“Sherlock, here, now!”
You’re not the boss of me! A chorus of joyful laughter filled Maria’s mind.
Gramps was already well on his way to the shoe aisle.
“Sherlock!” Maria called again.
The laughter continued. He weaseled a ball out of the pit and started knocking it around the aisle with his snout, his nails clicking on the linoleum. A few shoppers gave him wary glances. One woman, who looked like she had a stick very far up her ass, made a motion to the Walmart employee behind the photo section. The employee reached up for the phone, looking in Maria’s and Sherlock’s direction, and his lips started moving.
“Oh, no,” Maria said. “Not good.”
Sherlock’s leash dragged around on the floor, back and forth like a snake. Maria made a move for it and missed.
“Shit!” she yelled, then, “Sorry!” as she almost took out a mom pushing a stroller. The mom snarled at her.
“Sherlock! I’m going to cut off all sweets for you if you don’t get your ass back here!” she shouted. It was an odd thing to tell a dog, but it seemed to have worked.
You wouldn’t.
“I would.”
You’re the devil.
“I’m not there yet, but I can be. If you think getting housebroken was bad, wait until you get a load of my all-wheatgrass-and-almond-milk diet.”
Blech!
Sherlock turned around and bounded toward Maria.
The Walmart employee came over with a manager type. He looked Indian and terribly pissed off as he crossed his eyes and scowled in Maria’s direction.
“Service dog,” Maria said. “For my grandpa. He’s new, not fully acclimated for his duty.”
Ha! You said ‘duty’!
Maria did her best to ignore it. Then quickly, with Sherlock’s leash in hand, Maria took off toward the shoe aisle.
The manager, Brijesh, turned to the employee, who said, “Well…that was kinda weird, huh?”
Brijesh thought about calling Spencer, the head of security, but ultimately decided he didn’t get paid enough to put up with this crap. He left the photo counter employee standing there with his hands in his pockets, thinking, Always weird shit happening at Walmart. Why did I ever move to Akron?
Grandpa had four pairs of galoshes out of the rack. There was no one in the aisle with them. Walmart shoes were apparently not too popular.
“Why the galoshes?” she asked again. “Is Oriceran and the world in between, like, some kind of water world or something?”
Gramps ignored her, ripped a blue boot from its box, and tried to slip it on to match with its mate.
Sherlock lay down, nudged a loafer off of the rack, and began chewing on it.
“I’m not paying for that, you know?” Maria said to him.
Leave me alone, he pouted.
“Gave you a bit of a shock, huh? No sweets, and all.”
Not talking to you. La-la-la-la!
“Stress chewing on synthetic rubber will murder your complexion.”
Sherlock gave her his best deadpan look and went back to nibbling and slobbering all over the shoe.
My life is so weird, Maria thought.
Gramps threw the blue boot down the aisle. It bounced and cartwheeled until it hit the back wall and reverberated off.
“Chill out, Gramps,” Maria whispered. “We’re trying to keep a low profile, remember? Already had another run in with Loopy the Ball-Loving Dog, here.” She cocked a thumb toward Sherlock, who looked up from his dinner of a men’s size 12 loafer.
Maybe if I still had my own balls, I wouldn’t want to play with rubber ones!
Maria laughed. “I think there’s a an official term for that.”
Yeah, it’s called ‘Don’t touch a dog’s family jewels!’
Gramps looked at Maria, his face flustered. “Is Sherlock complaining about being neutered again?”
“Yep.”
“Suck it up, Sherlock! We couldn’t have you marking your territory all over the house. Dog pee is a pain to get out of carpet.” He turned back toward the boots, setting his sights on the out-of-season winter ones.
“If you just tell me what the boots are for, maybe I could help you,” Maria suggested.
“The world in between. If folklore is right, it’s not a dry place.”
“You mean rain?”
“I mean jelly.”
Maria shuddered. “Jelly? Geez, why can’t anything be normal? I guess when you’re dealing with witches and wizards and giant spiders and talking dogs, jelly is pretty tame.”
Gramps threw another boot down the aisle in disgust.
“Just pick a boot so we can get to the villagers,” Maria said. “How about this yellow pair? Perfect. Totally classic, like the Firebird.”
“No! No!” Gramps said.
“Isn’t this the reason you got kicked out of Walmart in the first place?”
She sat down. Her feet were hurting and her blood pressure was high. She felt no magical tingle, though, and her skin was a normal peachy color.
Maybe I’m learning how to control it, she thought. No more blown-up clown heads.
The temper tantrums, it's because he’s scared, Sherlock said. He tilted his head down at the now ruined shoe. Like me. When I’m scared or nervous, I revert back to my puppy days and chew stuff up or pee everywhere. Thank God Ignatius isn't doing that.
“Like every time someone runs the vacuum cleaner?” Maria said.
Precisely.
“So you’re scared of the world in between and giant spider-men?”
No, I’m scared of not having any sweets in my life.
“Aw, Sherlock, you’ll still have me.” She read no obvious amusement on the Bloodhound’s face. He looked at her like a stone statue, unmoving. Then he got up and walked over to where Maria was sitting. He put his head in her lap. Reflexively, she began petting him behind his big floppy ears.
Okay, don’t laugh, Sherlock said.
Gramps now had two different colored boots on, one red and one yellow. He looked like an older version of Ronald McDonald, about to be caught in a rainstorm.
Maria arched an eyebrow at Sherlock. “Laugh? At you? Never.”
I’m being serious, Sherlock said.
“Okay, fine, Sherlock. I’ll let you have your sweets. I understand no sweets is the bane of your existence and all that.”
No, Maria. I’m stressed because of all of that’s going on. All the change.
“You mean the magic?”
Everything. I don’t want to go to another world. I
