Soul Guardian - Chapter 28: Titan goes for a W.A.L.K.

Another member of the household was attempting to establish a daily routine. But he was having trouble. Titan’s duties usually entailed waiting patiently in front of hell’s gates until someone did something stupid. At which point he would go have lunch.

Unfortunately there really wasn’t much for him to do in this quiet suburban neighborhood. A gopher infestation in the garden had offered brief amusement. Their charred skeletons and burned out burrows would serve as warnings to any future would-be subterranean invaders.

Likewise the fat gray tree squirrels, so used to shouting insults from their trees with impunity, had gotten a rude surprise. Normally dogs barked ineffectively from down on the ground while the squirrels laughed and chittered above. This was the way things had always been and it was not expected to change. So the squirrels were not prepared when Titan ran up the side of the tree to discuss his feelings on the matter face to face.

With nothing better to do Titan went into the garage and consulted the approved activity list Six had made for him. The helpful hand written list was pinned on the wall above his kennel. His eye lingered on one in particular. Fetching the morning paper seemed fun. He enjoyed retrieving things. Souls mostly, but paper would do for now.

The front gate was made of wrought iron and less imposing than he would have liked. But it was easy to leap over. Titan realized his error immediately as he hit one of Bael’s wards and a flash of golden light surrounded him.

Titan looked himself over when he landed on the sidewalk. He didn’t feel injured or hexed. Then he looked back into the front yard. Waiting patiently on the other side of the fence was a hellhound made of living gold.

It wagged its tail happily, waiting for him to try and return. Titan regarded his golden doppelganger with suspicion. This was incredibly powerful magic.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Titan asked.

The golden creature looked at him expectantly but didn’t answer, still wagging its tail. Titan decided to ignore this particular puzzle for now and continue on his quest to retrieve a newspaper. The creature didn’t follow. Apparently it was bound to the house and grounds.

The dwellings to either side of the house were paperless, either because they had already retrieved it themselves or never had one to begin with. Tim’s front yard was filled with gray gravel dominated by two towering sculptures. They were abstract at best, featuring misshapen spheres of iron and bronze. Still, Titan couldn’t help but draw parallels between Tim’s statues and the work of Fritz Koenig. They had a similar feel and dreamlike quality.

The other neighbors had an eclectic mix of native plants. Every flower bed was filled with tiny flowers in colors ranging from pink to violet. Two elderly women watched him from their rocking chairs, their knitting needles clicking like the mandibles of a colossal spider. Their army of cats regarded him with suspicion as well(Cats, like books, achieved a sort of critical mass. The only difference was that instead of taking the place of other objects, they simply knocked them off the table).

Normally he was fearless but something about the way those felines were looking at Titan called into doubt his position at the top of the food chain. He wasn’t too keen on how the women were glaring at him either. He picked up his pace and headed down to the book shop. Granny would know where to find a newspaper.

***

Fast asleep in his overstuffed chair, Granny was having a lovely dream about being awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature by a scantily clad Judi Dench. It was quiet in the bookstore most mornings, at least until one of the customers decided to come in and bother him. So he usually took a late morning nap after breakfast to help with digestion. Which was perfect because when Granny eventually woke up it was usually time for lunch.

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Some might have wondered how the bookstore made money. Those people were fools. It was a used bookshop. It didn’t make money. What it made was a difference to people’s lives. Being a bookseller was more than a mere profession, like accounting or tax evasion; it was a calling. It was a selfless act. Granny just wished fewer people would come in and bother him when he was sleeping.

One such visitor, in a flagrant disregard for the No Dogs Allowed sign, pressed something cold and wet into the palm of Granny’s hand. The werewolf woke up with a start to find Titan looking at him intensely.

“MY NAME IS TITAN, NOT JUDY.” The hellhound said. “I DID NOT UNDERSTAND WHY YOU WISHED ME TO ‘FETCH THE MARMALADE’ BUT I HAVE RETRIEVED IT NONETHELESS. IT WAS IN THE REFRIGERATOR.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Granny looked down at the slobber covered glass jar in his hand. He considered the other ways that particular situation could have gone and counted his blessings. “Did I request anything else?”

“YES. BUT HELEN MIREN WAS UNAVAILABLE AT THIS TIME. SHE SENDS HER BEST WISHES.” Titan said, his canine face unreadable.

Granny wasn’t sure if the massive hellhound was joking, or even capable of doing so. “You should play poker.” He said, “Nobody would know if you were bluffing.”

“I PREFER CHESS, OR GO, IF THE HUODOU ARE VISITING. BUT I AM NOT HERE TO DISCUSS FRIVOLITIES. I AM ON A MISSION.” Titan sat on his haunches as if standing at attention, the black and white symbols in his fur forming rows across his chest like a veteran’s war medals. “I MUST FETCH A NEWSPAPER.”

“Right.” Granny looked around. Things had certainly gotten strange around here lately. “If I give you one will you leave?”

“YES.”

The werewolf sighed. He didn’t want to get up from his chair. “I sure wish I had a newspaper. I would take it home and read it right now. If only I had one.” He called out.

There was a rustling among the shelves as various forgotten books considered their next moves. They could pretend to be a newspaper. Couldn’t they? What was a newspaper but an assortment of stories? Technically they weren’t supposed to do this but desperate times called for desperate measures. A minute later a newspaper landed on the hardwood floor next to Granny with a loud thud.

He picked it up and inspected the rolled sheets of paper. It was oddly heavy and there was an unfamiliar name across the top written in ornate script. “Here you go, here is today’s edition of the Forgotten Times.” Granny held it out.

The hellhound looked at him expectantly. “I REQUIRE A BAG.”

“You’re a dog. You can just carry it in your mouth.”

“THAT WOULD BE UNDIGNIFIED.”

“So grab me one of the bags from behind the counter.”

“FINE.” The hellhound disappeared behind the counter for a moment then returned carrying a bright floral print hemp bag in his mouth. He set it down at Granny’s feet. “YOU REALLY SHOULD LEARN TO SWEEP BETTER. THERE APPEARS TO BE A COLONY OF DUST BUNNIES LIVING BENEATH THE REGISTER.”

“It’s nothing to worry about.” Granny dismissed the criticism. It was a bookstore. Dust was to be expected. That was how you knew it was a legitimate independent business not some chain masquerading as a mom and pop shop. Coffee houses had a similar relationship with men wearing flannel and beards(And quite often had to use a broom to evict them as well.).

Titan peeked back behind the counter. “THEY APPEAR TO BE WAVING RUDIMENTARY WEAPONS. PERHAPS THEY FEEL THREATENED BY MY PRESENCE.”

“Then go.” Granny tossed the newspaper into the bag. “And leave me alone. It’s almost lunchtime.”

“YES. YOU MAKE A GOOD POINT. I WILL DEPART.” Titan took his bag and left without so much as a thank you.

Granny tried to go back to sleep but his mind was still racing. So instead of wasting any more time chasing lost sleep he went to go grab his lunch from the refrigerator. Granny had a very nice assortment of cheeses and meats waiting for him.

Or at least, there should have been. No sign of his charcuterie remained. The hellhound had eaten it all while he was sleeping. Feeling dejected, Granny sat back down in his chair and closed his eyes. He was done with today.

Unbeknownst to him, his day was about to get much, much worse. Because at his feet a dust bunny the size of a tennis ball hefted its spear with murderous intent. The dust bunny’s tribal lands had been invaded and such blatant disrespect would not be allowed to pass unpunished. It took aim at the strange foreign dust bunnies underneath Granny’s nightgown.

These two had allied with the broom wielder, hanging around with the giant in defiance of all decency. It would kill the two traitors first to send a message. The dust bunny threw its spear as hard as it could, watching with great pleasure as its weapon sailed towards the unsuspecting duo.