Black Spring

No, he signed, then backtracked. I mean, yes, I did want to protect her. But she’s not my girl. At least, not anymore.

“She kicked you out and now you’re here looking for a roof over your head?” I asked, getting annoyed again.

No, Samiel signed, shaking his head. It’s not like that. We broke up because I wanted to come here, to make amends.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Chloe didn’t agree.”

You could say that, Samiel said, grinning.

I could imagine how that argument went. Chloe has an extremely strong personality. And once she’s decided something, no force in the universe could make her change her mind.

“What’s the heaviest thing she threw at your head?” I asked.

A cast-iron frying pan.

“Seriously? A little cliché, that,” I said.

She had just finished cooking breakfast, he signed. I thought it would be a safe time to raise the subject since her stomach was full.

“According to Beezle her stomach is never full,” I said.

Beezle should talk.

And just like that, it was all right. I didn’t want to be angry at Samiel. I had enough legitimate enemies without spurning an apologetic friend just to soothe my pride. I stepped forward and he put his arms around me. I felt safe and warm there. He leaned back, his hands on my shoulders for a moment, and looked me up and down, shaking his head.

“Don’t say anything about my weight,” I warned. “Don’t say it looks like I swallowed a basketball, or that it looks like I’m about to pop, or ask me if I’m having twins.”

Samiel shook his head. I was just going to say you look tired.

“And don’t say that either,” I said. “When speaking to a pregnant woman, only compliments should flow from your lips. ‘You look great’ is an excellent fallback.”

Even if it’s not true?

“Especially if it’s not true. I already feel like a whale on two legs. I don’t need anybody to tell me I look like one.” I sighed. “I have to clean up after the dogs. Why don’t you stay here for a minute and get to know them?”

Samiel crouched warily before the three Retrievers, holding his hand out for them to sniff. I went away to collect the dogs’ leavings, confident that Samiel would make friends with them. Everyone loved Samiel.

And if for some reason the dogs didn’t like him . . . well, at least Samiel could fly if necessary.

I went down the gangway between my house and the next to drop the plastic bag in the garbage can in the alley just outside the back fence. When I reentered the backyard I noticed someone standing there, his back to me.

“No wonder Daharan made so many pancakes,” I said. “Apparently it’s my day for a family reunion.”

Jude turned around, his shaggy red beard and piercing blue eyes as familiar and welcome as Samiel had been. He looked like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“They told me you were dead,” he said hoarsely, taking a step toward me.

“I could say that thing about death and rumors and exaggeration, but you probably wouldn’t get it,” I said. Jude was very old, and very serious, and very literal-minded.

“I thought you were dead,” he repeated.

I realized I’d been a little thoughtless. Jude remembered the “B” in B.C. He also had lived through the “A” in A.D., long ago, when he was called Judas Iscariot and his name became infamous. He’d lost someone he’d pledged his life to, and for more than two thousand years he hadn’t made a pledge like that again. Until me. And he’d thought I died.

“Jude, I . . .” I began.

Several things happened at once. The back door flew open. Beezle, Nathaniel and Daharan streamed out onto the porch, all looking frantic.

The Retrievers came howling down the side of the house, chased by Samiel, who also appeared panicked.

Jude spun to face the new arrivals just as Beezle cried out, “Maddy, get away from him!”

And then a huge red-and-gray wolf leapt over the neighbor’s fence, into my yard, and tackled Jude to the ground.

Jude transformed into a matching red-and-gray wolf. The two canids tangled with each other, biting and clawing while I—and everyone else—stood frozen in surprise. Beezle flew to my shoulder.

“That’s not Jude,” he said.

“I figured that out,” I said. “But is the other one Jude?”

“Yes,” Beezle said, squinting at the two snarling wolves. I knew he was looking through all the layers of reality to see the creatures’ true essence. “It’s a good thing he showed up when he did. You looked like you were about to hug the fake Jude.”

“I was,” I admitted. “So who’s the fake?”

Beezle’s answer never came, for one of the wolves suddenly yelped and then bounded over the side fence into my neighbors’ yard. The other wolf growled and made to follow it.