In two months’ time, The Dog in the Mist will be released out into the world. Because I keep getting excited and just want to share it already, here is a short extract from the story (:
He pushes the memories aside; they’re no good to him now. All he wants right now is sleep, and it’s the middle of the day, but really, he couldn’t care less. It’s safe under the duvet, dark and quiet and still with it pulled over his head. Death can find you anywhere, he thinks. Even in your bed. There’s nowhere to hide. “I’m not hiding,” he says aloud, because he’s not. He just needs to sleep.
He’s standing at one end of a long, well-lit corridor, staring down at the notes in his hand. There are words written on the paper, but they’re in some strange, fantasy language, maybe Elvish, and he can’t read what they say.
Evan pats him on the shoulder and gives him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry,” he says. “They’ll take anyone here.”
Next thing, he’s in a little office, just big enough to squeeze in a cluttered desk and two chairs.
“So,” Alf says. “Tell me about yourself.”
Dorian opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. There’s something wedged down there and he can’t breathe. He falls to the floor, choking, trying to hack up whatever’s stuck in his throat.
“Nevermind,” Alf tells him kindly, placing a hand on Dorian’s shoulder while he struggles for air. “There’s a place for you here. There’s a place for everyone here.”
Dorian spits out the lump, a large black mess of fur, covered in spit and blood. He sucks in a grateful breath and winces, his throat raw and painful. As he watches, the lump of fur unfurls and stands up on four legs, and it begins to grow, until finally it’s roughly the size of a small pony, fixing huge, orange eyes on Dorian, eyes that seem to be lit from within, forks of fire dancing in their depths.
The dog opens its mouth, and screams.