Legal Beagle by Cynthia Sax

 
     
     
    01 Sadie’s Blog
     
    I smell him as soon as he enters the stairwell -- the sharp suffocating smell of malice filling the space. It is one of Poe’s vamp goons; it has to be, sent to influence my decision. He’ll try to scare me with threats, tempt me with offers of riches and --
    And a ball? Does he have a ball? A ball? Does he have one?
    Quiet . I hush my excitable inner beagle as I hurry down the stairs, my heels ringing on the cement steps. Poe won’t influence me, not even with a room full of bouncing balls.
    Ball!
    Quiet . I didn’t earn my place as a high court judge by taking bribes, bending to intimidation, or listening to the animal I share a body with. I snagged the dangerous black robes because I can sniff out the truth.
    I may have sniffed up my last ass this time though. The cracking of knuckles echoes, as loud as gunshots. This goon, unlike the slick talker sent before him, plans to influence with his fists.
    I may not be a supermodel, but I do like my face arranged the way it is, thank you very much, so I increase my pace, wishing I had changed into my running shoes. Goons should really schedule appointments days in advance, ensuring that I dress appropriately.
    The man is gaining on me, his heavy tread attesting to his size. I glance back, spotting a broad, ugly face peering down at me. He’s not the usual tall, thin, anemic-looking vampire. This guy must drain a cheerleading squad every night.
    He won’t drain this former cheerleader. I burst through the doors to the parking level. Of course, the doughnut-eating toy-cop isn’t at his station by the stairwell. The police chief had been right about court security. It is regrettably lax.
    Run! I love to run! Run!
    I take my inner beagle’s advice, and double-time it toward my vehicle -- a sweet little convertible with a shiny chrome bumper that the press calls inappropriate for a judge to drive. I don’t care. I risk my life every day, putting the worst criminals in the city behind bars. I’ll drive what I like.
    The stairwell door slams shut behind the goon. He’s not even attempting to be stealthy, and he’s cut the distance between us in two. I really have to work out more.
    I run, moving between the parked cars. The goon runs behind me, huffing and puffing like a two pack a day smoker. For a smoker, he’s fast though, and I know he’ll catch me before I reach my car. I have no choice left but to shift as I run -- discarding my clothes and designer tote on the cement parking level floor. My body shrinks in size, my arms elongating, a tail protruding from my ass, my chin stretching into a muzzle.
    Play! Let’s play! Play!
    Dodging the huge vamp becomes a game. He lunges toward me, and I run between his massive legs, nipping him in the privates as I pass. He roars, clutching his man bits, his pale face twisting in rage. I bark, romp around in a circle, and bark some more. This is fun. My human side doesn’t allow me out very often.
    A delectable aroma fills my finely-tuned snout. Mate! Mate! Mate! I yip with joy, my tongue rolling out of my mouth. I run toward the scent, my little legs working as fast as they can, with my tail wagging. I must find my mate .
    The goon chases me. “Come here, you fucking dog,” he orders.
    I’m a good dog so I obey. As I approach, he places a hand over his groin, as he’s scared of me, and he should be. I’m a wild animal, and he doesn’t know how I’ll react. I release a haunting baying sound.
    Done with the dramatics, I pelt at him at top speed, my ears flopping, and at the last minute, I slide under a big maintenance truck. He reaches out to grab me. Whack . His thick skull connects with the metal door.
    I bark at him from my position under the vehicle. When his homely face comes into view, I run around him, and bite him on the ass. He roars again, hollering something about not being trained for this, and knowing when to give up.
    I turn my head, distracted, the scent of my mate growing