Page 35 of The Goblin in the Sink Drain
“How did I miss that?” I coughed a few times. “That’s foul.”
“You have a good nose because of your genes, but your brain still thinks like you’re human. It doesn’t know how to interpret the influx of information it’s receiving while you’re in an animal form because it’s alien to you. The same will be true of your dragon. Mastery takes time, but you’ll get there.”
“I’m still struggling with the part where I’m a dragon.”
“I can imagine.” She set off again. “You’ll get there too.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so.” Her ears twitched back and forth, listening. “As soon as we get a quiet moment, we’ll start your lessons. The first time you summon flame will do wonders for your self-esteem.”
Cue my tail wagging faster than helicopter blades spin. “I can do that before I can shift?”
“Ah. You’re thinking about Goldie. She can’t shift yet. Too young. But she’s a pro at summoning flames.”
The opportunity to ask about Goldie’s breed came and went, the job at hand too important to divide my focus on a delicate topic that deserved my full attention.
“I saw her toast marshmallows,” I said instead. “Her control was impressive.”
“She takes the family legacy very seriously. She comes from a long line of magnus, so it’s understandable. We’re fortunate her interests are more commercial than political, or she could give her brother a run for his money.”
“A dragon that size? Her fighting him for dominance would be suicide.”
“Fighting? No. That’s not how we handle such things.” She froze in place. “Do you see that?”
Ahead of us, maybe another five-minute walk on these legs, a tall wooden privacy fence loomed over a chain link fence wrapped in textured camouflage material. That must be our target.
“We’re going under?” The gap between fences must have been two feet, meaning our tunnel would have to be around three. “You’re sure about that?”
With a pointed look at my legs, which might have been three inches long, she chuckled. “We can’t very well go over.”
Insulted on behalf of dachshunds everywhere, I huffed at her assessment. At GSG, we shaped or painted dachshund nails, but we rarely had to cut them. They were diggers, which kept their nails short and blunt. To the point owners expressed concerns for their pups’ comfort. And as all that filtered through my brain, it hit me why she had chosen this body for me. “You expect me to dig the hole for us, don’t you?”
“I’m too old and feeble for manual labor.” She laid down, crossed her front legs, and rested her chin on them. “You’re young and strong and posing as the perfect breed to make this a breeze.”
As I started my excavation, I couldn’t decide if I was more impressed with Fayne or annoyed to get stuck with the grunt work. Hard to say how much her breed was impacting her actions, but she was a princess in that body who wouldn’t get her paws dirty. I learned about her diva behavior the hard way during the night she spent with me as Myrtle.
“Halfway there,” I reported ten minutes later, my arm screaming from the exertion. “I’m under the chain link fence.”
“Excellent.” She lifted her head and yawned at me. “That’ll do nicely. No need to keep going.”
Heart beating loud, I studied our next obstacle. “What about the privacy fence?”
The hole was a tight fit, but she wiggled through and shook herself off on the other side.
Then it was my turn, but I made the thing, so of course I had no problem popping out either.
“We use it as a barrier to disrupt their line of sight while we locate the area where your friends are being held. Then we’ll reassess and determine the best course of action.” Her tail swished me in the face. “I’m proud of you, Ana. You’re doing great.”
“I dug a hole, not the Panama Canal.”
“Accomplishments are proportionate to your body size.” She lifted her nose in the air, took a long sniff to her left and her right, then set off without a hitch in her stride. “We don’t have far to go. I chose this entry point because it’s easier to breach their defenses, but it’s also nearest to the barns where they’re keeping the salon employees.”
We ran along the fence for ten or fifteen minutes before Fayne signaled we had reached our destination and marked an X where she wanted me to start digging.
There was nothing I could do but what she asked, so I began another round of tunneling. The burn in my arm caused me tolose strength on that side, but the ground here was softer, so the process went faster. This time, when I stuck my head out of the hole, I was greeted by the darkness of a vast, enclosed space.
Once my eyes adjusted, I could make out four distinct lumps lying on a pallet made of sleeping bags.
