Storm Hound

by Claire Fayers

  No, he should have known. David shuddered, remembering the sight of Storm’s shadow spread monstrously large on the pavement, and the hound’s voice rumbling through his mind like thunder.

  He couldn’t hide from the fact any longer, no matter how he wished it wasn’t true. The stormhound was Storm.

  What was he going to do?

  A creature of the Otherworld. A monster, filled with unimaginable power. David pictured the black puppy twining himself protectively around Jessie’s legs, growling his little puppy growl; Storm chasing squirrels in the castle grounds, tugging Jessie along in the hunt to find Viking. Those weren’t the actions of a monster. Well, the squirrels might disagree, but it wasn’t as if Storm had climbed the tree after them.

  He should tell Ceridwen and let her decide what to do.

  But he had seen how Jessie had stood between the professors and Storm at the obedience class, and he could imagine too clearly what Jessie would do if Ceridwen tried to take Storm from her. There were any number of things Ceridwen could do in return – from enchanting Jessie so she’d forget everything, to putting her to sleep for a year. And she’d do it believing it was the right thing.

  David groaned. He’d never felt this torn before.

  ‘Morfran!’ a familiar voice snapped.

  David turned, forcing himself to smile.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Ceridwen asked. ‘I told you to come straight home from school. It’s not safe to be outside with a stormhound on the loose.’

  She sounded for a moment as if David were a real boy and she were his real aunt, worrying about him. David should have laughed, but inside he felt a tight pain in his chest.

  ‘You’re outside,’ he pointed out.

  ‘I know what I’m doing.’ She stretched as if trying to ease pains out of her shoulders. ‘I’ve spent the day hunting. Once or twice I thought I caught the scent of the creature, but never for long, and never enough to track it to its lair.’

  She didn’t know about Storm. David tried not to let his relief show on his face. He pushed his hands in his pockets to stop them from trembling. ‘Auntie Ceridwen,’ he said. ‘You know you said we had to dispose of the stormhound? You meant . . .’

  ‘Kill it,’ she said, nodding. ‘It’s the only thing we can do.’

  David felt cold. ‘But what if it isn’t? What if the stormhound isn’t as bad as you think? Maybe that’s why we can’t find it, because we’ve all been looking for a monster. What if it’s more like a normal dog, for example? A puppy.’

  Ceridwen’s gaze sharpened. ‘If you have something to say, Morfran . . .’

  ‘No. I’m just trying to think of all the options. Even if it is just a harmless puppy, you’ll still kill it?’

  ‘There’s no such thing as a harmless stormhound,’ Ceridwen said, frowning. ‘This is a creature from the Otherworld. It might manage to disguise its true nature for a little while, though I fail to see why it would, but it is still the same inside. So, yes, I will do what’s necessary.’

  ‘And what about Odin?’ David asked. ‘What about the Wild Hunt?’ he said, his voice rising angrily. ‘If they come looking for their missing hound and you’ve killed it—’

  ‘Odin is bound by the rules, as we are,’ Ceridwen said. ‘In the mortal world, the stormhound is outside his protection – and if Odin has a problem with that, he can challenge me and we’ll fight it out, but it won’t come to that.’ She smiled thinly. ‘Go on indoors now. I’ll continue the search.’

  She walked away, then stopped sharply. ‘Morfran?’

  David’s heart jumped.

  ‘Your friend,’ Ceridwen said. ‘The girl. That’s all finished?’

  David nodded. ‘I won’t speak to her again.’

  ‘Good. And thank you.’

  David watched her go, shivering slightly as her words echoed in his head. The stormhound might disguise its true nature for a while, but it’s still the same inside.

  Did she think the same of him too? He’d begun life as a hare, and look at him now. He didn’t feel quite human inside, but he didn’t feel like a hare either, neither one thing nor the other. And if that had happened to him, could the same thing happen to a stormhound?

  For the first time in many years David wished he was an ordinary hare so he didn’t have to worry about any of this.

  He walked in the direction of the river, but instead of turning aside to the house he kept walking, away from the town until the road widened and houses gave way to fields. Then he began to run, heading towards the low mountain peaks beyond the town. At some point he found himself running on four legs and he knew he’d changed shape without noticing.

  David didn’t run far, only to a split in the road where sheep were grazing on the stubby grass. He paused and nibbled at a yellow stalk, trying to pretend he still liked the taste.

  Baaaa!

  A large, black-faced ewe stood behind him. The hare spat out grass. Sorry. Not in the mood to talk.

  The sheep tipped its head to one side. Really? Because there are thoughts bursting out of you. Going out on a lamb, I’d say you need help.

  If he’d been in human form he’d have laughed – sarcastically. Hares had the wrong mouth shape for laughing. But if he was in human form, he wouldn’t be having this conversation. Human ears weren’t built to understand animal speech. He sat back on his tail. You want to help me? You do know you’re only a sheep, right?

  The sheep glanced down at itself. I could be some other four-legged woolly animal that says ‘baaaa’. You never know.

  Two other sheep ambled closer and the three of them stood in a semi-circle, watching with polite interest. The hare shrugged. All right, what do you want?

  Want? the first sheep asked. We’re sheep, why should we want anything?

  We watch, the second one said. We notice. We observe.

  The third sheep nudged the hare with her head. It’s interesting, watching the world turn. You should try it.

  He didn’t have time to just watch. Either the professors would find Storm or his aunt would, and either way the result would be the same. Storm wasn’t safe here, but where else could he go?

  David wriggled his nose and changed into a boy. He did it a bit too fast and it hurt.

  ‘Ouch,’ he said, stretching his arms until his elbows cracked.

  The sheep stood around him. Not surprised at his sudden change, just observing.

  David sighed and tore up a handful of grass, letting the blades scatter one at a time. Maybe he should just stay out of all this. He’d be moving on soon, anyway. None of it would matter then.

  But he couldn’t, of course. If he did nothing, either the professors or Ceridwen would come for Storm, and Jessie would be in greater danger than she could ever imagine.

  A cold wind blew across the hillside, bringing a scattering of rain. A storm was coming – tomorrow at four o’clock, according to the professors’ map.

  David scrambled up. Storm was outside Odin’s protection here in the mortal world, Ceridwen had said. The answer was obvious, then – Storm had to leave the mortal world. Then the professors could waste all the time they wanted looking for him; Ceridwen too. Jessie would be safe, and even though she’d have to lose Storm he’d still be alive.

  Just for a moment, sunlight flooded the hillside.

  ‘Thanks, sheep!’ David shouted.

  A chorus of baaas followed him as he raced to the road. First, he’d cast protection spells around Jessie’s house. That’d stop the professors finding Storm. And then, because he couldn’t tell Jessie the truth, he’d have to talk to Storm.

  CHAPTER 26

  It was nearly eight o’clock in the morning on Friday, the seventh of September, and Abergavenny was quiet, apart from the occasional jogger, a few early dog walkers and three men in a silver car.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Professor Utterby said, leaning out of the car window to accost a lady with a black Labrador on a lead. ‘Is that your dog?’

  The Labrador cowered aw
ay from the car.

  The lady frowned. ‘Yes, she’s mine. What has she done?’

  Professor Utterby threw a handful of green powder into her face. ‘Nothing. Please forget you saw us.’

  A little over a minute later, the lady jumped, stared down at the empty lead and let out a cry. ‘Sooty! Where’s my Sooty?’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Professor Nuffield, walking up to a group of three men a little later on. ‘Is that your dog?’

  The three men swung round together. None of them looked like the kind of person Professor Nuffield cared to talk to. He took a spray bottle out of his pocket and squirted the air. The men froze. So did the dog, unfortunately, and Professor Nuffield had to pick it up and sprint, puffing, back to the car.

  Professor Ryston had given up looking for stormhounds and was on his way back to the school to meet the others. He hoped they’d had better luck. Professor Utterby had been in such a bad mood this morning that Ryston had left the hotel early to go for a walk, just to get away from the shouting.

  He kept his divining rods out, more from habit than because he really expected to find anything. They’d searched this whole town six times over now, taken every dog they’d come across and questioned them, and found nothing. It was as if the stormhound had disappeared into thin air.

  One of the divining rods jumped in Ryston’s hand. He paused, and looked at the entirely ordinary row of terraced houses. Nothing to see here.

  The second rod turned full circle, then pointed up at the sky. The other one dipped sharply, straight towards the pavement. Ryston gave them both a shake and steadied them.

  That house at the end of the row. It looked exactly the same as all the others – even more ordinary, if that were possible – but every time he tried to point his divining rods at it, they jerked away, almost as if something was batting them aside.

  A tabby cat hissed at him from the wall in front of the last but one house.

  ‘You can go away,’ Ryston told it. It was fairly safe to assume that a cat was not going to turn out to be a stormhound in disguise.

  On the other hand, cats noticed things, and there was definitely something strange going on here. It was worth a try, Ryston thought, pushing his useless divining rods into his pockets and grabbing the animal.

  He realized his mistake seconds later when the cat turned on him and he found himself clutching a writhing, howling bundle of tabby fur, full of claws and teeth. Ryston dropped her, and she took off down the road. He paused to wipe blood from several deep scratches on his hands, and set off in pursuit.

  Ryston cornered the cat under a bush some time later and threw a handful of Professor Utterby’s sleeping powder at her.

  ‘My apologies, cat,’ he said, wrapping her in his coat. ‘But my friends and I would like a word with you.’

  CHAPTER 27

  Jessie woke to a sharp howl that sounded like a cat, but when she looked out of the window she couldn’t see anything. She lay back down for a minute, replaying her latest dream in her head. It had been the most vivid one yet. Racing through the sky with mountains far below and houses nestled between them . . .

  . . . and dogs and horses all around her, thunder and lightning crashing, and a sense of wild freedom that made her bedroom feel like a prison.

  And she remembered the man. He’d ridden a grey horse at the front of the pack. His helmet had been bronze with silver horns, his grey hair flowing out beneath it. At one point he’d turned and looked straight at Jessie and, even though it was only a dream, she’d gasped, because where his right eye should be, there was nothing but a long scar, cutting diagonally across his face.

  Jessie reached for her sketchpad. She’d unknowingly filled another two pages with sharp, angry lines. Although they didn’t seem to form any proper picture, they gave her the same sense of freedom she’d felt in the dream. Then she turned the page and froze, staring, because there was the face from the dream, sketched in grey pencil. Jessie’s skin prickled. She could just about imagine scribbling lines in her sleep, but drawing an entire portrait – how had she managed that?

  And why did the face look so familiar all of a sudden?

  She grabbed her pencil and started adding lines to the face, turning the man’s frown into a smile. That looked better. She drew in a horse behind him, and the outline of other riders in similar armour. Her pencil flew across the page so fast it felt like she was remembering this scene and not inventing it.

  Storm scrabbled at her door.

  Jessie fumbled for her phone and, forgetting the drawing, sat up straight in a panic when she saw it was past eight o’clock.

  There was no time to take Storm for a walk this morning. Jessie opened the back door for him and he shot out into the garden with an excited yap. She stepped out after him. The weather seemed to be all things at once: the sun was bright, but there was a sharp wind and that slight prickling in the air that meant rain wasn’t far away.

  Four o’clock, Friday the seventh, she thought, remembering the map in the professors’ staffroom. It was Friday the seventh now. What was going to happen at four o’clock? She’d have to ask David again – but then she remembered David was no longer her friend, and she clenched her fists hard, wanting to shout out in frustration.

  ‘Dad said he has to go to work early today,’ Ben said, coming outside. ‘He said I can come home for lunch today.’ He kicked at the ground. ‘Do we have to go to school?’

  Jessie heaved a sigh. ‘I’m afraid so. It’ll be better today, you’ll see. If any of the kids bother you, you should tell a teacher.’

  ‘I’ll just tell them I’m going to live with Mum in the holidays,’ Ben said.

  Jessie hugged him quickly. Then she noticed Mrs Williams staring at them from next door and she tensed, ready to be shouted at.

  ‘I can’t find Nutmeg,’ Mrs Williams said. ‘She always comes home for breakfast. ‘Your dog better not have scared her.’

  Storm raised his head and barked sharply.

  ‘We’ve only just come out here,’ Ben said indignantly.

  Mrs Williams sniffed disbelievingly, but she looked more worried than angry.

  ‘I heard a cat outside a little while ago,’ Jessie said. ‘It might have been Nutmeg.’ She picked Storm up. ‘Sorry, we’ve got to go to school. We’ll help you look for Nutmeg when we get back if you like.’

  ‘I can make posters,’ Ben offered. ‘Jessie can draw a picture of Nutmeg if you don’t have any photos. She’s good at drawing.’

  Mrs Williams softened a little. ‘Yes, well, I expect Nutmeg will be back by then. You should keep an eye on your dog too. My niece said her neighbour’s dog disappeared for hours yesterday and looked really peculiar afterwards.’

  ‘We’ll be careful,’ Jessie promised.

  First Viking, now Nutmeg. Jessie took Storm inside and shut him in the back room. ‘Please stay there today,’ she said. She didn’t like to leave him alone, but he’d be safe in the house. And, while Storm was safely asleep, she was going to find out the truth.

  But not with David this time. Jessie slammed her sketchbook into her school bag. She didn’t need David to work this out. He was part of the mystery anyway – he and his aunt, the professors, Jessie’s dreams, all felt like part of the same puzzle. She knew David would never tell her the truth, and that only left her one option: the professors.

  CHAPTER 28

  Storm waited while the humans fussed about and left for school and work. Finally, when the house was quiet, he lay down, letting his ears flop over his eyes. He must have eaten too many meaty chunks because he felt queasy. All might be quiet now, but he’d heard a cat howling just before Jessie woke up, and the sound of footsteps. It had to be the professors. They were looking for him, and if they’d taken the cat they must be drawing closer.

  Also, if they’d taken the cat, then the cat was in trouble. Storm jumped, trying to reach the key, but even though he caught it in his teeth he couldn’t turn it. He paused, panting.

  And the
n he barked in surprise because a white hare suddenly appeared in a shower of earth by the fence.

  Storm got to his feet, growling softly. The hare hopped closer, right up to the back door. It might be a hare now, but Storm recognized the stink of Not-Boy even through the glass.

  What are you doing here? Storm growled. Begone!

  Or what? You’ll chase me all over the garden? Tear me limb from limb? I don’t think so. I’m not afraid of you.

  Storm sniffed. Yes you are. I can smell it.

  The hare hopped back a step. Yes, all right, it agreed, I am a bit afraid of you. My aunt says you’re a slavering monster who will kill everyone in the town.

  Storm didn’t even know what ‘slavering’ meant. Your aunt is deranged. If I’m so dangerous, why are you here? Why aren’t you fleeing in terror?

  Because I want to talk to you. The hare’s ears quivered. And there’s a door between us. That should stop you if you get any ideas.

  Yes, the annoying door. Storm headbutted the glass. Turn into a boy and open it for me. I won’t bite you.

  I know you won’t, said the hare, because I’m not going to do it. For a start, I don’t have a key. I could try an opening charm, but my aunt doesn’t like me casting spells. And if I turned into a boy we wouldn’t be able to talk.

  I don’t see why that matters. Open the door.

  Tell me why you want to get out so badly?

  Storm’s fur prickled in annoyance. The cat from next door did me a favour and now she has disappeared. She is irritating, but she’s old. Also, she’s a cat, so she isn’t very intelligent. She may be in trouble and require rescue.

  The hare didn’t respond for a moment, then it cocked its head to one side, blinking slowly. I’m sorry. Did you just say you wanted to rescue a cat? You’re a strange sort of stormhound.