Page 88 of Mongrel
Janos nods. I notice he’s wearing our lost satchel. He takes it from around his neck and digs inside. “I went back for it,” he explains. “Couldn’t have you missing your dolly.”
He pulls Marta from the bag and makes a kissy sound as he presses the rag doll to my cheek. I’m sure I flush bright pink, but I grab for the doll anyway and hold her to my chest.
Janos flashes a grin and shakes his head, staring at me. “You were made for Bowie.”
Bowie watches me and Marta with a fond expression. I know it’s silly for a grown man to keep his childhood dolly, but as I’ve recently come to know, there are far worse things in this world than youthful sentiment.
“And I was made for Andras,” says Bowie. “And his dolly.”
Cecily’s answering giggles are music to my ears.
* * *
We don’t needa wagon after all.
“I can ride,” Cecily insists. “I want to. I saw nothing of the cities nor the countryside the entire way here. They kept me stuffed in that smelly old wagon. Get me a horse, and I’ll ride.”
I’ve learned very quickly not to say no to Cecily, but I do feel sorry for whatever horse is forced to tolerate my company for the long journey home.
“If you’re sure,” says Bowie. “But you can change your mind at any time if you grow weary. Promise me you won’t be stubborn and suffer just to prove me wrong.”
I fail to hold in my laughter. Who does Bowie think he’s dealing with? He shoots me an amused glance.
“I promise,” says Cecily. “Now let’s pick a horse.”
We’re at the stable in Trencin, having spent the day together holed up in the cave in the hills. Bowie confessed to her his true nature and explained vampires in meticulous detail. Though I’d expected Cecily to be horrified, she wasn’t. The only vampire she knows is Bowie, and he’s perfectly lovely, so her sense of the creatures may be skewed.
I’ve stumbled through my explanation of werewolves, with Bowie’s help when I sent him pleading gazes. He’s so much better at words than me. She’s seen me transform into a wolf and taken it in with the steadfast curiosity I’m coming to associate with her. Wide intelligent eyes, fearless when protected by her loving uncle, she exceeds every expectation I could have of her.
Bowie and I follow her down the aisle of agitated horses. We both have handfuls of apple, carrot, and sugar cubes to hopefully bribe some poor pony into liking us.
Petru is gone already, but another groom tags along, telling us about the strengths and weaknesses of each available horse. We come to a stall with a lovely bay gelding that doesn’t seem as fearful as the others.
I offer the horse a carrot, and though his eyes stay cautiously glued to mine, he takes it. The first to do so. “I like him.”
“Oh, that old man?” asks the groom. “You don’t want him. Bit pudgy, that one, and slow.”
Yes, but he might actually learn to like me,I think. “What’s his name?”
Cecily and Bowie join me, each also offering the bay a snack, which he takes with a friendly wuffle. As soon as he’s done chewing, he’s asking for more.
“We call him Sausage,” says the groom.
“Sausage?” Try as I might, I can’t contain my laughter. Butter, Toast, Beans, and Sausage! We must have him. I hand over my apple gladly. Sausage takes it, and I swear the horse is smiling at me.
Bowie and Cecily are snort-laughing. The groom must think we’re daft as bats, but this isn’t the kind of story you can explain in a hurry.
“Heavens,” says Bowie through his chortles. “Why is the noble steed called Sausage?”
The groom shrugs. “He was saved from a slaughterhouse. Too friendly to be put down, even with all that meat on his bones. Thought it was funny to call him that, so he’d become Sausage after all. Get it?”
“That’s ridiculous,” says Cecily, grinning as she strokes Sausage’s soft nose.
It feels so good to laugh again, like a tiny bit of normal life has crept in to shove aside Báthory’s horrors.
Things aren’t perfect. We have a long journey ahead. Cecily will need time and love to heal. Bowie and I have much to discuss about our future. We must be certain Báthory is brought to justice by the king so she can never harm again. But despite the loose ends, I feel like everything will be all right as long as we’re together.
Bowie leans into me and answers my questioning gaze with a nod. What could be better than a little buttered toast, beans, and sausage?
