What in the hell were those people doing out in the middle of the cul-de-sac?
Simon rolled down his window to demand they get the hell out of his way when he heard them chanting, facing the rays of the rising sun.
“Light of hope, protect our home, so may it be. Light of hope, protect our home, so may it be. Light of hope, protect our home, so may it be.”
Simon frowned. That sounded a little desperate. He squinted against the slanted light to see who would be out, holding hands, chanting, and blowing up fireworks on an October morning. At least he thought they were fireworks. A solid glimmer of light rose up in the center of the five people—four men and a woman—who were apparently performing some sort of sun salutation at gawdawful a.m.
He glanced around the cul-de-sac to see if anyone else was watching them, and besides a young man the size of a tree with two trays full of Starbucks hanging out in front of one of the driveways, he didn’t see anybody. Well, there were four houses—three of them relatively modern and one of them decrepit and ready to fall in on itself—and six people. Maybe this was the neighborhood?
As the chanting rose in volume and power, the light got bigger and bigger, finally exploding outward in a multicolored star show that didn’t seem to be constructed of sulfur and saltpeter at all. In fact, all of the rainbow motes seemed to diffuse through the air like a refracted crystal on the move, permeating the very oxygen around the tableau of witches and of the cul-de-sac itself.
Simon watched in surprise as what had seemed to be a neighborhood in the deepest shadow of night—complete with ravens and owls and, oh my God, were those bats hanging upside down from the eaves of the house in the middle?—began to glow gently, suddenly in time to the breaking dawn as it hadn’t been moments before.
He watched as the rays of the sun, which had seemed curiously repelled by an invisible wall that ran the length of the road that passed in front of the cul-de-sac, on the other side of which lay an empty field, began to penetrate, and the tall grasses that had grown up in recent rains all began to shake as….
Wait. Were those snakes? Snakes slithering patiently away from the sidewalk like they’d just been waiting for the conclusion of the ritual to decide which direction to take?
Simon swallowed and glanced unhappily at the little white-coated, furry thing that had started pawing at his door around eight o’clock the night before.
“Glinda,” he asked seriously, “is this your home? Because I know you had to eat ground beef last night, but I swear to you, I can stop and get dog food or something. This doesn’t look health—” Wait. That slim figure in the bicycle tights and fleece vest trotting toward the house with the big apple tree in the front seemed very familiar. “—y?” he finished weakly. “Alex Kennedy? The fuck?”
Now that everybody was trotting toward the guy with the coffee—and getting out of the middle of the road—Simon parked by the sidewalk in front of the dilapidated cottage that didn’t fit in with the others at all and got out of the car. Before he shut the door, he leaned over the seat and began cooing to the little white dog, grateful for the elaborate tag on her collar that came complete with the address in case she should be lost.
“Glinda,” he called brightly. “Glinda, honey. C’mon. Someone here has to know you.”
“Glinda!”
The cry went up from all six throats, a sort of desperate relief in every voice.
“Glinda!”
The dog apparently heard someone there she recognized, because she bounded out of the car and trotted down the sidewalk, right into Alex Kennedy’s arms.
“Oh my God,” he said, walking toward Simon with the rest of the neighborhood at his heels. “Oh my God, whoever you are, I can’t thank you en—Simon?”
Simon gave his most winning smile. “Hi. Uh, Alex. And friends. I take it you know this dog?”
“Yeah,” Alex said, hugging her tight. “Yeah. She, uh, disappeared last night. Wait.” Alex looked helplessly at a very tall, very intense young man at his heels with blond hair and ice-blue eyes, who shrugged back. “Uh, Simon? Where did you find her? Just, uh, out of curiosity.”
“She was right outside my door around eight o’clock last night,” Simon said, frowning.
“But where do you live?” Alex asked helplessly as Glinda began to methodically lick his stubbled face.
“Jackson,” Simon said.
“But that’s about an hour away,” said another young man—this one closer to Alex’s height, with enormous gray eyes and a sort of innocent expression that made Simon want to hold an umbrella over his head, just in case.
“Forty-five minutes, early, without traffic,” Simon said promptly. “What were you all doing out in Jackson?”
“Nothing!” Alex burst out. “She disappeared from right here.”
“Well, not right here,” said the very tall young man. “You know, over there. By the recycle bin. Or where the recycle bin would be if it wasn’t at the curb waiting for the trash man.”
“Jordan, you sound unhinged,” said the woman, and if Simon hadn’t been crushing so badly on Alex, he would have said she was a dish. A curvy, buxom, sarcastic dish. Mm. “Does it matter that it was where the recycle bin is?”
“It matters that it was forty miles away,” Jordan said, sounding very much unhinged, and the dish patted his shoulder.
“Wait,” Simon said, trying to pull information from the chaos. “You’re saying this dog traveled forty miles in the span of a night?”
“What time did you say she was at your door?” asked the young man with the coffee.
“Eight o’clock,” Simon remembered. He’d just been settling down with a glass of wine and a book when he’d heard her little paws scratching and the pathetic little whimper. “Seriously, are you sure this is the same—”
“Glinda,” Alex said, scowling. “‘Number 3 Sebastian Circle, Folsom, California, Cully’s baby.’ This is her.”
“So which one of you is Cully?” Simon asked, trying for that winning smile again. “Wouldn’t he know when she—”
“Cully is… unavailable,” Alex said, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “Simon, thank you for bringing his dog back. Is there anything we can do for you? Reward? Bartholomew here would pay you in baked goods, Kate does soaps and lotions, or Jordan does essential oils. I mean, we’re really grateful, but is there anything we can do—”
“A cup of coffee,” Simon said quickly, ignoring the steaming mug of coffee currently cooling in the commuter mug in his console. “And let me give you a ride to work. I can, uh, take you home tonight too.” Oh please oh please oh please….
But the look on Alex’s face was not promising. “Oh, Simon, I’m sorry. We’ve got a… uh, meeting tonight, and we still have to walk Glinda, and—”
“I’ll come,” Simon said, smile growing toothy and desperate. “I can come to your meeting, and—”
“Sure,” said Jordan, diving into the breach. Alex gave him a panicked look and smacked his arm, but Jordan kept rolling on. “Yes. You can come walk the dog. Not the meeting, though. That’s sort of, uh, neighborhood only. But yes. Give Alex a ride. Just get him here at sunset.”