Sparrow Hill Road 2010 By Seanan(64)
"I don't suppose I could convince you to go home," I wheeze.
The Maggy Dhu barks furiously, trying to bite the barrier that keeps it from biting my ass instead.
"I'm going to take that as a 'no,'" I say, and let the Maggy Dhu bark while I finish getting my breath back. I don't age, and that also means that no matter how much shit I go through, I'll never be in better shape than I was in when I died. Back then, girls didn't go in that much for extra-curricular running like their asses were on fire. Sometimes I really wish I'd picked a better era to die in. Like one where all high school students were capable of completing a three-minute mile.
The Maggy Dhu backs up, clearly intending to charge the barrier. Then its paws pass outside the open spot in the circle. The expression on its face is almost comic as it realizes that it isn't captive anymore. And then it's chasing me again, and laughter is the last thing on my mind.
***
I have to wonder what this looks like from inside the diner. If the ghost-hunters are smart, they've surrounded themselves with salt and are staying as far from the windows as possible. Judging by the shadows I keep seeing in the glass as I run past, they're not being smart.
The Maggy Dhu, on the other hand, is remaining good and pissed. I would envy its single-minded devotion to its purpose, but since that purpose is eating me, I'm not in the mood to root for it just yet. It side-steps the second Seal of Solomon—great, the demon dog has a learning curve—and keeps coming after me, gaining speed all the time.
One of the patches of rapeseed is right up ahead. Nothing I've ever heard has implied that Maggy Dhu are bothered by things like that, but hell, any port in a storm, right? I charge into the middle of it, stepping as high as I can to keep from scattering the seeds. If it doesn't work—
The Maggy Dhu stops at the edge of the field of rapeseed, nose dropping to the pavement. I don't know how good dogs are at math, but if it follows the same rules as every other ghost that's bothered by that sort of thing, it has to count every seed before it can come after me again.
"Thank God for stupid folklore," I mutter, taking a deep breath before I walk, much more slowly now that there isn't a Maggy Dhu on my ass, toward the piled-up spirit jars.
Three of them haven't been triggered yet. "And thank God for over-prepared college students," I say, picking up the largest of the jars and peering inside. It's definitely empty. It should work. Maybe. Possibly.
Okay, probably not. But lacking any alternative that doesn't result in the Maggy Dhu chowing down on Jamie and his little band of lunatics, it's the best chance I've got.
The Maggy Dhu is still sniffing the ground as I walk back to the rapeseed field. I whistle low, the way I used to whistle for the dog we had when I was little. The Maggy Dhu's head comes up, a growl vibrating from the depths of its chest. "Hi, puppy," I say. "Catch."
The spirit jar hits the Maggy Dhu in the middle of the chest. It yelps, a surprised look spreading across its face.
And then it's gone.
***
Jamie and the others are scattered around the diner, doing a frankly piss-poor job of hiding themselves under broken tables and behind the remains of the counter. Only one of them, Angela, is huddling in an unbroken circle of salt. The rest of them would be easy pickings for the Maggy Dhu if it were still running loose.
Good thing for them the Maggy Dhu is currently having a nice nap in the spirit jar under my arm. I stop in the doorway, watching them watch the windows. Not one of them is bothering to watch the door. That's the sort of sloppy short-sightedness that can get a person killed, especially on a night like this. Placing two fingers in my mouth, I whistle.
The reaction in the diner is nothing short of electric. Physicist Two scrambles to position herself in front of Physicist One. Angela crosses herself, muttering in frantic, high-pitched Latin. Marla slams back against the wall, raising her hand-held EMP device like the weapon it so clearly isn't. Jamie just stares.
"Hi," I say, amiably. "Having a nice night? It's a little warm for me, but hey, it takes all types, right? You're from Ohio, you must be used to it, right?"
Angela squeaks out something else in Latin before catching her breath and asking, "R-Rose? Are you...are you okay?"
"Winded and cranky, and I could really use a milkshake, but that weird dog didn't bite me, if that's what you're asking. It chased me around the parking lot a few times, and then it went running off down the road. Don't you people do any scouting before you start hunting for dead stuff?"
Marla lowers her EMP device. "I thought I saw...it ran away?"
Given a choice between the believable—a big black dog tried to eat us all and then ran away into the night—and the terrifying—a big black ghost dog tried to eat us all, until I managed to suck it into a clay jar from Pottery Barn—even the most enthusiastic ghost-hunter is going to go for the mundane explanation. It's a matter of self-preservation where the sanity is concerned. There are things the living just aren't meant to deal with knowing.