Page 4 of The Vampire in the Potting Shed

“I’m sure you have some kind of fancy name,” I said, voice low and soft, “but I don’t know it.”

The dog cocked its head at me, listening, but it continued lounging on the custom golden-size dog bed.

“Still, I can’t keep calling youitorthe dog.” I couldn’t get a visual read on gender with it belly down, face aimed at me. That didn’t mean I couldn’t smell it on her. She had been in this confined space for a while, and her scent overlapped Bailey’s. “How about I call you Myrtle?”

The dog—Myrtle—appeared to consider it but found the TV bathroom demo more interesting than me.

Good thing I always carried homemade peanut butter treats in my pocket.

“Are you hungry?” I counted out three smaller ones and held them on my open palm. “Want one?”

With a sigh that hinted she wasn’t used to fetching her own treats, she trotted over and nibbled on one. I held my breath, waiting for the verdict, but the recipe must have met with her standards. She inhaled a second and third one before I promised I would get her real food as soon as the pack left us in peace.

Careful not to spook her, I leaned forward until I could get a better sniff, hoping for a clue as to her owner’s scent.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing but clean dog.

Once certain I was serious about the treats, she grumbled then trotted right back to bed to watch TV.

Motion caught my eye in the observation window, and I locked gazes with Bowie, whose eyebrows rose.

“You don’t know how good you’ve got it in here,” I mumbled to Myrtle, shoving to my feet. “Back soon.”

Before my fingers brushed the knob, Bowie had the door open, his irritation with me plain on his face.

“Nothing.” I secured the door on my heels. “There are no competing scents on her.”

“I’ll let your dad know.” He raked his teeth across his bottom lip. “Has anyone been hassling you?”

“Other than you?”

“Yes.” He rolled his eyes. “Other than me.”

“No.” I shoulder checked him on my way past. “No one dares.”

Not with Sloane dogging my steps.

“That’s how it should be,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Because I’m some delicate freaking flower?”

“No.” He gritted his teeth. “You’re precious, Ana.” He cleared his throat. “More precious than you know.”

Preciouswas a cute word when I was a kid, but it didn’t hold much weight these days. “Do you think this has anything to do with Dad?”

“I can’t see how.” A frown gathered across his forehead. “Unless the dog is some kind of Trojan horse.”

“Myrtle.”

“What?”

“The dog. I’m calling her Myrtle. Just until we find her owner.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, but it was too late to take back the words.

“There is nowe.” He narrowed his eyes on me, crowding me against the door and leaning down into my face. “You donotgo looking for the owner.”

“Me?” I widened my eyes and rested a hand at my throat. “I would never?—”

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