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By Root 691 0

I drew power from the earth and summoned a thick but very localized fog. Arizona is legendary for its dry air, but in the first week of November with a storm rolling in, it’s not that hard to find some water vapor to bind. While that took time to condense, I shifted my concentration to healing my burned skin and made better progress now that the amulet wasn’t cooking it faster than I could heal.

Since the amulet was still far too hot, I walked hunched over to my garden hose and turned it on, checking to see if the fog had rolled in properly before continuing. I could still see Oberon, who was sitting underneath a streetlight, but not the windows of Mr. Semerdjian’s house, so that was good enough. I held one hand up in front of my face to protect it from steam, then turned the hose on the amulet.

It hissed and spat and the expected steam geysered up, but after a few seconds it noticeably began to cool.

Oberon called.

That’s fine. Just stay still and stare at him. Wag your tail if you can manage.

I heard Mr. Semerdjian explode out of the house in high dudgeon. “Get out of here, you filthy mutt! Shoo! Go away!”

If he comes at you with it, growl at him.

I heard Oberon growl menacingly, and Mr. Semerdjian’s peremptory commands abruptly changed to shrill pleas a couple of octaves higher.

“Ahhh! Nice doggie! Stay! Good dog!”

Go for it. The amulet was cooling down rapidly now; a few more seconds would allow it to rest on my chest again without doing further damage. Oberon barked viciously, and Mr. Semerdjian’s panicked voice immediately leapt to Mariah Carey territory.

“O’Sullivan! Call off your dog, damn you! O’Sullivan! Get over here! Where did this fucking fog come from?”

Satisfied, I turned off the hose and stood up, letting the amulet fall back against my chest. It wasn’t fully healed, but it was getting better and I had the pain firmly under control. I walked leisurely across the street to where Oberon was still sitting.

“Here now,” I said calmly as I coalesced out of the mist into a wan column of light next to my hound. “What’s all the fuss, Mr. Semerdjian? My dog is simply sitting here, offering you no violence whatsoever.”

“He’s off his leash!” he spluttered.

“So are you,” I observed. “If you hadn’t advanced upon him in a threatening manner, he never would have growled at you, much less barked.”

“Never mind that!” Semerdjian spat. “He’s not supposed to be running around loose! And he definitely shouldn’t be on my property! I should call the police!”

“I believe the last time you called the police on me, you got cited for falsely calling 911, did you not?”

Semerdjian’s face purpled and he shouted, “Just get off my property! Both of you!”

Step backward into the street with me until we disappear from his view, I told Oberon. Now. We retreated, keeping our eyes on Mr. Semerdjian as we let the mist envelop us, and I imagined what it must look like to my neighbor: He watched a man and his dog walk backward in tandem without the man giving the dog any audible command, until they vanished like spectres into vapor.

That should creep him out pretty good, I told Oberon. Sure enough, Mr. Semerdjian called after us as we turned up the street.

“You’re a spooky bastard, O’Sullivan!” he yelled, and I stifled a laugh at the irony of his insult. “You and your dog had better stay away from me!”

Oberon chuffed.

A prank, I said, beginning to jog as Oberon trotted beside me. I released the binding on the water vapor, letting the fog disperse. We are like the Merry Pranksters of 1964, giving Mr. Semerdjian his own customized Acid Test without the benefit of