Storm Hound Read online

  Dad nudged her aside and held out his hand. ‘I’m Stephen Price. These are my children, Ben and Jessie.’

  ‘Jessie’s wanted a dog forever,’ Ben said.

  ‘Has she?’ Seren turned her gaze on Jessie. ‘This is a small shelter and I take very good care of my dogs – my guests, I like to think. I only let them go to loving homes.’

  Had she guessed Jessie was wasting her time? Jessie felt her cheeks grow hot and she stared at the carpet. Dad patted her on the shoulder. ‘We’re still settling in here,’ he said. ‘We moved a couple of weeks ago. We’ve almost got the house sorted now and, as Ben said, Jessie’s always wanted a dog, so . . .’

  He tailed off.

  Seren stared at Jessie a moment longer. ‘I always say that people don’t choose dogs,’ she said at last. ‘Dogs choose people.’ She smiled. ‘Would you like to come and meet them?’

  She took a bunch of keys from her desk and unlocked the door behind her. The sound of yapping filled the air.

  Ben cheered and rushed in.

  ‘I can see your brother is a true dog-lover,’ Seren said, a note of approval in her voice. Jessie didn’t bother to correct her. She took a step after Ben and paused. A row of pens stretched down either side of a corridor. She looked round and saw a fat, brown dog gazing up at her from the first pen, his tail thumping on the floor. Next door to him, a sandy Labrador got up and stretched. Jessie felt something stir inside her and she looked away quickly.

  ‘What happens to them if no one chooses them?’ she asked.

  Seren bent to scratch the Labrador’s head through the wire. ‘They live here and I look after them. They’d all like to be settled with new families, but this is the next best thing. Most of them do go to new homes sooner or later.’

  That made Jessie feel a bit better about leaving them all here.

  The fat brown dog gave her a final pleading look and lay down.

  ‘Dad,’ Jessie said, ‘I don’t think . . .’ She wasn’t sure what to say next. She had to say something, though, before everyone started assuming they’d take a dog home.

  Then Ben shouted, ‘Jessie, come and look! I’ve found your dog.’

  Jessie’s heart dropped. Ben ran back to her and grabbed her hand, tugging her on down the corridor, past various dogs who watched her curiously.

  ‘Here!’ Ben announced.

  Jessie’s breath caught in her throat. A small, white terrier gazed up at her through the wire mesh. He had cheeky eyes, a pink tongue that lolled out of the side of his mouth and little ears standing up in triangles amid tufts of wiry hair. He looked like he was laughing and for one moment, before she squashed the feeling, Jessie wanted to laugh too.

  This was the dog she’d drawn running in the corner of her sketchpad. It was the dog she’d always dreamed of owning.

  Dad touched her shoulder. ‘Jessie?’

  Jessie held her breath for a second. All she had to say was ‘yes’ and they’d take the dog home. She’d look after him and they’d go on walks and play together, and in the nights he’d curl up on her feet and sleep.

  ‘No,’ Jessie said.

  Her voice shook.

  Ben let go of her hand, his face falling. ‘But why? This is the exactly right dog.’

  Jessie turned her back on the pen so she wouldn’t have to see the cheeky eyes watching her. ‘I’m sorry, Ben. Dad, can we go?’

  ‘If you like,’ he said. ‘Maybe this was too soon.’

  Then Jessie saw something move in the pen opposite her. It seemed darker than the others, full of shadow even though there was a light on in the ceiling right above. She walked closer, curious.

  ‘He came in two days ago,’ Seren said. ‘Someone found him walking along the side of the road – abandoned, we think. I’ve asked around and no one seems to be looking for him.’

  Jessie’s gaze followed the shadow back. It stretched from the empty food bowl at the front of the pen all the way to a small, black puppy who crouched at the far end, his eyes fixed on Jessie’s face.

  She knew it was a ‘he’ without asking. He had one upright ear, and one that flopped over, almost covering his left eye. Jessie took another step forward and the puppy let out a growl like a miniature roll of thunder.

  Jessie felt something turn over in her stomach. She crouched lower, then sat on the floor in front of the pen, peering in. The little dog snarled at her, but he didn’t seem to mean it. There was something lost and bewildered in his gaze as he sat, eclipsed by shadow, as if he were wondering how exactly he’d ended up in this place.

  ‘Hello,’ Jessie said softly. ‘I know exactly how you feel.’

  Ben swung on her shoulder. ‘Jessie, come on, let’s get the white dog.’

  ‘I get to choose, Ben,’ she said, surprising herself. She wiggled her fingers through the mesh. The puppy’s snarl turned into a whine and he lowered his head and crept to the wire to sniff the tips of her fingers. Apparently satisfied, he sat down and fixed her with a stare that swallowed her whole.

  ‘Jessie, you always said you wanted a small white dog,’ Dad said. ‘The terrier looks friendly.’

  Jessie swept her hair back out of her eyes. ‘That was before.’ Her voice crackled. He was the opposite of the dog she wanted, but somehow, she didn’t know why, that felt right. She stood up and turned to face Seren. ‘You said dogs choose people. He’s just chosen me.’

  Seren fiddled with her glasses. ‘He’s got to go to the vet this evening. And we don’t know for sure he’s been abandoned. Someone might still claim him.’

  ‘Then we’ll wait,’ Jessie said. ‘Ben, what do you think?’

  ‘I suppose.’ Ben looked doubtful, then he grinned. ‘All right, I’m going to choose his name, though. I vote for Floppy – look at his ear.’

  The puppy gave Ben a look that said, Call me Floppy one more time and I’ll eat you.

  Jessie shook her head and sat back, gazing at the puppy, from his deep brown eyes to his paws, which seemed twice as big as they needed to be. ‘He’s as dark as a storm cloud,’ she said at last. ‘I’m going to call him Storm.’

  The puppy cocked his head as if thinking about it, then he thumped his tail in approval and stood up to fix Seren with a hard, commanding stare. Seren’s face melted into a smile.

  ‘He is sweet, isn’t he? All right, then. I shouldn’t really do this, but I’ll come round and visit your house this afternoon and we can fill out all the forms, then once he gets the all-clear from the vet you can take him. But if anyone claims him within the next month you’ll have to give him back.’

  Jessie nodded, only half listening. She scratched the puppy’s head through the wire mesh.

  ‘Hello, Storm,’ she said.

  CHAPTER 4

  On a hill just outside Abergavenny, the number of sheep had more than doubled over the past couple of days. They took it in turns to stand in twos and threes and watch the road with expectant expressions. Or as close to expectant as any sheep can manage.

  This afternoon, more than twenty sheep were grazing quietly when a silver car purred to a halt at the side of Ross Road, just by the sign that said: Abergavenny 5.

  Three men got out. They all looked quite identical – to a sheep, anyway.

  The first was tall and thin with grey hair the texture of wool caught in a bush. He stood gazing up and down the road, his hands in his pockets. One of his companions unfolded a map and laid it on the car bonnet. The third man produced a pair of metal sticks and began pacing up and down the grass slope by the road.

  Several sheep strayed surreptitiously closer. The gentleman with the sticks paused mid-stride.

  ‘I don’t like the way the sheep are looking at us, Professor Utterby,’ he said. ‘They’re up to something.’

  The sheep all went back to eating grass.

  The bush-haired gentleman sighed. Sometimes, he thought, life would be far easier without the assistance of his two colleagues. ‘They’re sheep,’ he said. ‘Brains made of wool. Ignore them.’ He rummaged
in his overcoat for a pocket-watch. It was getting on for four o’clock – yet another day wasted. If Nuffield hadn’t miscalculated with his maps, if Ryston had been faster with his divining rods, they could have wrapped this up already.

  A lorry roared by, making all three of them jump. Ryston scratched his head with one of his divining rods. Always slightly red-faced, his cheeks turned crimson.

  Utterby walked up the slope to join him. ‘If we could have a little quiet, it would help. Professor Nuffield, would you please stop shaking that map? You’re not going to shake the location of the stormhound out of it.’

  ‘I did with the manticore,’ Nuffield said. He huffed into his moustache. ‘You’re welcome to continue the quest without me if you wish. Ryston is doing such a splendid job with those divining rods.’

  Utterby ignored him. Nuffield might complain, but he would never walk out on a quest – especially not one as important as this. He snapped his watch shut.

  ‘This is the site of the fall. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Then where is the stormhound?’ Nuffield asked, jabbing at the map with two fingers.

  A van drove by, too fast and far too close, blaring its horn. Utterby picked up a handful of dust from the ground and threw it in its wake. He smiled as he watched the van swerve. Inside the van, the driver let out a stream of very bad words as he noticed his trousers had suddenly and inexplicably vanished.

  Professor Ryston’s divining rods swung full circle. They might have just been picking up the surge of magic from Utterby, but they kept turning.

  ‘Bingo,’ Ryston said.

  He pointed to a shallow, circular dent in the ground. ‘This is where it landed.’

  Utterby quelled his excitement. Finding the landing site was a good start, but only a start. He frowned as he watched Ryston’s divining rods continue to spin. Thanks to him and Nuffield, they were days behind the creature. He turned to look at the sheep. Maybe they’d seen something. He could ask them with the right spell, but it would take an hour to prepare, and sheep were so stupid he doubted they’d remember even something as dramatic as a giant hound falling from the sky.

  ‘There have been no reports of a hound terrorizing livestock and people around here,’ he said. ‘Yet a hound that size must eat.’

  ‘It may be travelling at night,’ Nuffield said. ‘It could be miles away by now. And it might not be that big – we have no idea what these hounds really look like. It could be as small as a Great Dane, say.’

  Professor Utterby shook his head. He’d spent the past two years studying the Hounds of Annwn. Giant beasts, some as black as midnight, others white with red ears, ten times the size of any mortal dog. And each one full of magic from their paws to the tips of their ears.

  ‘The creature won’t have gone far,’ he said. ‘Separated from its pack, it won’t know what to do. It will probably hide close by, waiting for the Hunt to come back.’ He looked up at the road sign. ‘We’re only five miles from Abergavenny. Let’s start the search there.’

  He climbed back into the driver’s seat and waited while Nuffield and Ryston argued over who would go in the back. Utterby glowered at them both in the rear-view mirror. Just like a pair of schoolchildren. Still, once they had their hands on the stormhound, all this would be worth it.

  For too long they’d got by with odd scraps of magic taken from the ancient elements of the mortal world.

  Now they had the chance at something much bigger. The power of the Otherworld – the magic of Annwn. The hounds of the Wild Hunt were full of untamed power. A stormhound’s tears, it was said, could heal any wound, its blood gave strength, its heart could be used in a hundred different dark rituals. And that was only the start.

  The Otherworld really had no right to keep all that magic for itself while human magicians dwindled in number until there were only three of them left. And two were fairly useless, he thought, glancing at Nuffield and Ryston squabbling behind him. All that was about to change.

  Professor Utterby began to hum. They would find the stormhound – find it, dissect it and use every part of it. With their new-found power, they would revive the ancient Invisible College and its research into the dark arts. They’d recruit more students, maybe even establish their own building. Utterby could picture the statue of himself inside: Professor Utterby, founder of the new Invisible College. He might even allow Nuffield and Ryston to have statues – smaller ones, of course.

  Yes, he thought. They would make magic great again.

  CHAPTER 5

  He was Storm of Odin and he was at the vet’s.

  He still wasn’t entirely sure what a vet was, but current evidence suggested it was a lady who hated dogs and expressed that hatred in a happy, cooing voice as she poked and prodded him.

  Why did humans have to talk so much, anyway? Dogs were content with somewhere warm to lie and a full belly, but humans seemed to have this need to be constantly making a noise. Maybe it was because their voices were so pathetic compared with the might of Odin’s thunder, and they were forever trying to make up for their lack of power with the sheer volume of words that came out of their mouths.

  It didn’t help that the Fuzzy-Lady had buckled a leather strap round his neck and attached another length of leather to it. Reins were for horses, not for hounds who ran free through the night sky. But Fuzzy-Lady hadn’t even noticed Storm’s protests or, if she had, she’d taken no notice.

  The vet also ignored him and forced his mouth open to check his teeth.

  I’ll give you a closer look at those if you like.

  ‘All seems fine,’ the vet said, not knowing how narrowly she’d escaped being struck down with thundery wrath.

  Of course all looks fine. I am an immortal stormhound who knows neither injury nor disease. Storm tried to scrabble off the table. Where was that human girl – the one with the lightning touch? She’d left him in his cell, promising to come back for him tomorrow, and it must surely be tomorrow by now. The hours stretched longer than evening shadows. Time felt bigger, too, when you were little, it appeared.

  The vet finally stopped prodding and turned away. Storm lay down on the shiny table. He hoped the girl Jessie would come back soon; he liked her smell – thundery with a faint copper tang as if she had some secret magic buried deep inside her.

  Something stung him like an arrow. Storm shot upright, barking furiously.

  ‘All done,’ the vet said cheerfully.

  All done? the old lady dog enquired once Storm was back in his cell at the dog prison.

  Storm of Odin sighed.

  The old dog padded across her cell and lay down next to the wire, as close to Storm as she could get. This is hard for you, isn’t it? Don’t worry – your new humans will come back for you in the morning and you’ll be out of here.

  Her voice was soft and a little wistful. Storm curled his tail around his legs. He wasn’t sure he wanted humans – new or old. He wanted to be back where he belonged.

  I don’t understand why you stay here, he said. All they do is talk to you in silly voices and stick sharp things in you.

  The old dog’s ears twitched. How would we get out, and where would we go if we managed it? We’re not all stormhounds, you know. At least we have shelter here, and food. No one bothers us.

  But you’re prisoners, Storm of Odin protested.

  Guests, dear. A long-term guest, in my case. Most of the others will be chosen by humans.

  But not you? Storm couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live in this prison forever. Cautiously he shifted round so he could sniff the older dog through the wire mesh.

  In the halls of Annwn, he said, you’d have to be a great warrior of a hound to live to old age. We are born fighting.

  Do you enjoy it? the old dog asked.

  Storm drew back a little in surprise. No one had ever asked him that question – he’d never even thought to wonder about it. Yes, he replied slowly. Yes, I suppose I do. I mean, I did. I was different then, of course. And it’s all
training for the Wild Hunt. He heaved a sigh. The Hunt makes everything else worthwhile. And now I’ve lost it.

  The old dog sighed too, making Storm feel ashamed of his own self-pity. The Hunt would return for him, but the old dog had nothing to look forward to at all.

  How did you come here? he asked her.

  My family moved away and left me. Some humans want younger dogs. She stood up, stretched and lay down again. Don’t you go feeling sorry for me, now. I have everything I need here.

  A tiny spark of defiance crept into her scent. She’d almost convinced herself she was content, but not completely.

  Don’t you want to run through the skies and chase thunderbolts? Storm asked.

  The old dog considered and shook her head, but the tip of her tail twitched restlessly.

  Sometimes, when I was a pup, she said, I used to watch the storm clouds race across the Black Mountains and I wondered what it would be like to join the Wild Hunt. But I grew old and I left my dreams behind. Wishing the world were somehow different won’t change anything. As long as I have food and warmth, I’m happy. And maybe, one day, a family will come here and choose me. That’s what I dream of now.

  Storm stared at her, aghast. A pain formed in his chest and escaped from him as a whine. Life in this world was harder than he realized, when dreams were reduced to meals and a blanket.

  It’s not fair, the white terrier in the cell opposite growled. Those humans were going to choose me until they saw you.

  A few of the others dogs yapped agreement.

  Storm’s coat bristled. He felt his shadow swelling again. He hadn’t asked to come here. If it weren’t for these mesh cages, he’d teach that terrier a lesson. Storm stood up, trying to make himself as large as possible.

  I do not intend to stay in your world any long than I have to, he said. Once I’ve rejoined the Hunt, the humans may come back for you.

  The old dog sighed.