Storm Hound

by Claire Fayers

  Storm bared his teeth. What do you know of stormhounds? The cat acted in my service so I have a duty to her. Besides, if anything happens to her, the Valkyrie-Lady next door will blame Jessie, and . . . and if Jessie is upset she will not serve me so well, he finished, slightly unconvincingly. He didn’t like the thought of Jessie being upset.

  The hair wriggled its nose. The thing is I can’t risk letting you out. The professors are hunting you and they’re growing more desperate. If they have the cat and you go running to the rescue, they’ll catch you and that’ll be the end of you.

  I am not afraid, Storm said.

  I know you’re not. You’re a dog, and dogs are too stupid to be afraid.

  Now that was stepping over impudence into insult. If the door hadn’t been in the way, Storm would have taught the hare a lesson. But it was in the way and no amount of jumping at it helped.

  The hare watched him until he gave up, panting.

  Calm down, will you? it said. Tell you what. You stay here, and I’ll rescue the cat. I know where the professors are staying.

  Storm’s backside hit the mat in surprise. You? Why would you do that, Not-Boy?

  Because I’m Jessie’s friend too, the hare said. It paused to scratch. And, also, because you’re going to make me a promise. If I save the cat, you have to leave. There’s a storm brewing. I don’t know if the Wild Hunt are looking for you, but if they are today is your best chance. Go back to the place where you fell, and do whatever you need to do to call them to you. You’ll leave this world and you won’t return – ever.

  That should be the easiest bargain in the world to make. Storm wanted to go back. That was the whole point of waiting here, why he’d put up with the indignities he’d suffered every day at the hands of the humans who knew no better. Because he knew it wouldn’t be long until the Hunt returned.

  Why then was he suddenly hesitating? Maybe I wish to stay, he said. Where had those words come from? Of course he didn’t wish to stay.

  The hare blinked several times and shook its head. You know people are hunting you? The three professors, and my aunt too. What if they find you when Jessie is here? What do you think she will do?

  She’d try to protect him, like she had at the obedience class, not knowing the danger she was in. I will defend her, Storm barked, pawing at the locked door.

  You? You can’t even leave the house on your own. Take a good look at yourself, stormhound. Whatever you are in your world, you’re nothing but a puppy here.

  Storm looked at his reflection in the door. A puppy. Not a stormhound. Not important, not magnificent or fierce. And he knew the hare was telling the truth: if the hunters found him here and Jessie fought them, she’d lose. Her little spark of magic was no match for them.

  I’m trying to protect her too, the hare said. Believe it or not, she was my friend. This really is the only way she can be safe. Please.

  Storm turned to look behind him at the familiar kitchen with its cupboards and boxes, and the hall where he’d left scratch marks. Maybe Jessie would choose a new dog when he left: the white terrier she’d always wanted, or one of the others in the dog prison. He imagined another dog comforting her as she lay on her bed, another dog going out with her for walks, and it felt that the empty space inside him had spread to consume him.

  But he was a stormhound, and he belonged to the Wild Hunt, not to this world with all its confusion. Storm bowed his head. Very well. You have my word as a stormhound.

  The hare lowered its head too. Maybe it understood what it had cost Storm to promise this. Don’t feel bad about this, it said. My aunt says there’s a right place for everything, and everything should stay there. We’ll be moving on soon as well. I’ve put a protection around this house so you’ll be safe until I get back.

  Wait, Storm barked, but the hare was gone in a flash of white fur.

  CHAPTER 29

  It’s not a good idea to lock a cat in a hotel room – especially if the cat doesn’t want to be there. The moment the animal had woken, she’d knocked over all the candles. Then she’d run around in a panic and torn holes in Professor Utterby’s best pyjamas, and now she was in the process of destroying the armchair. And the noise – Professor Utterby had heard the cries of demons rising from the Otherworld, and even that didn’t compare to the wails and shrieks that filled the air now. It was a good job he’d cast a soundproof charm on the room or they’d have the hotel manager banging on the door asking what they were doing.

  ‘It’s no use carrying on like that,’ he said, frowning as the cat tore a lump of pink cloth off the chair. ‘No one can hear you.’

  Normally, he liked cats. They knew they were a superior species and they weren’t afraid to show it, but this was becoming tiresome. Time was pressing on – they had a matter of hours to find the stormhound and they were close, he could sense it.

  ‘I’m not sure the cat knows anything,’ Professor Nuffield said. He had a large claw mark across his nose.

  Ryston was in even worse shape, with holes in his jumper and several deep scratches on his hands. ‘I’m supposed to be teaching art today,’ he complained. ‘If I’d known the cat would be this much trouble I wouldn’t have bothered taking it. Can’t we just let it go?’

  ‘In a minute.’ Utterby picked up one of the fallen candles and relit it. The smoke smelled vaguely fishy with a hint of wet earth. The cat stopped yowling and hissed, its green eyes narrowing to horizontal slits. Professor Utterby held a finger in the candle flame. It was pleasantly cool and tickled a little. ‘Mistress cat,’ he said politely, ‘we meant you no harm.’ His voice translated into a series of mews and hisses. ‘We simply wish to converse and then you’ll be free to go.’

  Converse with your own species, the cat hissed. I am the cat who walks alone . . .

  ‘Why does every cat say that?’ Nuffield sighed.

  Utterby glared at them both. ‘I am trying to do serious magic here. Go and wait outside if you can’t be quiet.’ He turned back to the cat. ‘There is magic afoot,’ he said. ‘A creature of the Otherworld is here in Abergavenny, a stormhound of the Wild Hunt. We believe you may know something about it.’

  Candle smoke coiled through the room. The cat stared at him with wide, dilated pupils. Everything was quiet except for the sound of Ryston’s coughing and the scrape of the window as he opened it a crack.

  Utterby sat down on the wrecked armchair. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘have you seen the stormhound?’

  The cat appeared to be trying to bite its own tongue in the effort of not speaking. Utterby lit a second candle and more smoke drifted across the room.

  I have seen it, the cat hissed, its tail switching back and forth. The words were dragged out one at a time. Black . . . small . . .

  Professor Utterby leaned closer. ‘Where? Where is the stormhound?’

  He was interrupted by a sudden knocking on the door.

  ‘Professor Utterby? Are you there? I’ve had a report about a cat.’

  Professor Utterby stood back with a sigh of irritation. ‘Did someone happen to let the manager see what we were doing?’

  ‘It’s not my fault,’ Ryston said at once.

  The manager knocked on the door again, louder this time. ‘Professor Utterby?’ The handle jiggled.

  Professor Utterby opened the door a crack. ‘I was sleeping. What’s this about a cat?’

  At the same moment, the window on the far side of the room shot up. Professor Utterby swung round, but the cat was faster. She darted across the room, clawed her way up Ryston’s legs and was gone.

  Utterby ran to the window. ‘Ryston, you buffoon!’

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ Ryston protested.

  Was that a flash of a white tail, disappearing into the bushes?

  Utterby slammed the window shut in frustration.

  ‘There’s no cat?’ asked the manager. ‘Because if there is it’ll cost extra.’

  ‘No,’ Utterby said tightly. ‘There is no cat. Good day.’

 
; He shut the door and turned back to his colleagues. Black, small. Where had he seen a small, black dog?

  Of course! The obedience class with that irritating woman who also ran the Dog Rescue Centre. Now he thought about it, he remembered a black puppy growling at him, and a girl. He couldn’t for the life of him remember her name or exactly what she looked like, which was odd because he was sure he’d seen her at school.

  ‘You two pack up here, then go back to the house where Ryston found the cat, and keep watch,’ he said. ‘Take the car, and for goodness’ sake don’t let anyone see you. I will meet you shortly.’ He looked out of the window at the gathering clouds, and smiled. The girl clearly had some magical protection of her own, and they wanted to recruit new students, didn’t they? This could work out very well indeed.

  CHAPTER 30

  David wasn’t in school that morning and when Jessie went looking for the professors at morning break she found their staffroom locked and no amount of jiggling the door handle would open it.

  ‘I’m having a birthday party next Friday,’ Prisha said as they were making their way down the stairs at lunchtime. ‘Do you want to come?’

  The question took Jessie by surprise. Why not? A party would be fun – something normal after all this week’s weirdness.

  ‘I’ll have to check with Dad,’ Jessie said. ‘But thanks, I’d like that.’

  They passed the corridor that led to the professors’ staffroom and Jessie paused.

  ‘Are you coming for lunch?’ Prisha asked.

  ‘No, I need to go home to check on my dog.’ Jessie felt the corner of her sketchbook as she shifted her bag on her shoulder. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  She waited until Prisha was out of sight, then, her heart thumping, she turned and ran back down the corridor. One more try, just in case.

  She listened at the door then knocked gently and tried the handle.

  The door jerked open so suddenly that she jumped.

  Professor Utterby frowned out at her. Behind him, Jessie could see that the room was a mess, books and candles scattered everywhere. Professors Ryston and Nuffield were nowhere to be seen. At least she didn’t have to face all three of them together, but Professor Utterby seemed somehow sterner and more frightening without the other two.

  ‘My name is Jessie Price,’ she said, shifting her bag from one shoulder to the other. ‘I wondered, I mean, I thought . . .’

  ‘You thought you’d pay me a visit.’ Professor Utterby beamed at her. ‘This is a coincidence. I was looking for you.’

  ‘You were?’ Jessie edged back a step. ‘Who are you? I know you’re not from Bangor University.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ Professor Utterby asked her. ‘Did you divine it?’

  ‘No, I looked up the university website.’

  Professor Utterby sighed. ‘Young people nowadays . . . Nothing is secret. I am a professor, but not of any university you’ll have heard of – and not of any subject you’ll have heard of, either.’ He opened the door wider. ‘But I’m being most rude keeping you in the corridor. Come inside and we can discuss this properly.’

  Jessie shook her head. ‘No thanks.’ She pulled her sketchbook out of her bag and turned to the drawing of the one-eyed man. ‘I just wanted to ask you about this. Do you know who it is?’

  Professor Utterby took the book off her. ‘This is quite an extraordinary likeness. When did you meet Odin of the Wild Hunt?’

  Jessie swayed, the smell from the candle in the room making her dizzy. ‘I dreamed it. The Wild Hunt is just a legend – Professor Nuffield said so.’

  Professor Utterby shrugged. ‘Myths, legends, stories. They are all words for facts that people have forgotten.’ He snapped her book shut and held it out to her, stepping back so she had to walk into the staffroom to take it.

  Professor Utterby picked a petal out of a bowl and dropped it into the candle flame. Instead of shrivelling, it lay there, dipping up and down gently in the warmth.

  Jessie stared.

  ‘Elemental magic,’ Professor Utterby said. ‘As I was saying, I am no ordinary professor. I am one of the last three members of an institution known as the Invisible College, an institution established in the sixteenth century and devoted wholly to the research of the forbidden arts.’

  The petal exploded in the candle flame with a little pop and a flare of purple light.

  Jessie clutched her sketchbook like a shield. ‘You’re magicians?’ This had to be a joke. Magic didn’t exist. But then she remembered Professor Utterby’s chemistry class, and Professor Nuffield talking about myths as if he believed them. And David and his aunt – if they were investigating the professors, did they know about this? Were they magicians too?

  Professor Utterby put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from backing away. ‘You might not realize this, but you have potential in the dark arts. You’ve been defending yourself against my spells without even knowing it. Nuffield, Ryston and myself use the magic of this world, what little there is of it, but you have a rare and precious gift. You seem to attract the magic of the Otherworld, just like a tree attracts lightning. Your dreams are full of the Wild Hunt, you disrupt our magic,’ he added, ‘and, of course, you have a stormhound as a pet.’

  The candles smoked, turning the air into a blur. Jessie’s cheeks burned. He was talking about Storm, but Storm was just a puppy.

  ‘I should have worked it out sooner,’ Professor Utterby said. ‘But I never imagined the Hounds of Annwn started off as puppies and grew.’ His hand, resting on Jessie’s shoulder, seemed to pin her to the floor so she couldn’t move. ‘I had the same hunger for knowledge when I was your age,’ he said. ‘I wanted to know everything and I didn’t care what it cost me. But you will have teachers – three of us. And we’ll be recruiting other students as well, of course, so you won’t be on your own. You’ll be part of a tradition that goes back centuries. All you have to do is give me your dog.’

  Storm. Jessie shook her head slowly. A Hound of Annwn. A stormhound from her dreams.

  ‘All learning must begin with sacrifice,’ Professor Utterby said. ‘It will be worth it, I promise. Otherworld magic is vastly more powerful than anything this world has to offer.’

  Jessie stared at him in disbelief. ‘You’re mad. Magic isn’t . . .’

  ‘Isn’t real?’ Professor Utterby asked with a smile. ‘You know better than that. You’ve felt it, I’m sure. There are bigger things in this world, things that cannot be explained.’

  No – he had to be wrong. And yet something in his words felt right. It was like that picture in the Dog Rescue Centre, random dots that suddenly became a castle and you knew it was there all along, you just hadn’t seen it because you weren’t looking properly.

  ‘It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?’ Professor Utterby asked. ‘But you don’t have to learn everything at once. All we need for now is the dog.’

  His words jolted Jessie back to reality – a bigger, stranger reality, but some things hadn’t changed. Professor Utterby didn’t know anything if he thought she’d hand Storm over to him. She relaxed and started to nod. Then, as Professor Utterby smiled back and released his grip on her, she twisted away and ran for the door.

  ‘Stop!’ Professor Utterby cried, as fresh air flooded in on her.

  Jessie kept running. She skidded round the corner and bumped into Mr Heron who was coming the other way. ‘Sorry!’ she shouted.

  ‘Ah, Professor Utterby,’ she heard Mr Heron say. ‘May I have a quick word?’

  Jessie ran out into the playground with a sob of relief. She’d be in trouble for skipping school, but that was the least of her worries. She had to reach Storm before the professors found him. She sprinted across the grey playground and into the street as rain started to fall.

  CHAPTER 31

  Storm sat inside the back door of the house and watched, helpless as a cat – no, even worse than that, because a cat could probably find a window to climb through and escape. Helpless as a sheep
, more like. Storm rubbed at the smears his nose had made on the door.

  He should never have trusted the Not-Boy. That was where he’d gone wrong – handing a rescue mission over to someone else. Now Storm had no idea what was going on and was imagining all sorts of things. What if the professors had captured the Not-Boy? What if he’d told them about Jessie? They could be on their way here this very moment.

  The front door opened. Storm sprang up, barking. You’d better not be the professors!

  Jessie’s Dad came into the kitchen. Storm let his tail drop down.

  ‘Hello, Storm,’ Jessie’s Dad said, sounding tired.

  Storm ran to him and pawed his trousers gently. Jessie’s Dad, I require you to open the back door so I may go into the garden.

  Jessie’s Dad frowned and pushed him off gently. ‘Sorry, Storm, not now. It’s just started to rain, and I have to tidy up.’

  Storm didn’t see what those two things had to do with each other. He watched Jessie’s Dad pick up towels and fold them, and an idea formed. If Jessie’s Dad wanted to tidy up so much, it would only be polite to help him. He scrambled up one of the kitchen chairs, being careful to leave claw marks in the seat, then he hopped on to the table and wagged his tail. Spoons and cups went flying.

  ‘Storm, down,’ Jessie’s Dad said, running to rescue them. Storm wagged his tail harder.

  I don’t know what you’re saying. I’m just an innocent puppy who wants to play. Preferably outside. He batted the final spoon off the table. It made a satisfying clang when it hit the floor.

  Tell you what, you open the door for me and I’ll leave your house alone. It’s not raining that hard outside. Anyway, I’m a stormhound and I like bad weather.

  Jessie’s Dad picked him up and placed him gently but firmly on the floor. ‘Stay, Storm.’

  What? Right here? Hey, maybe I need the toilet now. Storm lifted his back leg and stared at Jessie’s Dad threateningly.