Page 33 of The Good Boy

The color drains from Miles’s face and he walks out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.

“What just happened?” Rory asks, bewildered.

“Did you just talk to his mum in spirit?” Kelly asks, agog.

“Nan!” I cover my face with my hands.

“I’m so sorry,” Nanna says. “His mum was insistent. I had to say something.”

“No, no, you didn’t,” I say. “Not everyone wants your advice or unsolicited spirit texts, Nanna! God, poor Miles. I hope he’s okay.”

“He has you as his friends,” Nanna says. “So he will be. I truly am sorry, Genie. Will you tell him that? Will you tell him he is loved. More than he knows? Tell Miles he is loved.”

“If we can find him,” I say, glancing out the window at the crowded narrow streets. It’s just a hunch but I’m pretty sure a busy seaside town in mid-vampiric mode is not really Miles’s cup of tea.

“Bye, Genie’s Nan!” Kelly gives her a big hug.

“This conversation is not over,” I tell Nanna. “Love you, bye!”

We hurry down into the lobby. No sign of Miles anywhere.

“You’re friend left.” The receptionist gives us a haughty look, as if he is hoping we will follow suit.

“We’ll find him,” Kelly says as we hurry out onto the street. “And then you’ll make him feel better, Genie.”

“Me?” I say. “You’re Mrs. Bosomy Hug.”

“And you are one of the only people that makes him really laugh, like a proper belly laugh. Or haven’t you noticed that?” Kelly asks.

“It’s true,” Rory says. “Although I don’t know why. Your jokes are terrible.”

Chapter Twelve

Kelly and I follow Rory out into the street and we are immediately caught up in the flow of people heading up toward the ruins of the abbey, which stand hard against the sky on top of the headland.

“Here,” I say to Rory, guiding us all into the shelter of a doorway. “Now, which way would Miles have gone, do you think?”

A parade of vampire fans files slowly past, making its way through the tightly packed streets, taking enormous delight in swooshing their capes and wearing more top hats than is sensible—I don’t care how undead you are.

Belatedly I realize that Rory is holding my hand and tugging on it.

“Sorry, bud, is this all too much for you?” I ask him. Dog Rory never got fazed by crowds. He was just delighted by the number of people who wanted to admire him. Judging by the side-eye a lot of these Goth girls have been giving my blond Adonis, not much has changed there. But maybe he’s not that into it now.

“No, I just found Miles,” he says.

“Really? Where?” Kelly asks, peering into the crowd.

Human Rory is a good foot taller than us and half a foot tallerthan most people, so as we stand on the stoop of a jewelry shop, he can see over most of the crowd.

“I can’t see him, but I can smell him,” he says, his eyes scanning the crowd. “I can follow his scent. He went that way, for starters, with all the weird, scary people.” He nods up the hill, where the flow of the crowds is processing toward the abbey.

“That’s brilliant,” I say, giving him a hug, which makes him smile, pleased with himself.

“He’s like a superhero,” Kel says. “Mind you, you always were, hey, Rory?”

She reaches up to ruffle his shaggy blond hair and he beams.

“It’s weird that even as a human you have dog super scent,” I say as we follow him into the slow-moving crowd. “I wonder what the rules are. You can talk, you can read, you seem to understand a lot of the world around you, like a human. But you can still smell like a dog. It’s weird.”

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