Page 10 of Judge of Saints and Sinners

“He does.” I shifted on the stone, my leather-soled boots silent. “I believe he may have found something that belongs to me.”

My brother tilted his head, bright-blue eyes flashing with carefully controlled power that nearly made me jealous, even if I’d never let him know that. “And what is that?”

I smiled, slow and full of fang. “My soul.”

***

Justine

This was fine.

Everything was fine.

All I had to do was stay completely still until the dog just went away again. I pressed my back against the door, refusing to let my eyes budge from the enormous black and tan rottweiler that was still sitting in the middle of the room.

Why would someone put a dog in my room? Did that mean its owner was here too? I thought over the people who knew I was here, and the number was shockingly small. There was the team at the diner down the street that I worked at when they had open shifts. They had my address.

Had Dave, my landlord, suddenly decided to grow a heart and have normal human attachments? I snorted. Not likely. So that left—well, no one who would’ve left a dog in my apartment.

Swallowing the tremble in my voice, I held a hand out. “Hey there, handsome. Are you lost?”

The dog’s tan brows moved a little, and then his jaws opened, tongue lolling out over dangerous-looking teeth. Encouraged that he hadn’t immediately gone for my throat, I crept forward a step. Nothing happened. The dog continued to pant. I took another step towards him.

“Oh okay, maybe you’re just lost. Did you come in off the fire escape maybe?” I guessed if the dog-sized rats in that alleyway could climb it, then maybe this dog could. I didn’t think I’d left the window unlocked or open, but maybe. I could see almost every inch of my apartment from this vantage point, so it wasn’t as if someone could hide from me while his dog lounged in my living area.

It was just the mystery dog and me.

Clearing my throat loudly, I gave into my intrusive thoughts one more time. “If anyone is living in my walls, or my closet or something, you can totally come out and get your dog. No harm, no foul. The front door is unlocked.”

Nothing.

My shoulders relaxed a little and moved forward. “I guess it’s just you and me then, huh buddy?”

I held my hand out, still a few steps from the dog, and waited. As if anticipating this moment, the dog bounded forward, causing me to shriek and dance around, unsure of what he was doing. I’d never had a pet before, and now that I suddenly did, I wasn’t sure how to act.

The dog stopped immediately, haunches falling to the faded floors as happy, onyx eyes peered up at me. This time when I held my quivering hand out, the dog remained still, letting my fingertips brush lightly over the hard, boney line of his head. The hair was soft, of course, and I only had a moment to admire him before he turned his head and licked my palm with a slimy tongue.

I squealed, but this time in delight. As if he could tell the difference, the dog wagged his stumpy tail and moved closer, crowding against my legs.

“Well, since you’re here,” I said to him, both hands petting over his head now and down his thick neck. My heart lifted in my chest. “You might as well stay awhile.” I reached back into my backpack.

“How do you feel about…” I read the label with a grimace. “Ravioli. Best you can get from a can.”

The dog barked once, and I dropped to a knee on impulse, the can falling on the floor as I gripped both sides of his face. “Hey, hey, look at me. You can’t be barking. I don’t think animals are allowed here, and while I’m happy to keep your secret, the landlord lives right across from me, and I really don't need him coming in here. He’s a dick.” The dog woofed softly, as if to tell me he understood.

I swallowed, my fingers working that soft, thick scruff as I remained kneeling for another moment. As I stood, I swore that the big dog bobbed his head in agreement, but I chalked that up to having a very long, shitty day.

I retrieved the can from where it had rolled away and quickly divided my dinner between the two of us, adding some crackers from the cabinet to fill in any grumbling stomach gaps and watched some videos on my phone. As soon as I put my dish down, reclining back on my mattress as the day’s woes sank into my skin, the dog wandered over and lay down at my side, his big head coming to rest on my calf as he stared at my door.

My gaze leaped to the door, visually double checking the menagerie of locks that covered every square of it. They were all sealed, locked, secured. We were safe. I pressed a hand to his back and whispered that to the dog, offering reassurances. And when I turned off the lights and peeled my outer layers off to crawl under the covers, my new companion immediately took the spot next to me. I huffed, but honestly his bulk was a layer of warmth that was unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

“Don’t eat me or anything, okay?”

The dog just groaned, rolling over to his side as sleep finally claimed me.

The next morning, I shoveled some saltines and a granola bar down my throat as I held the end of the makeshift leash I’d made for the dog, who I had dubbed Clark. Grimacing at the dry throat that quickly followed, I pointed a finger down at the dog. We were standing in a small patch of grass, and I was attempting to get him to do his business.

“I’m no professional here, Clark, but I’m pretty sure dogs are supposed to pee out here.” I pointed back at the apartment building behind us. “Not in there. Do you get it? Pee here, no pee there.” Clark, named after the father figure from my favorite holiday-themed movie , looked at me with what almost appeared to be sorrowful eyes.