Going into a career where you’ve got a fair chance of being ostracized probably isn’t what my parents had in mind when they paid for me to get a bachelor’s in magical theory. I know when I graduated and told them I was going into necromancy, they looked like they were sucking on a lemon. But they knew me well enough to know I was smart enough to do things the right way, and stubborn enough not to let societal taboos stand in my way.

Every time I have a job, I’m reminded of why I do this. Sure, many of my gigs are helping farmers whose crops are dying, the law doesn’t have anything to say on that kind of work, and that pays a good amount of my bills. But the ones who need a few minutes (all the law allows) to say goodbye, who lost someone in the blink of an eye, who are burdened with the pain of their heart being torn out of their chest, those people have nowhere else to turn. Well, they technically do, and that’s therapy. But being allowed a goodbye is a good start.

Though there are the occasional clients who sneak past my interview process just to interrogate the deceased about an affair or some such nonsense. Those are irritating.

Much of my day is spent at home, tending to the garden that grows the plants needed for my spells, which I brew myself. It was winter now, though, so I was in my workshop, making use of my harvest, dried and ground up, to mix together and enchant the potions. Occasionally I get walk-ins though, and so when the doorbell rang that morning, it didn’t quite catch me off guard.

The boy at the door did, though. His name was Harvey, and he lived a few doors down. And he was in floods of tears that were only now tapering off.

“What’s wrong?” I cried, crouching to his height. “Harvey, what happened?”

“It’s Sage,” he whimpered. “She-She died.”

“Oh, honey,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry.” The boy’s dog was part of their family, adopted as a puppy. I recall her being seven or eight years old now, and especially for a boy of eleven years old, that was a tragedy. The words sunk in then. “Did you…did your family want to hire me?” He nodded. “What happened? How did she die?”

“She got spooked and ran off last night during the thunderstorm,” he said quietly. “We couldn’t find her. She came back this morning and something had…attacked her. A coyote, maybe. She barely made it back home before…” Tears glistened in her eyes. “When we went outside to look for her, she was on the porch, and she was already gone.”

“Okay,” I said. Without another word, I grabbed my purse and coat and shut the door behind me, following the boy to his house.

Out in the backyard, his parents sat tiredly in two patio chairs, looking worse for the wear and in mid-conversation. They were surprised by my appearance, and both rose to their feet. “Caroline! What are you-” Patricia’s face went slack with comprehension as she set eyes on her son. “Harvey went to fetch you. Are you sure you want to-”

“I’ve done this kind of work before,” I assured her. She just nodded slowly, and she and her husband Brian sat back down, taking her husband’s hand. Walking over to the dog, it wasn’t quite as gruesome a sight as I’d worried it would be, the attack just leaving blood caked on the left side of her neck. I also saw some on her paws; she’d put up enough of a fight to get away. To get home.

Kneeling down in the grass, crackling under my knees, the blades still stiff from the overnight chill, I took two potions from my purse. One of each that I always kept on hand for emergencies. The first was a syringe and I injected it into the dog’s neck, an anesthetic so the dog wouldn’t awaken in pain, charmed to supernaturally spread through the body since the heart wasn’t beating. I poured the second potion on my hands before rubbing them together, reciting the incantation under my breath, and laid my hands on the dog’s body, feeling the power slide through them and getting to work immediately.

A minute or so later, the dog’s weary eyes opened as her chest started to rise and fall and her gaze slid around until they caught on Harvey’s eyes. He burst into quiet tears again, sitting down and pulling the dog’s head onto his leg, stroking her gently. “Hey girl,” he whispered. “I’m here. You’re safe, you made it home. I’m here, Sage.”

The dog blinked up at him, tired from her struggles, but her tail thumped against the ground regardless, a slow, regular metronome. She shut her eyes at the scratches behind her ears and the kiss he gave her on her head. “You’re a strong girl,” he murmured. “Good girl. And I’m here. You don’t have to go alone. We’re all here.”

I brushed away tears from my eyes before they could fall, letting the boy comfort the dog in her last moments, letting him lean his forehead against hers, breathing in her scent. Then eventually, the dog’s breathing slowed, her tail lost its strength and rested against the ground and, as Harvey stroked the smooth hair on her head, she drifted away once again.

Republished with permission from the author, karenvideoeditor. Image created using DALL·E.