The bird (if you could call it that) had tiny chicken wings, gangly long legs, an anvil-shaped head, and a beak that looked more like a meat tenderizer. To say the thing was ugly would be a huge understatement. I wondered how the poor bird had gotten roped into this job.
Brooks squinted. “Is that a coconut in its claws?”
The bird zoomed toward the beach, then suddenly stopped in midair and shuddered. I followed the bird’s gaze behind me. A wall of black mist rose up from the beach, slowly taking the form of my hellhound, Rosie. For some people, it could be pretty unnerving to have a dog twice the size of a lion that could appear out of thin air. When I’d found her as a boxer-dalmatian mutt wandering the New Mexico desert years ago, she was just skin and bones barely weighing thirty pounds. Ever since she went to the underworld and was “modified” by Ixtab, Rosie’s snout reached the top of my ribs, which says a lot, because I’m practically six feet tall.
No wonder the chicken-winged bird was terrified. The way Rosie was looking at it, you’d think she wanted the bird for a pre-dinner snack. She probably did.
“Rosie, back!” I commanded.
Ignoring me, the hellhound growled and bolted toward the ocean. She seriously needed to go to obedience school!
The bird’s eyes went wide. Eep! it cried as it spun around and flew away.
“Hey, wait!” I shouted. “The coconut!”
For some reason, Jazz liked to send messages inside produce items. Last time it was a rotting avocado wishing us a Merry Christmas.
Eep! Eep! The bird was clearly too spooked to come back.
Brooks grunted. “Looks like we’re going to have to go get the coconut ourselves.”
I grabbed hold of her shoulders from behind, and she shifted into a hawk. A second later, we were airborne and whizzing toward the bird, which kept glancing over its shoulder with pure terror in its eyes.
Rosie leaped through the waves, howling and shooting streams of fire twenty feet into the air.
“STEAK!” I yelled.
That’s the command to make her stop. Ha. She acted like she didn’t even hear me. Faker.
It’s her nature to hunt, Brooks said.
But could she not hunt the delivery bird?
The clouds thickened, masking the red creature. All I saw was its tail streaking through the gloom.
Rosie was keeping pace. “She won’t hurt you!” I yelled to the bird just as my dog hurled a torrent of fire epic enough to rival a dragon. “Just wait until we get home!” I shouted to Rosie.
Brooks was fast, though, and we were gaining. Thirty feet.
Twenty.
Fifteen.
And then something changed. I blinked to be sure. Up ahead, the ashy horizon had a long, ragged tear in it, just like in the Old World, when I’d thought the sky was going to rip open.
By the time I realized the seam was there, it was too late. The bird had disappeared through it.
The coconut tumbled into the sea.
And Brooks slammed against an invisible wall.
As I plunged toward the ocean, all I could think was This is so going to hurt.
Smack!
That was the sound of me belly flopping into the Caribbean.
I launched myself back up to the surface, where I sucked in a huge gulp of air. Okay, so my landing had been an epic fail. If Hondo were here, he would’ve busted a rib laughing and then shouted, Splat’s all, folks! (Even though my uncle is a few years older than me, he usually acts younger.)