slamming shut. “Nope. Just some rough characters for a brand new series. Not ready for public viewing just yet.”

Brooke was surprised, and slightly hurt. “I’m not the public ! You just confessed you peed your pants to me!”

“I know,” he said, grinning at her indignation. “But they say comic books are the purest form of art, and it’s definitely bad luck to look upon unfinished art.”

She rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you always telling me that comics are called graphic novels now? And besides, you made that up. I agree with you totally on the comics-as-art part, but there’s no such thing as bad luck.”

“Come on, you’re a practicing witch and you don’t believe in luck?”

“Of course not. People attract their own luck.”

“Yeah? What if a meteor fell out of the sky and landed on you?”

“Maybe it’s karma. Maybe it’s your time. Maybe you secretly wanted it.” She rose and straightened her blouse. It was nearly the same shade of turquoise as the walls, a hue that just happened to enhance the blue-green color of her eyes. She didn’t feel the need for makeup if she wore turquoise—which was a great reason to choose it a lot.

“ Wanted it?” George looked shocked. “What the hell kind of thinking is that?”

“If you think about meteors enough, maybe you’ll draw one to you.”