Guardian Hound (24 page)

United States, Twenty-Two Years Ago to Present

Sally

One of Sally's earliest memories was of trying to save the world.

She couldn't have been more than four or five at the time. They had traveled to La Jolla, California, to visit Dad's mom and dad.

Salt tinged the skin around Sally's lips and the warm sun kissed the top of her head. Grandma had tied her black-and-white-checked dishtowel under Sally's chin, so it flapped against her blindingly pink one-piece suit as she charged across the wet sand toward the waves. In her memory, she always shrieked as she dashed into the water, though she knew her mom wouldn't have stood that for long.

With her arms spread wide, Sally commanded the ocean to stop threatening her sand castle village. She raced back out of the water, to her masterpiece, scolding every encroaching wave.

It never worked. The water always won.

But that didn't stop Sally from trying even harder the next time.

# # #

Sally missed her dad after he moved out. She missed his funny stories about wild bands of alligators saving the high school or the teddy bear pirates rescuing the princess. She missed his carefully crafted, blobby pancakes and the outrageous lies he'd tell about how they resembled dinosaurs or castles.

She didn't miss the fights between Mom and Dad. Though they'd yelled at each other in whispers in their room, they didn't realize the vent above their bed went straight into Sally's room and she heard every hissed word and curse.

Liz and Mary, Sally's two older sisters, didn't like going to Dad's house on his weekend. Mom quickly claimed they were old enough to make their own decision, so it was generally only Sally who raced up the cracked and weed-covered sidewalk to where her dad stood on the porch with open arms and a sad smile.

Mom called Dad's house a shack. It stank like dog pee, the green plastic tiles on the kitchen floor were cracked and broken, it boiled in the Minnesota summer, and the cold winter winds pushed through the gaps around the windows.

Sally still loved it. The front room had floor to ceiling bookcases along two walls, as well as wide windows overlooking the porch and the yard. The tiny room Sally slept in was crammed full of brightly colored, half-finished canvases and always smelled like mineral oil. She loved the statue Dad had made that stood guard over her bed, created out of “found art”: branches blown down during last summer's storm made up his arms, bottle caps formed his eyes and crooked smile, and bubble gum wrappers outlined his vest and tie.

More fascinating pieces filled Dad's room, such as the copper-wire-and-bolt men that floated on the ends of the mobile above his bed, the fantasy garden painting that he used to block one of his windows, and the window shade made of soft bearskin, leather, yarn, and cotton.

The weekend they celebrated Sally's eighth birthday, after presents and chocolate-chip-ice-cream cake, Dad asked Sally to sit down in the front room to talk.

Sally sat heavily, the cold from the ice cream still rolling around her belly. She knew it was going to be bad: Dad's art had changed again. Before he'd moved out, the usual happy faces he painted were suddenly tinged with blue, and the city he'd painted, with the broken walls and blank windows, had scared her. He'd started painting bright yellow sunflowers and cities filled with trees after he'd moved out, but now his art was filled with desert scenes in cool oranges, and sunsets over ancient gray and black stones.

“You know I love you, darling,” Dad started. He knelt next to the old beige couch, his ginger-colored hair graying along the temples, wearing his blue denim painting shirt covered in splotches of all colors.

The books towered over them, and normally Sally felt most safe here, curled up on this couch, escaping into new worlds and faraway places.

“But?” Sally asked when Dad didn't continue right away, knowing the worst was yet to come. It had been too special of a birthday for everything to work out right.

“I need to go back home. To California.”

Sally's chest suddenly hurt, as if Dad had stabbed her with his big tin shears. “But why?”

“I need to be back near the ocean. It's where my heart is,” Dad said. “You can come visit.”

“No, I can't,” Sally said, tears hitching up, out of her eyes, and down her cheeks. “Since you and Mom split, there hasn't been a single trip to California. Mom says it's too expensive, and you can't afford it.”

Dad rocked back on his heels. “Where did you hear that? From your mother?”

Sally indicated the room. “You live here. We had to move, too, and I have to share a room, now, with Mary,” she said softly. “There just isn't enough money.”

Dad opened his mouth, then closed it again. “If there isn't a trip, it isn't because I don't love you or don't want you to be there. But you may be right. How did you get so wise?”

“Wasn't from you,” Sally teased through her tears.

Dad chuckled. “Nope. Your mom was always the smart, sensible one. But baby girl, sometimes you've got to follow your heart. It isn't easy. But if you listen, and listen well, it will always tell you the truth.”

“I don't believe you,” Sally said. “You can't just follow your heart. Not if it means you're leaving.” Mom had said Dad was always leaving—not finishing college, not sticking with jobs, now, not staying with them in Minnesota.

“You have a strong heart, too,” Dad told her. “Stronger than your sisters. I know. I can see it. If you don't follow it, you'll regret it.”

“There has to be more,” Sally insisted.

“Oh, honey,” Dad said, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “There so much for you to learn. It isn't about being wild or free. It's about being true to who you are.”

“But why can't you do that here?” Sally asked, her own heart breaking.

“I would if I could, darling,” Dad replied.

Though Sally let Dad hold her as she cried, she was also determined to prove him wrong. She would figure out how to follow her heart
and
stay.

# # #

Sally followed her dad's advice and let her heart lead her into non-profit work—focusing on feeding families when they fell into bad circumstances, like her family had—then to Seattle.

When Peter came dancing into her life, Sally nearly called her dad that night. He'd been right: Her heart had always been strong. However, he'd never told her that there might be more pieces of her heart out there, waiting for her to find them.

Sally's heart told her to stay when Peter lied to her. She knew he was holding back about the tiger thing that had attacked her, the thing that Pixie had defended her from.

For the first time, Sally truly understood that staying wasn't always enough—that the brave thing to do was to walk away. She needed to have all her heart if she was going to live, and staying when Peter wouldn't let her in would only hurt her in the long run.

Of course, Sally had never imagined that Peter was hiding a raven soul.

After Sally learned about Ravens' Hall and the way they'd tortured the boys there, she understood just how brave Peter had been to tell her as much as he had.

It convinced her that she'd always been right: The will of her heart always had to be tempered with courage.

# # #

Sally had always known Pixie was special. She'd been as drawn to him as he had been to her when she first saw him at the shelter.

After the attack by the tiger creature, she suspected there was more, much more, to Pixie.

Sally wasn't surprised when the awkward, tall boy with the raven black hair who was Pixie's human form—Lukas—named her the heart of his knight.

Nor was she surprised when Peter tried to immediately talk her out of fighting the instant Lukas left.

“I don't like the idea of you in a battle,” Peter started out, taking Sally's hand and drawing her to the couch. “I can't lose you.”

Sally sighed, wrapped her arms around Peter, and held his head to her chest. “I couldn't lose you, either,” she said. “Which is what I'd do if I insisted that you always stay safe. You had to fight that tiger warrior, Tamara. I would have lost you if you hadn't, as surely as if she'd killed you with her bare hands.”

The man in her arms shuddered. “She did try to kill me.”

“I know. And you had to fight her. Just as I have to fight with you, beside you.”

“What if Lukas is wrong?”

“Do you think he's wrong?” Sally asked. “It's an awful long time to be cursed in the form of a hound and have it not be true.”

Peter grunted. “I know. I just—I don't like these shadows. They're awful. I still don't want it to be you fighting them.”

“We'll be careful.” Sally suspected she'd be more on edge for a while, ever since the attack the previous night. “How about this? If I notice you not behaving, or being weird, like how Lukas said you might, I'll just smack you. Like this.” She playfully slapped his arm.

Peter sighed and looked up at her. “The shadows are real,” he said. His eyes grew dark, and Sally knew he was talking with his raven soul.

“And you will be in danger,” he added after a moment.

“The whole world will be in danger,” Sally pointed out. “It's up to us to save it.”

After all, she'd always wanted to save the world.

# # #

When Lukas ordered Sally and Harita and Rudi to the center of the warriors, Sally knew he was wrong.

She wasn't there to be protected.

The clan warriors transformed around her, showing their true natures: fierce claws and sharp teeth. She doubted her heart, then. She couldn't fight as they could. Maybe it was better for her to be inside the circle.

At the first cry of pain, though, Sally knew she'd been right. The heart wasn't supposed to be protected—she was supposed to inspire the warriors and lead them.

But how?

Early the next morning, Sally lay on top of the bed while Peter still lay under the covers. His normally dark skin was still pale. The white bandage covering his burned hand lay outside the blanket, stark against her navy blue sheets. She lay on her left side—the bandage covering the burn on her right cheek hurt too much when she lay on it.

“I need to go talk to Lukas,” Sally told Peter as she pushed her tired body up. She hadn't fought, but she found she was just as exhausted as everyone else. The shadows had drained all of them, sucked out their life.

“All right,” Peter said with a sigh, lifting one corner of the sheets.

Sally pressed his hand down. “No. You're staying here.”

“But—”

“Peter. I know.” Sally tried to shove her own fear to the side, though it still hung like a tight ball in the middle of her chest. “Those shadow things are awful. But I need to talk to Lukas. Alone. And…” Sally paused, then made herself sit all the way up, forcing herself away from the comfort and warmth of her mate. “I need to go by myself. I need to not be scared of everything outside or of being away from you.”

“You don't have to do this alone,” Peter protested.

“Yes, I do, and you know it,” Sally said as she finally stood up. “I'll text you when I get there. And when I'm on my way back.”

“I don't like it,” Peter said stubbornly. “You shouldn't go. Not alone.”

“I love you,” Sally told him, warmth bubbling up where there had only been fear and anxiety before. “And I won't ever do everything you want me to do.”

“I know,” Peter said, still sulking.

Sally took his good hand in hers, squeezing the fingers. “I promise to be back as soon as I can. But I have to go alone.”

“I don't have to like it,” Peter said. “But we trust you.”

Sally fetched Peter's phone, gave him a last kiss, then stepped out into the brilliant Seattle spring sunlight. She shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her hoodie and breathed deeply. It was too beautiful a day, particularly after the horror of the night before, to be stuck inside.

Still, Sally didn't dawdle on her way to house Lukas and Rudi shared.

Lukas opened the door before Sally even knocked.

“What is it?” he asked, his black hair mussed, his face young and vulnerable, as if he'd just woken up. “What's wrong?”

“What, you mean Peter didn't call to tell you I was coming?” Sally asked, amused.

Lukas looked down, sheepishly, at his long bare toes. “He did. But he couldn't explain what was wrong.”

“It's okay,” Sally said. “We need to talk about what happened last night.”

Lukas looked up, worried. “You're not quitting, are you? You'll stay? You'll come and fight again tonight?”

“I'm not quitting,” Sally said hurriedly. “But we have to figure out what went wrong.”

“I know,” Lukas said, slumping more. “Come on in.”

The smell of bacon and morning coffee still lingered in the air. The bright yellow walls of the living room surprised Sally—it seemed more modern than what she expected Rudi would choose. She liked the big comfortable couches and the white-painted mantel with the portraits on it.

“
Here.
Sit,” Lukas said, flopping down. He immediately stood up again. “Should I get you anything?”

“It's fine,” Sally said, sitting down and patting the couch next to her. “It's polite to ask, but we're also friends. We're fine.”

“Good,” Lukas said, sitting beside her but not looking at her. “I don't know what happened last night. What went wrong.”

“Have you ever fought the shadows before? By yourself?” Sally asked.

Lukas shook his head. “Only in my nightmares. I've never seen them before, like they were last night. I thought—I thought it would help, you know, that they were physical. That we'd be able to fight them, finally.”

“What about when you were cursed?” Sally asked. “Didn't you fight the shadows then? Didn't they attack you if you transformed into your human form?”