Mar ch 2| He Speaks. Nonsense, but He Speaks

My eyes snap open and drown in sunlight pouring through an open window. Sheer yellow curtains dance in the sweet breeze. I jump, intent on fleeing through that window, but my side protests. Pain knocks me down before my feet find traction on the feather mattress. A hand lands on my shoulder, insisting I stay down.

“Easy, kid. You’re safe here.” It’s the old man’s voice. He has washed his hands, but the scent of my blood lingers on his skin.

I lie motionless, wary eyes trained on him.

His lips break in a crooked grin and release a chuckle. “You don’t believe me? I pulled a bullet from your side, you know. Saved your life. The least you could do is say thank you.”

I say nothing.

“Oh? Is our handsome guest awake?” An older woman waltzes in with a treat-laden tray. She brings the fragrance of toast and fried eggs, all smothered in beef gravy, and my mouth waters.

The man props his fists on his generous waist. “Mrs. Plunker, I told you to stay out of this room until I called.”

Mrs. Plunker straightens and glares at him through the tiny spectacles on the tip of her nose. “I told you, Dr. Plunker, that the boy needs solid food and a grandmother’s concern. Besides, look how cute he is.”

My ears perk at that. I would wag my tail if I still had one. The word “cute” from elderly ladies precludes tasty kitchen scraps if I respond right.

“Have you gotten him to say anything yet?”

“You gave me all of ten seconds before barging in here. You expect miracles of me, Mrs. Plunker.” The doctor folds his arms across his broad chest.

Mrs. Plunker sets the tray on the bedside table between me and the window, and I stare at it in wide-eyed wonder. With strong, gentle hands, she helps me sit up.

“Let’s see what we can figure out about you. For starters, you’re too young to have such silver hair.” Her fingers comb my wild locks. Like the brilliance of the moon, my bangs gleam platinum white. The rest is shining silver with black streaks. Merle, Asher calls it. “How old are you, child? Fifteen?”

My face scrunches. How dare she think me so old. “Two and a half!”

“There, you see, Dr. Plunker? He speaks. Nonsense, but he speaks.”

I glower at her, but she slides the tray onto my lap. The steaming breakfast lassos my stare.

“Look at his ears,” the doctor says. I haven’t even looked at my ears.

She brushes my hair aside and gasps. “They’re like a shepherd pup’s with the softest, spotted fur.”

I take that as a compliment but don’t move, drooling over the tray in my lap. What kind of test is this?

“You ever see a boy with ears like that?”

“Dr. Plunker, you’ve known me my entire life and know I haven’t.”

“So, what do you think he is?”

“I’ve already proven he can speak. Why don’t you ask him?”

Both stare at me expectantly as if the conversation flying over my head is a direct command and I’m supposed to perform my trick now.

“Can I have it?”

The doctor frowns. “Have what?”

“The eggs, the toast, the gravy, and the milk. I don’t want the coffee.” I nod at each item mentioned.

Mrs. Plunker giggles. “Of course, dear. I wouldn’t bring you food if I didn’t mean for you to eat it.”

My face dives onto the plate, and they both let out startled guffaws.

“He eats like a pup, too, completely ignoring the fork you put on there.”

Why would I want the fork? It smells like metal and soap and doesn’t have any food on it.

Mrs. Plunker’s eyes widen. “His teeth aren’t like a boy’s either.”

“Skin’s odd, too. It’s an unremarkable pale pink on his arms and face, but his back is purply-gray with ebony inkblots like a Dalmatian’s.”

“I am not a Dalmatian!” I know a Dalmatian, a snooty old guy who thinks he can get away with snapping at Asher.

The doctor holds out his hands in a motionless shrug. “Then what are you?”

“A shepherd.”

“You protect sheep?”

I lower my head. “No, just Asher, and he’s a human.”

The doctor’s eyes rake me as if I look like a tree but smell like a cat, and he doesn’t know which to believe. “You have a name?”

“Mar.” The word rolls growl-like and odd in my mouth. I’ve never said my name before. In those endless, caged hours, I practiced speaking and attempted to pronounce words like Asher had. I never spoke to the wardens, though I learned from them. That focus helped me keep my sanity.

“Mar,” Dr. Plunker repeats, “because you break things?”

My ears pull back, insulted. “The cattle hands said it meant ocean.”

His chin follows an exaggerated arc. “You were named for that blue eye of yours. What happened to the other one?”

My left eye claims a deep blue like the ocean I’ve never seen. Everyone always says so. The other releases no light, darker than a moonless night.

“They’ve always been different colors. Uncle said it was I sign I’d be the smartest pup in the litter. It’s why he let Asher keep me.”

Mrs. Plunker claps. “He means he’s a shepherd dog!”

My ears jump, both startled and glad she understands. Talking to humans is difficult. Asher always said so, but now I know what he meant.

The doctor reeks of confusion, and Mrs. Plunker must smell it, too, because she elaborates. “Remember, the sheriff’s little red border shepherd had a litter about three years back. We were going to take the runt, but some foreigners spoke for her before I got a yes out of you. And if he calls the sheriff Uncle, then Asher must be…”

“Asher Azuré, heir to the Azuré fortune.” The doctor grunts. “This all makes sense now.”

I shake with excitement. They know Asher!

A colder shiver crashes into me and whispers why I can’t go back to him. Asher is dead, and if I return, Father will shoot me. My ears droop, and my stomach roils with threats to return the food I gobbled.

The doctor doesn’t acknowledge my gloom. “Asher is a genius, even more than his great-grandfather, some say. I wouldn’t have expected him to experiment on his own dog, though.”

“Asher would never hurt me!”

“Would you run into a burning building if he told you to?”

“Yes. He would have a good reason.”

The doctor snorts. “That would be your last thought as you burned.”

A snarl rises in my throat and curls my lip, but Mrs. Plunker’s gentle hand on my shoulder stills me.

A warning sits in the stare she trains on the doctor. “A dog’s loyalty is unparalleled.”

Continued in chapter 3

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