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eyes adjust to the gloom.
    The cellar lay quiet, steeped in shadows and the thick odor of hops and liquor. Dark curves of large beer kegs defined a narrow path. I moved forward, ready to dodge at any second. My back and knees hurt. The last thing I wanted was something big with teeth the size of Vik’s fingers jumping at me from above.
    Nothing but moonlight, crawling through the narrow slit of a high window to my right.
    A black shadow stirred against the far wall.
    “Hi there.” I shifted my stance.
    A low throaty whine answered me. A very plaintive whine, followed by heavy wet panting.
    I took another step and paused. No flash of teeth. No glowing eyes.
    My nose caught a whiff of fur. Interesting.
    I put a bit of excitement in my voice. “Here, boy!”
    The dark shadow whined.
    “Who’s a good boy? Are you scared? I’m scared.”
    A faint sound of a tail sweeping the floor echoed the panting.
    I slapped my leg with my palm. “Come here, boy! Let’s be scared together. Come on!”

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    The shadow rose and trotted over to me. A wet tongue licked my hand. Apparently he was a friendly kind of demonic beast.
    I reached into my belt and clicked a lighter. A shaggy canine muzzle greeted me, complete with big black nose and infinitely sad dog eyes. I reached over and slowly patted the dark fur. The dog panted and flopped on the side, exposing his stomach. Wicked fangs and glowing eyes, right. I sighed, flicked the lighter off, and went to rap my knuckles on the door. “It’s me, don’t shoot.”
    “Okay,” Cash called out.
    A metallic sound announced the deadbolt being slid open. I cracked the door slowly to find myself staring at the business end of the machete. “I’ve got the spawn of hell cornered,” I said. “Can you get me some rope?”
    In ten seconds I had a length of chain in my hand thick enough to hold a bear in check. I felt the dog’s neck—no collar. Big surprise. I looped the chain and slid it around his head, and opened the door. The beast docilely followed me into the light.
    It stood about thirty inches at the shoulder. Its fur was a mess of dark brown and tan, in a classic Doberman pattern, except his coat wasn’t sleek and shiny but rather a shaggy dense mass of rank curls.
    Some sort of mongrel, part Doberman, part sheepdog or something long-haired.
    Vik turned the color of a ripe apple.
    Cash stared at it. “It’s a damn mutt.”
    I shrugged. “Probably got scared during the fight and just ran blindly through the bar. He seems friendly enough.”
    The dog pressed against my legs, rubbing a small army of fetid bacteria into my jeans.
    “We should kill it,” Vik said. “Who knows, it might turn into something nasty.”
    I gave him my best version of a deranged stare. “The dog’s evidence. Don’t touch the dog.”
    Vik decided he liked his teeth in his mouth and not on the floor and beat a strategic retreat. “Right.”

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    I’d kill a dog in self-defense. I’d done it and I felt bad about it afterward, but at the time there was no way around it. Killing a mutt who just licked my hand was beyond me. Besides, the dog was evidence.
    Ten to one, he was a local mongrel who had a panicked reaction to whatever magic John Doe in the cloak had been throwing around. Of course, he could also sprout tentacles in the night and try to murder me. Only time would tell. Until I’d watched him for a few days, the spawn of hell and I were joined at the hip. Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing, considering he tried his best to singe away the lining of my nose with his stink.
    I took the dog to the medtechs to get cleared of the plague—he passed with flying colors. They drew some blood for further analysis and advised me that he had fleas and smelled bad, just in case I’d failed to notice. Then I took paper and pen from Marigold’s