You know he’ll wake up as soon as the button clicks and say, ‘Hey! I was watching that, dangnabbit!
“Right,” Maria said.
She looked back down at Sherlock. His tongue was out and he was panting.
“Geez, what has my life come to? Look at me, taking orders from a dog. A dog who is talking to me somehow. God, I’m going crazy. That’s what it is. Or it’s a dream. I’m still asleep, and my alarm is about to go off and wake me up for work, for the early shift with Ted. Yeah! That’s it!”
I assure you, Maria, this is very, very real. You’ve got a gift. You’re coming into it, Sherlock explained.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say. Now how the heck am I going to wake up?” She paused, looking around the room. Maybe a splash of cold water to my face? Slam my fingers in the refrigerator door? Climb up to the roof and jump off?
“No, bigger than that,” she determined.
Maria, whatever you are thinking, do not do it!
“I’m thinking you’re a dog and you can’t talk, but I hear you. Hear you loud and clear. Except your lips ain’t moving. Neither is your jaw. So something is up. Boy, oh boy, this is the weirdest dream I’ve ever had.”
It’s not a dream—
“Oh, I know! I’ll just go to sleep. What better way to wake up from a really exciting dream than to bore yourself out of it? There’s nothing exciting about sleep. Sure, sleep is beautiful and one of my most favorite things in the world, but it’s pretty bland. Ever watch someone sleep, Sherlock? It’s like watching paint dry.”
Maria—
“Nope, mind has been made up. So sorry.”
If Sherlock could let out a sigh of relief that didn’t sound like panting, he would have. For a second there, he thought Maria was about to seriously hurt herself; from what he’d seen at the putt-putt course, pain leads to anger, and anger leads to a glowing blue fury that explodes clown heads and sends high school enemies into about four feet of cold, scummy water.
Maria went up the steps, and the wood creaked beneath her weight. Sherlock followed. How can I explain what is happening, when I’m not even sure myself? He’d picked up bits of information from Ignatius by sitting at his feet and waiting for food scraps, all the while listening to the ramblings of what a normal Earthling might think was a madman. No, maybe I should wait. Maybe I should let Ignatius do the explaining.
“I could drop the hair dryer into my bathwater. That jolt would be enough to send me out of dreamland, huh, Sherlock?” Maria said.
Now Sherlock didn’t try to converse with her through whatever telepathy the two shared. This time he barked. Barked loud and angry. It felt good to do that. These days, now in the twilight of his dog years, Sherlock hardly ever barked. Mailman? Used to it. UPS guy? Enticing, but used to it, too. Maria’s friends or Ignatius’s weird spells and funny smells? No way, José. So he let it rip. It was like revving a Harley Davidson engine.
“Whoa, cool it,” Maria ordered. She looked startled. Moonlight came in through the upstairs’ hall window, bathing Maria’s face in white. “Or I’m gonna leave you outside all night. And I know you’re scared of the monsters out there.”
Just trying to get your attention.
“Don’t you think a talking dog would get my attention in the first place?”
Technically, I’m not talking. I’m communicating telepathically. You hear my thoughts directed toward you, and then you respond by way of voice. If I try to do what you are doing, all that comes out is a bark.
“Man, I must’ve taken too much Z-Quil before bed. This is really the weirdest dream I’ve ever had!”
It’s not a dream! I don’t know how I can prove—
“Good night,” Maria said. She didn’t even bother going to her bed—she just fell to the floor and closed her eyes.
Yes, it was quite a weird night; one that would only prove to get weirder.
Chapter Five
Malakai had arrived on Earth a long time ago. His search for Ignatius Mangood had turned up nothing.
Many years had passed since the fall of Dominion, and in that time, Malakai had died.
Died a traitor.
In that time, Malakai had also risen.
But not on his own.
The Widow, after the Arachnids’ reclamation of Dominion, had settled onto the throne. She never ordered the removal of King Roderick’s body; she sat there and watched him rot, salivating as he turned to dust.
The victory hadn’t been complete, though. The Arachnids were missing one crucial item: the music box, the key to the world in between. The wizard Ignatius had taken it and jumped the portal to Earth—a place he knew the Widow would never dare set foot.
But she knew someone who would; someone who could play on the sympathy of Ignatius and win back the box.
Then the Arachnids’ victory would be complete.
Earth was not a big place, in comparison to Oriceran, but there seemed to be so much unknown, and that slowed Malakai down. Metal boxes on wheels that the humans used to get around, poles on the sides of walkways with miles and miles of wire running from them. No one used magic openly, though there had been times when Malakai had sensed it. There were hidden wizards and witches, Elves, and Gnomes.
But no Arachnids. The very earthen soil would burn their eight limbs to ash. It was, to the Arachnids, an unholy place.
If you were alive.
Malakai was not. Not anymore. But he felt like he was getting closer and closer, and that was something.
He had arrived in the state of Ohio three Earth days before, prowling through the back woods along the turnpike, only coming out into the metropolises when the sun went down and the night breathed evil.
Cincinnati—nothing.
Toledo—nothing.
Columbus—nothing.
When he’d headed north toward Cleveland, a vision greeted him in the darkness of night. He fell forward on the leaf-covered forest floor, the smoldering
