“Down, girl. Down!”
Her huge fangs glistened in the moonlight as she raced ahead. In typical Rosie hellhound fashion, she wasn’t listening to me. So I dropped Fuego and side-tackled her. “Stop!” I hollered, my arms barely halfway around her thick body as we rolled across the sand. “I said, DOWN!”
Still snarling, Rosie easily broke free of my grip, but she didn’t advance any farther. Her black fur was sticking straight up along her spine, and for a second, I thought she might ignore me and incinerate this girl.
But then Rosie did something weird. She sniffed the air, relaxed her pose, and wandered over to the boat’s bow, letting out breathy little whines.
If this girl were a threat, Rosie would for sure sniff it out. Just to be on the safe side, I picked up Fuego, ready to change my cane into spear mode. “What is she, Rosie?” I whispered, getting to my feet.
Rosie just kept sniffing and whining. Okay, so that meant the girl wasn’t some assassin of the gods or a demon in disguise. Hopefully. Then I remembered the whisper I had heard….She’s here.
“Uh…you lost?” I asked, hoping the girl would snap out of it and say something. Anything. But she just kept staring ahead blankly. She had on a gray NASA T-shirt, some flannel pajama pants, and red cowboy boots. Who goes rowing in cowboy boots?
Was she even breathing?
I edged closer.
The girl collapsed like an empty pillowcase, smacking her head on the edge of the dinghy, where a long nail stuck out.
I leaped into the boat to check out the damage. Her forehead had a two-inch gash that was now bleeding. My stomach turned. (Yeah, I still hated blood.) Whimpering, Rosie leaned into the rowboat and pawed the girl gently. The she sniffed the wound and began to lick it.
“That’s seriously disgusting,” I told her as I watched the wound vanish. “Okay, that part’s cool. But the whole licking thing? So gross!”
Ixtab had told me she’d discovered Rosie’s “special” saliva when she was training her. No other hellhound can do what she does. They’re built to kill, not heal.
A cool breeze swept across the beach as the girl opened her eyes slowly. I’ll never forget the color—silvery blue, like a winter sky.
Oh boy, that’s when things got tense. She shoved me away, scrambled out of the boat, crouched down, and, with a wave of her skinny arm, said, “AWAY!”
Come again? “Uh, you hit your head. Maybe you should sit down.”
“Why are you still here? Where am I? Who are you? How…?” Her eyes darted around the dark beach. Her bobbed hair was jagged at the ends, like it had been cut with a razor. Then her eyes landed on Rosie and I expected her to go into freak-out mode, but instead she gasped. “Oh my gods! Is that Rosie? The hellhound?”
My defenses went up like a stone wall. “How do you know Rosie?”
Her expression went from fear to I’m-going-to-Disneyland excited in a single blink. “I don’t believe it! If that’s Rosie, then you’re Zane, and I found you! I really found you. Just wait until Abuelo hears about this. He’s going to go bananas.”
“Whoa! How do you know my name? Who sent you?” I gripped my spear tighter, because even though she was small and looked pretty harmless, demons were masters of disguise.
Rosie rolled on the ground, stretching her legs all casual like. Whatever. The girl reached out a skinny finger and poked my arm. “Increíble.”
I stepped back. “What’s your deal?”
“Just making sure you’re real and not one of my dreams.” She reached down and scratched Rosie’s belly like they were long-lost friends.
“Look,” I said, “you can’t just show up in the middle of the night and tell me you know me and Rosie…and…you better start talking.”
She wiped her hair out of her eyes. “I knew magic was real, but this?”
“Magic. Right. How about we start with your name and why you’re in your pajamas. In a rowboat. In the middle of the night.”
She ran over to the boat, reached in, and pulled something out. A book?
“What is that?” I asked.
She lifted her icy gaze. “Your story…” Her voice dropped to an excited whisper. “The one the gods made you write.”
How had this girl gotten her hands on my story?