How (Not) to Play with Magic (A Cindy Eller Short Story Prequel) (Cindy Eller Snack) by Elizabeth A Reeves Page B

“I’m sorry that this happened. I promise that the twins.” I shot my sisters a dirty look. “And I will work as hard as we can to bring you back to normal.”
    The dog let out a whine. I glanced towards Rainey and Starrie. I didn’t speak dog.
    “He needs to go to the bathroom,” Starrie sniggered.
    That gave me a pause. I couldn’t exactly tell my stepfather to go mark a tree, could I? That didn’t seem right. It was bad enough that he was in dog form without degrading him further.
    “Um.” I thought quickly. “He can… use my bathroom?”
    I really hoped he could manage it, hilarious as the idea of a dog sitting on the toilet might be.
    The dog thumped his tail again in what I thought had to be agreement.
    Starrie and Rainey giggled in unison, but showed the dog—er, Alex—the way to my bathroom where I assumed he would be taking care of business.
    I really just didn’t want to know.
    We headed back to the kitchen to wait for him.
    I couldn’t help wondering how he was going to wash his paws… er… hands.
    I didn’t have long to ponder about that because a loud shriek rang out through the house from that direction.
    “Crap!” I shouted. “Jessi!”
    My roommate and I shared a bathroom. I could only imagine what sight she had been treated to, stumbling into the bathroom in the middle of the night.
    “What the heck?” she screamed. “Why is there a dog sitting on the toilet?”
    I heard the twins sniggering behind me as I raced to reassure my roommate.
    What was I going to tell her? Jessi had no idea that I was a witch—a word my mother had forbidden me to use all my life. We were ‘magical practitioners’. I had to come up with some sensible reason for a dog to be using our bathroom in the middle of the night.
    The problem was, I couldn’t come up with anything that wasn’t completely ridiculous.
    “He knocked on the door and needed to go potty?” That was ludicrous.
    On top of that, I was going to have to explain how my fifteen-year-old sisters had just appeared out of nowhere.
    Jessi stood in the hallway outside of the bathroom. Her pajamas were wrinkled and her eyes puffy, with a sleeping mask pushed up high on her forehead. Her exuberant hair, the legacy of an Irish father and a Kenyan mother, was pulled back in a riotous cloud of curls.
    She pointed a shaking hand towards the bathroom door. “Please tell me that I’m still dreaming,” she told me.“I thought I saw a dog—a dog!—sitting on the toilet.”
    I cleared my throat. “Um,” I said, “you’re not crazy, if that makes you feel any better.”
    She just stared at me, with her hands on her hips. “Seriously?” she demanded. “That’s the only explanation you have for me? Since when do we even have a dog?”
    “We don’t,” I said. “He’s… um… he’s my mom’s.”
    Jessi gave me a doubtful look. “Your mother has a dog?”
    I had to admit that wasn’t likely.
    “He’s…” I searched for the right thing to say. “He’s my sisters’ responsibility.”
    “That still doesn’t explain what he’s doing on the toilet!” Jessi said, throwing her hands in the air in aggravation.
    I thought quickly. “Well,” I hedged, “you know how some people teach their cats how to use the toilet instead of a litter box?”
    Jessi nodded suspiciously.
    “My sisters are trying an experiment to see if dogs can do the same thing,” I finished in a rush.
    “Oh.” Jessi thought about that for a moment. “That almost makes sense.” She shook her head. “Cindy, I’m sorry, but your family is really weird.”
    I laughed in relief. “You have no idea.”
    A flushing sound came from inside the bathroom and my step-dog appeared, wagging his tail at us briefly before disappearing in the direction of the kitchen.
    “Super weird,” Jessi said again, shaking her head. She disappeared into the bathroom and let out a little shriek. “Cindy! Your freaking dog used all the toilet paper!”
     
    I caught my sisters