Page 89 of The Good Boy

As Steve’s chants rise into the air something beautiful happens.

All the stars in the sky grow and luminesce, each one a different color, coming together like a rainbow. Suddenly I can see what has always been there with my own eyes.

Magic is real, magic is everywhere. Magic is possibility, and the dreams that we all have the power to make come true for ourselves.

It’s hope and love and kindness flowing through every living thing: people, dogs, the dolphins in the bay, the birds in the trees, even cats. Magic happens every time we protect one another, every time we lend a hand, every time we stand up for hope.

Magic is hope, and hope moves mountains when we believe it can.

Looking up at the kaleidoscope of swirling stars I fling my arms wide open and call out to the whole world.

Magic is real; this life, you and me—we are the proof that the universe is miraculous.

Suddenly I know that every little thing is going to be all right just as long as we never stop believing in the power of hope.

“Try not to take it too hard,” I tell Rory, my arms around his shoulders a few minutes later. The stars have returned to distant glittering sparkles in the sky, and Rory is still not a dog. “I know it didn’t work, but I feel like we’re getting close. I really do. I know it’s possible now. All this means is that we need to find a different way.”

“I don’t know what went wrong,” Steve says, disappointed. “We did everything right. Perhaps it is because the stones are not ancient... or that I misinterpreted the runes...”

“Or that it is all nonsense,” Nanna Maria says tartly.

“Nanna!” I rebuke her. “I am surprised that you, of all people, are so willing to just dismiss the possibility that some of this might actually be true!”

“I’m sorry,” Nanna says, apologetic nevertheless. “The ways of the druids do have much to offer us in the modern world. There’s a deep connection to the universe and nature, and aligning man’s place within the mystery of creation is something very special and powerful.” Nanna looks sadly at Rory, who is hugging his arms around himself, head bowed, leaning into Miles, who has his arm around him. “But I believe that most of the time it is an inherited anthropological wisdom rather than... actual magic.”

“I would have to concur,” Miles says with a nod. “No offense, Steve.”

“None taken,” Steve replies. “I feel sure it’s because the stones were only erected in 2003, mind. Or maybe Rory is too far gone.”

“I’m not too far gone, am I?” Rory looks anxiously at me. “Am I too far gone?”

“No... no, of course you are not,” I say, hating to see him so upset. “I reckon it is the stones being modern. We could take a trip to an ancient henge...? Try again!”

“No point,” Nanna says. “You can’t mix two types of magic and expect it to work. It’s like trying to mix oil with water. No, we need to focus on the things weknowwill reverse the wish.”

“I don’t want to die!” Rory wails.

“I mean, when it comes to Genie’s quest,” Nanna says.

“I did that—I’ve done it a lot,” I tell her. “I did a bit just then, and it was brilliant. I feel brilliant, hopeful, and excited. But Rory is still human.”

“I do think it might be what you refer to as your ‘quest-adjacent stuff,’” Nanna Maria tells me as we arrive at our cars. “I’m soproud of you, Genie. You have come so far, trying to help Rory. You don’t have far to go. But the universe likes balance and clarity. Secrets always cause chaos.” She looks at Miles with the subtlety of a wrecking ball. “At least try.”

“What is there to try?” Miles asks.

“For Genie to speak the contents of her heart to the people that matter the most to her,” Nanna Maria says. “Not because those people are the key to her happiness, but because she is. And she cannot be her own key until she finds her courage to be true to herself.”

“Sounds awful,” Miles says.

And, Reader, that is why I am in love with him.

Chapter Thirty-Four

For a moment when I wake up, I wonder if the ritual has worked after all, because there’s a golden, hairy animal curled up asleep next to me on the bed. Just for one sleepy instant I feel a rush of joy at having my dog back at my side—my sweet, loyal Rory, always happy to see me. And then I remember: Rory can’t bring himself to part with his dog onesie. When we got in last night he’d looked at me and asked if he could keep it on, because it felt like home. We’d sat on the sofa and watchedDavid Attenboroughfor ages and I thought about the disco light stars, snow in August, and how one word can change your life. And I knew what I needed to do.

“At least he’s a good man,” Rory had said after a long moment. “If I have to be a man I want to be like David Attenborough.”

“That’s a good goal,” I’d said. “Or like my dad, or Miles. But you don’t have to give up yet, because I have not given up. Okay? I’ve decided I am going to talk to Miles. And tell him that I love him, and stuff. Just so he knows that he is loved. Maybe Nanna is right. I’m starting to think she has always been right.”

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