ʺOh,ʺ said Miri.
ʺThe vet can’t find anything wrong with him. He seems to see perfectly well, the eyes don’t seem to be sore or tender and there’s no swelling, no wounds; the lab reports all come back negative. He just looks . . . odd. Somebody saw him by the road and called him in; but when Diane went out with the van she almost didn’t bring him back, because of the way he looks.ʺ
The dog was looking at them sadly. Miri wasn’t sure how she knew this; it was hard to read an ordinary dog expression in those eyes. But she was sure she knew what she was seeing. It wasn’t just what Ronnie had said about him.
ʺSo, dog, how’s it going?ʺ she said, and held out her hand tentatively.
The dog looked at her for a moment longer and then slowly uncoiled and stood up. Oops, thought Miri, well, he’s certainly one of the tall ones. He waited, watching them, before he turned around so he was facing them, and paused again, still looking at them. The way he moved reminded her of the way you move around a nervous horse: slowly, gently, with lots of pauses, and watching carefully both for any reaction and any opportunity to try to make friends. This was suddenly so clear to her that she grinned, and held her hand out more positively. The dog cautiously walked the length of the run to them, stared into her face a moment longer, and then dropped his vivid eyes and lowered his head to put his nose in her hand.
ʺIt’s only that he’s a hellhound,ʺ Miri said. ʺThat’s why he has those eyes. I’ll take him.ʺ
Ronnie, grinning so hard his face was in danger of splitting, left her in the run with her new dog and went in search of a collar and leash. She glanced down. The hellhound looked up immediately. The scarlet of his eyes seemed to swirl and flicker, like real flames.
When Ronnie returned, he was apologetic. ʺThis is the only one I could find in his size,ʺ he said, holding out a loop of bright red. Miri laughed.
ʺNo, I think red’s exactly right. Anything else would only make it worse.ʺ
He was a rather beautiful dog—except for the eyes—and she was already getting used to them by the time she’d buckled the collar round his neck. He ignored all the frenzy from the other dogs as they made their way back through the rows of kennels to reception. There was a surprising amount of paperwork to adopting a dog—and it cost more than she was expecting too. Drat, she thought, there goes the indoor arena for an extra—oh, six minutes or so. While Ronnie went into the office for the adoption forms she stood by the counter and looked at her hellhound some more. Her hellhound looked back. The faintest suggestion of a wag rippled through his hindquarters and tail.
ʺI wonder if you know anything?ʺ she said. ʺI mean any of the ordinary dog things. I wouldn’t want to guess what you really know.ʺ She’d done a lot of dog-minding and dog-sitting for people who came to the barn so she didn’t feel at a total loss, although there was a strange fluttery feeling in the base of her throat. As Ronnie came back again, holding a wad of papers, she stooped down and tapped the floor. ʺLie down,ʺ she said. And then she heard herself add: ʺPlease?ʺ
The hellhound had obligingly lowered his head to watch her. He looked at her tapping finger and put his nose on it. Then he looked at her face again—and she had the extremely disconcerting sensation that he was changing his mind as he looked at her, thinking something on the order of, no, I can’t keep it up. Keep what up? she thought. That you’re a dog? Or that you’re not a dog?
He lay down. He lay down like the statue of a jackal on an Egyptian tomb, or like a stone lion in front of a library. She almost felt that she ought to stay crouched in front of him.
She stood up.
ʺWow,ʺ said Ronnie. ʺI don’t think I’d be teaching that one to fetch my slippers, though.ʺ
ʺNo,ʺ she agreed. ʺBut any self-respecting tack-room thief ought to take one look at him and run away.ʺ
She’d named him Flame by the time they got home. She found herself pressing the gas pedal more gently as she turned into the sandy, gravelly drive to the barn, as if by doing so the truck’s wheels would make less noise, and she—and Flame—would be able to slip in unnoticed.
Of course this is not what happened. The old truck, perhaps as a result of over ten years of pulling horse trailers, had developed a unique wheeze, not unlike a horse with broken wind. (ʺIf you had a horse that made a sound like that, you’d retire it,ʺ said Miri’s father. ʺNed,ʺ said Jane with dignity, ʺit’s a truck.ʺ) So even though there were always cars and trucks (and frequently old croaky cars and trucks) pulling in and out of the stable-yard, Jane, Mal and Ned—and two of the current regiment of barn cats—were all standing at the edge of the drive by the time she’d parked and turned the engine off. Mal’s summer job—he still had two years of high school left—was second shift. Just my luck, though, she thought, to have picked a day when Dad is working at home. Oh, well. Maybe better get it over with. . . .
She climbed out of the driver’s side and paused. Flame was sitting up in the passenger seat, so her family could see that there was, indeed, a dog.
ʺWell, come on,ʺ said Jane. ʺI have a class to teach in two minutes. Let’s see him. Her.ʺ
ʺHim,ʺ said Miri. She opened the passenger door slowly, and clipped Flame’s leash on. Then she led him round the back of the truck to where her family was waiting. The two cats ran away. Flame paid them no attention.
ʺGood god,ʺ said her father.
ʺOh, poor thing, but what’s wrong with him? It’s not contagious, is it?ʺ said Jane.
ʺYuck,ʺ said Mal. ʺI thought you wanted a dog.ʺ
ʺHe’s a hellhound,ʺ said Miri. ʺThat’s all. There’s nothing wrong with him and it’s not contagious. Ronnie gave me the letter from the vet that says so.ʺ In fact the letter didn’t say anything of the kind: it hedged. That the writer was puzzled and confused was apparent; but the letter did say that the vet hadn’t been able to find anything wrong with Flame.
There was a little silence.
ʺI hope you bought a large bag of dog food,ʺ Jane said finally.
ʺYes,ʺ said Miri, but her heart sank. Her family liked animals; Flame wasn’t that awful, was he? Didn’t anyone even want to say hello to him? Give him a pat? She hooked the leash over her wrist and dropped her own hand on his head; the hair on the top of his head was very silky, as if it had been specially organized there to be good for stroking.
ʺSorry,ʺ said Jane, who could read her daughter very easily. ʺHe’s just—I wasn’t expecting a hellhound.ʺ She stepped forward and then dropped down on one knee. The huge scarlet eyes looked at her gravely. She reached out and stroked her hand down his bristly throat and chest. ʺAnd a dog brush with the dog food. No mud and no burrs past the mudroom, okay?ʺ
ʺOkay,ʺ said Miri, smiling with relief. At least Jane wasn’t going to try to banish him from the house.
A long pink tongue unrolled from Flame’s mouth, and he just touched the back of Jane’s hand with it. It was barely a lick; it was more like an acknowledgement.
ʺI think he’s trying to charm me,ʺ said Jane.
ʺIs he succeeding?ʺ said Miri.
Jane and Flame stared at each other a little more.
ʺYes,ʺ said Jane. ʺI rather think he is. You’ve got a lesson yourself in half an hour, you know, and I’m not at all sure how Lynn is going to react to your hellhound.ʺ Lynn was one of Miri’s timid ones. A good lesson with Lynn was getting her off the longe line for a turn or two around the arena by herself. ʺWhat are you going to do with him while you’re teaching? I don’t want him loose till we know he’ll behave and—er—ʺ
ʺYou don’t want mass panic if the kindergarteners all catch sight of him at once,ʺ said Miri calmly. She was feeling much better now that her mother was (more or less) won over. One or two of the kindergarteners at a time were fine, but in aggregate they were unfortunately prone to shrieking. They enjoyed shrieking. Flame might bring on quite a bad attack of this.
The kindergarteners were, in fact, the nine- to eleven-year-old group, but Mal had started calling them that thr
ee or four years ago when he wasn’t much older than they were, and despite Jane’s having forbidden him to do so. Possibly because most of them had had a crush on him, they’d decided en masse that they liked the name, and the Kindergarten Quadrille was now an established part of the barn’s annual horse show, and places in it were much sought after. (Miri had said sourly, about a year ago, that having a crush on Mal was still a requirement for entry. Mal had knocked her down and sat on her—they were in the hayloft at the time—and Jane had said that if they wanted to behave like eight-year-olds, then bedtime was eight o’clock and Saturday night curfew nine.) The class Jane was about to teach was kindergarteners, and so was Lynn.
ʺI’ll introduce him to Lynn,ʺ she went on, trying to sound more confident than she felt. ʺShe’ll like being first. And if fraidy-cat Lynn is okay with him the other kids won’t want to be anything else.ʺ She looked at Mal.
He too could read her easily. ʺIt’ll cost you,ʺ he said.
ʺOkay,ʺ said Miri.
ʺWhat?ʺ said Jane. ʺWhat’s going to cost? What are you two up to, under my nose?ʺ
ʺMal’s going to help the kindergarteners adjust to my hellhound.ʺ
ʺI haven’t adjusted to your hellhound yet.ʺ
ʺI haven’t adjusted to Dorothy. And I bet Flame’s table manners are better than Dorothy’s!ʺ
ʺFlame?ʺ said Mal. ʺYou didn’t tell me his name was Flame. The price has just gone up.ʺ
ʺChildren, children,ʺ said Ned.
ʺThere’s Lynn’s mom’s car,ʺ said Jane. ʺYou’d better figure out what you’re doing fast.ʺ
There were a few rather hairy moments in the first few weeks of Flame’s tenancy, but Jane said, ʺWe haven’t lost any customers, and that’s all that matters. The rest will sort itself out.ʺ Lynn had, in fact, given a little gulp and sob—almost a shriek—but Mal had sauntered in with Miri and Flame, and Lynn (who was nine) wasn’t going to look like a real kindergartener in front of Miri’s gorgeous brother. Miri, not knowing what else to do, tied Flame to a tree outside the small arena they used for private lessons, where he had the shade and the shadows disguised him. Lynn glanced his way nervously a couple of times, but Flame didn’t do anything but lie quietly, and she soon forgot him.
By the time Lynn was leading her horse back into the stable Mal was working his wiles on Jane’s class. They couldn’t believe their luck that Mal was actually hanging around to talk to them. Miri thought, watching them, he could tell them to go jump off a cliff, and they’d all say, where? What cliff? But there weren’t any cliffs nearby and all he said was, ʺHey, Miri’s got a new dog. He’s really cool. He’s got these scary red eyes. He’s a hellhound. His name is Flame. Want to meet him?ʺ
They all giggled at hellhound but with Mal there watching there was no shrieking. And one or two of them were even brave enough to pat him.
She collected the new name tag that said FLAME with the stable phone number on it the next day, and began letting him cautiously off the leash when she was cleaning tack or mucking out or anything she didn’t have to concentrate on. By the following week he was accompanying her when she took horses in and out to the paddocks. He never showed the least inclination to chase anything—despite several of the cats’ best efforts—and the horses didn’t react to his red eyes. Balthazar liked him: he’d reach his nose down over the half door of his stall to say hello. She still tied him up when she was giving lessons, but Ned rigged up a running line between two trees outside the two outdoor arenas so he had room to move around, although all he ever seemed to do was shift to whichever end was nearer where Miri was and lie down.
The price of Mal’s cooperation had been that she pick him up after all the parties he went to, for the rest of the summer—and he was invited to a lot of parties. Fortunately he didn’t go to very many of them—Dorothy wouldn’t let him. But he still managed one or two a week. Since his job got out at eleven, this meant that she was picking him up at four or five o’clock in the morning—occasionally she was lucky, and they went on till after six, when the buses started running again. She’d pointed out that even extortion has its limits, and by six o’clock she was out feeding horses, with a cup of strong coffee steaming on the windowsill in the feedroom. He’d promised that if it was after six, he’d catch the bus to the end of Highland Road, and walk the rest of the way home.
But usually the phone rang at four or five. This had been its own problem, because the farm was in a dead zone, where cell phones didn’t work. So on party nights Miri had to remember to unplug the three other phones in the house, leaving only the one in her room—and then to plug them back in again on her way out of the house. Five wasn’t so bad; she was usually thinking about getting up then anyway. Four was rough. She was still asleep, dawn was barely a smudge on the horizon, and by the time she got home again it would be too late to go back to bed.
Flame always came with her. He was, of course, sleeping on her bed, and when she got up, he got up. It obviously never occurred to him that he might be left behind, and she was glad to have him with her. The parties were not always in places she particularly wanted to be at four or five in the morning. Usually Mal was waiting on the street for her—sometimes with someone else who needed to be dropped off home—but once or twice she’d had to wait.
On one of these occasions three guys who were obviously the worse for their night’s entertainment had seen her and come reeling over to . . . she wasn’t sure if they meant to scare her, or if it was just that they were too drunk to notice the effect they were having. She’d turned the dome light on so she could read while she waited, which was probably why they’d noticed her. She tried to ignore them, but they were banging on the driver’s window and laughing. One of them went to the front of the truck, grabbed the bumper, and started rocking it. The other two thought this was hilarious.
Flame was curled up on the passenger seat. He’d let this go on for about twenty seconds, but when the rocking started he slowly uncurled. He didn’t have enough room to stand up on the seat, but he put one forepaw on the gearshift and the other one delicately between Miri’s legs, and leaned toward the window. He put his nose very close to the glass, pulled his lips back and growled.
ʺJesus H. Christ, what the hell is that?ʺ yelled the noisiest of the three, who was the window-banger, and backed off a step. The bumper-rocker stood up. Flame turned his head so he was staring out over the steering wheel. Miri felt rather than heard Flame’s growl deepen.
And the man screamed. He threw his hands up in front of his face, and backed away, stumbling over the curb, falling onto the hood of the next car. His two friends grabbed him, and the three of them ran.
Mal, at that moment, appeared at the top of the steps of the one house on the street that still had lights on in all its windows. Miri unlocked the door for him to get in. ʺIs everything all right?ʺ he said.
ʺEverything’s fine,ʺ she replied. She was still stroking Flame with hands that trembled very slightly. Flame slithered over the back of the front seat and lay down in the narrow strip between the seat and the back of the cab, where mysterious bits of tack tended to accumulate. Miri had cleared it out and put a blanket down for him.
ʺYour hellhound’s eyes are redder than usual,ʺ said Mal.
ʺIt’s just the dome light,ʺ she said.
ʺIt wasn’t a very good party,ʺ said Mal. ʺI’d rather have been home with Dorothy. You won’t have to come here again.ʺ
ʺGood,ʺ she said.
The one thing that still worried Miri about Flame was that she didn’t have time to walk him enough. He had the long legs and deep chest of a running dog but mostly all he ever had the chance to do was wander around the stable-yard, and when she was teaching she still tied him up.
Mostly the addition of a hellhound to the Greyhaven Stables went remarkably smoothly. The cats were adjusting; or all but Camilla, one of the house cats, who had decamped to live with a family about a mile down the road. Jane was a little testy for a day or two, but once s
he had been assured (several times) that the John-sons were happy to have Camilla, she got over it. The guinea pigs, let out of their cage, hid under the sofa, but the guinea pigs had always hidden under the sofa when they were let out of their cage. Dorothy, once she had ascertained that Mal was not very interested in Flame, put up with him, and deigned to learn his name.
One or two more boarders’ dogs had been banned because they couldn’t get along with Flame, but most were wary but polite. Flame tended to ignore other dogs, although he made an exception of Fay, who adored him, and would rather lie under his tree with him than go out on the trail with Nora and her Pinto horse, Carey (short for Caramel Cashew Swirl), much to Nora’s disgust. ʺWell, she’s spayed,ʺ Nora said. ʺThere’s not a lot of trouble she can get into.ʺ Flame would occasionally rest his chin on Fay’s back.
ʺShe’s like one of the kindergarteners with Mal around,ʺ Miri said to Jane. Although the kindergarteners were having a bad summer; Mal had a steady girlfriend. Mal often had girlfriends, but they rarely survived meeting Dorothy, and after he’d lost his first sweetheart to his parrot he’d started bringing new girlfriends home quickly to get it over with. After Kim, he never seemed to mind when they disappeared, but then, for Mal, there were always more girls out there.
Leslie was different. In the first place after high school she wanted to train to work in a zoo, and had been working summers and week ends at the little local sheep-pigs-and-llamas kids’ petting zoo for two years. She was fascinated and thrilled by Dorothy, and while as rivals for Mal’s affection they had to be mortal enemies, Leslie got round this by ignoring Mal in Dorothy’s presence, and Dorothy couldn’t resist playing to an apparently worshipping audience. Leslie was even fascinated and thrilled by the tropical fish and the invisible tree frogs and chameleons, which was a first, and put Ned firmly on her side. And she’d been the only person ever to meet Flame without an initial cringe. ʺOh, wow,ʺ she’d said, and immediately stooped to make friends.
Fire: Tales of Elemental Spirits Page 7