“And you’ve done a wonderful job,” Jack said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “But the adults are here now. You can run off and do your needlepoint.”

Tamsin took a breath, about to let him have it—when she realized what she was being offered. Freedom. She smiled as she stood from the table and walked toward the door, faster, until she was almost running.

“Uh—Tam?” she heard Jack call out to her, but she didn’t stop, didn’t even turn and look back.

She was going to the woods, to the last place she’d seen the Elder.

And she was going to get some answers.

—C. B. McCallister, A Murder of Crows. Hightower & Jax, New York.

Chapter FIVE

“How did it go?” Maya called to me from the driveway as I locked the door, then double-checked that it was locked, then checked once more for good measure. It had been four days since I’d gotten the job, and this was my second training day. I was getting more comfortable with the dogs, but I hadn’t had to do it on my own yet, without Maya there for backup.

I was still coming to terms with the fact that this was what my summer was going to look like. It was fine, for the most part—I’d blocked the Young Scholars page on my computer after I’d spent one night just looking at pictures from the welcome party, beyond jealous of all the people who got to be there. I’d also been tiptoeing around my father—or maybe it was mutual avoidance, but I hadn’t seen him much, beyond occasionally crossing paths in the kitchen. I hadn’t told him about my job, and he hadn’t asked what I was doing with my days. But then again, I wasn’t asking him what he was doing all day either, so maybe we were just respecting each other’s privacy.

“It was okay,” I said now as I walked down the front steps to join her. Maya was sitting in the back of her SUV, the hatch open and her legs dangling. She’d let me follow her in my own car, and I’d shadowed her when we’d picked up the first dog—Wendell, a fox terrier who clearly thought he was a Great Dane, judging by the way he barked at every big dog who crossed his path. I’d watched Maya work, trying to keep in mind everything she was telling me—how to announce your presence when you come to the door, the way even some normally friendly dogs’ protective instincts kick in when a stranger tries to come into their home, how to always crouch down and let a dog sniff you first, never just reach for their collar—while having the distinct feeling that I was missing crucial lessons because I wasn’t able to take detailed notes.

I’d been on my own with Pippa, a rotund French bulldog, who had actually been pretty easy to walk. I had a feeling that her owner had scheduled a walk more to get the dog some cardio than anything else, since I found if I paused even a little, Pippa took that as an indication that it was time to rest and flopped down on the ground. But that was the only real incident, which seemed to me to be a good sign.

“Great,” Maya said with a grin as she hopped off the back and took the key from me. She clipped it onto an enormous carabiner that held what had to be thirty sets of keys, then flipped through them and selected one, pulling it off and handing it to me. “Ready to do one without me?”

I knew there was only one real answer to this if I wanted to keep the job I had just started. “Sure,” I said, with what I hoped was more confidence than I felt.

Maya laughed. “You’ll do fine. I’m just a phone call away if anything happens.”

“Right,” I said as I took the keys from her—three on a ring clearly marked GOETZ-HOFFMAN.

“It’s a new dog for us,” she said. “Dave walked him for the initial temperament test the other day and thought he’d be fine. They’re looking to have their dog walked once a day, so this could be a great regular client for you.”

I nodded, trying to ignore how hard my heart was beating. I’d been on national TV before. This was just walking a dog. So why did it seem so much harder? “Great,” I said, gripping the keys hard.

“I’ll text you the address so you’ll have it,” she said, pulling out her phone. “And the client wanted the dog walked in the afternoon, but they’re flexible with time. If they’re at home when you pick up the dog, just confirm that they want this to be a daily thing. And you should be all set.”

“Great,” I said again, realizing a second too late that I’d repeated myself. “I mean, good.”

Maya laughed at that, then slammed her back hatch closed and walked around to the driver’s seat. “You’ll do awesome,” she called as she got into the front seat. She started the car and drove away, waving to me out the window.

I closed my hand tightly around the keys—suddenly and irrationally terrified I would lose them and a dog would be sitting at home, unwalked and miserable, maybe having accidents on expensive rugs, and it would all be my fault. I dropped them in the front pocket of my cutoffs and headed for where I’d parked my car on the side of the road.

I’d just gotten behind the wheel when my phone beeped with the address. I glanced down at it, and felt my stomach plunge. But this only lasted a minute, as I made myself read the address again and realized there was nothing to be concerned about.

MAYA

Hi! The house is at 8 Easterly Terrace.

Call or text with any problems!