This was good. Maria needed to get her mind off of what she had seen in Gramps’s bedroom—not to mention the nightmare she’d had. She succeeded until she sat down at the table to eat breakfast, with Sherlock munching Purina greedily at her feet. The image of her grandfather in bed with a woman came flooding back with as much ferocity as Lake Fever’s waves when Odarth had sprung forth, resurrected.
It was not an image that disgusted her or angered her by any means. In fact, she began to giggle, like Claire might’ve done had she seen what Maria saw. She was proud of her grandfather, and glad to have Frieda as part of her ever-growing family. Whatever made Gramps happy made Maria happy by proxy…unless it was soap operas. She didn’t care much for the soaps Gramps was obsessed with.
Sherlock’s bowl dinged as he pushed it up against Maria’s chair. It was empty, and this was his way of telling her that he wanted more—at least it had been when he couldn’t communicate with her telepathically.
“No more,” Maria said, and her thoughts gave way to the dreams she’d had.
That dark mist. That smooth, creepy movement. That voice. That feeling of iciness that engulfed her when the talon-like hand seized her heart. She shivered thinking about it.
Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry, though her bowl of Fruity Pebbles was pretty much full. She took her spoon out, setting it on top of her paper towel, and set the bowl on the floor. Sherlock eyed it warily, licking his chops.
May I?
“Since you asked so nicely,” Maria allowed, waving him on toward the bowl.
Thank you! Thank you!
“Don’t mention it.”
Sherlock dove snout-first into the cereal, not sure if he should lap at it or bite it. Maria grinned, watching this. It was comical, but it wasn’t enough to get the villagers’ looks of anguish that were tattooed on her brain to subside.
Too bad it’s not Cocoa Pebbles, Sherlock said as he licked the bowl clean.
Maria made a mental note not to ever eat out of that bowl again, or, even better, to throw it away. She loved Sherlock, but not that much.
“You can’t have Cocoa Pebbles, Sherlock. For the last time, chocolate makes you sick. Then again…if you eat too much of anything you seem to get sick.”
Exactly, so what’s the big deal?
“Tell you what, when this war is over, I’ll let you have a little bit of Cocoa Pebbles, as long as you promise to clean up the vomit…” Maria trailed off, shuddering as another image popped into her head: Sherlock eating his own chocolatey puke. “Never mind,” she said.
I like vomit! Sherlock said. Not just my own. It’s the smell of the already chewed and digested food that does it for me.
She shook her head violently, her brain rocking back and forth against her skull. “No, no, quit it. You’re gonna make me sick.”
Sherlock looked at her innocently. Well, in that case, I should probably keep going. More Fruity Pebbles for me!
“Leave the poor girl alone, Sherlock.”
Maria jumped at the new voice. Looking up, she saw Gelbus walking into the kitchen. The little bit of hair he had was tousled and up in cowlicks. He wore one of Gramps’s T-shirts—‘My best friend went to Myrtle Beach and all I got was this lousy T-shirt!’—which hung all the way to his socked feet. It looked like a homemade nightgown. Luckily for Maria, she had gotten all the giggles out of her system the previous night when she had first seen Gelbus in the outfit.
The Gnome rubbed sleep from his eyes. He had a few scrapes, and some bumps and bruises forming on his face from the battle, but other than that, he looked quite rested.
Maria, on the other hand, looked like she hadn’t gotten any sleep at all. Can blame the dreams for that one.
“How’d you sleep?” Maria asked Gelbus.
A big, goofy smile spread across his face. “Like a king. This thing you call a dog crate is one of man’s greatest inventions.”
“Wait until you sleep on a waterbed. Now that is something to get excited about,” Maria said. She rose and picked up the cereal bowl, which was slick with dog spit.
Sherlock waddled over to Gelbus and nuzzled up against him—they were just about the same height. Then Sherlock sat in front of the Gnome with his back to the refrigerator (which was a miracle in and of itself), and wagged his tail hard enough to send the dust bunnies out from beneath the fridge.
“Hiya, old friend,” Gelbus said. He hugged Sherlock tightly, and Maria’s heart warmed.
Gelbus! How did you like my palace? Sherlock asked as they parted.
“He’s asking about his palace,” Maria said. She dropped the bowl in the trash and went to the sink to wash the spit from her hands with scalding hot water and lots of soap.
“Quite good,” Gelbus said as he rubbed Sherlock’s head. Then he pulled out a seat at the table and climbed up into it.
Tell him if there’s even the slightest thing out of place, he has to pay a fine.
“I’m not telling him that.”
"Tell me what?" Gelbus asked.
"Oh nothing. Just Sherlock being an asshole," Maria answered.
Tell him if he doesn’t pay the fine then I have to execute him…and probably eat him.
Maria glared at Sherlock, who was looking back at her sheepishly.
He did the Bloodhound’s equivalent of a shrug. What? Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I make the rules about this stuff.
“You do make the rules,” Maria said. She flicked water at him. “Now be nice to him. You guys are like best friends.”
Hardly. He is a fine soldier to do battle with, but business is business.
“Says the dog whose eyes turned into big pink hearts when the Gnome walked in.”
Maria, you don’t know anything! First,
