The look he sent my way was thoughtful. “Mental confusion? You were in an asylum? You have a sickness of the mind?”

“Yes, yes, and no, of course I don’t have a mental illness.” The tiny voice in my head cheered and waved a wee little banner at my show of support. It dropped the banner with the words that followed, however. “There was an event that I was at a couple of years ago, and I thought I saw something. Something… impossible. No one else saw it, so I was sent to an expensive clinic where they helped me realize that I was wrong.”

The sense of inner disappointment at my words was great. I felt a tiny little part of my mind curl up into a ball of despair.

“What event?”

“Hmm?” I dragged my thoughts from the absurdity of feeling guilty over hurting part of my own psyche to what Kostya was asking. “Oh, it was a traveling circus that had all sorts of creepy stuff.”

“Was it named GothFaire?” He frowned. “I recall coming across such a circus a few years ago. What impossible thing occurred?”

Something pinged at the edge of my awareness but wouldn’t come into focus. I drove for a few minutes in silence, trying to decide if I should tell him or not. In the end, my miserable inner self got its way. “I saw a man get killed. Right before my eyes. And the man who killed him turned into a black puff of smoke when another guy did something to him—I didn’t see what, although I think he stabbed him with a knife—but then the guy who I saw get killed came back and wasn’t hurt at all.”

My fingers started to hurt with the grip I had on the steering wheel. I made an effort to loosen the hold and didn’t look over to Kostya to see what he thought.

“Ah,” he said at last, and then I couldn’t stand it and slid a glance his way. He was leaning back in his seat, looking out of the passenger window.

“Ah? That’s all you have to say, just ‘Ah,’ like someone tells you every day that she sees a man murdered and miraculously resurrected? You don’t think that’s in the least bit odd?”

“Not really.” He turned his head to look at me, his black eyes unreadable in the dim light. But there was no sense of mockery in his voice, or even sympathy, which I personally found a thousand times worse. “You saw someone who was not mortal nearly slain by a demon. It’s not a common occurrence, but it’s certainly not unknown. Not every demon is as civilized as Jim.”

The hairs on my arms prickled. “You aren’t trying to say… no, you can’t. Because if you were that crazy, you’d be strapped down to a table right now while Dr. Barlind stood over you telling you that the shock therapy should help you break down those mental blocks that are keeping you from being well again. You can’t possibly mean that the dog in the backseat of my car is a demon. I must have misheard you.”

“You did nothing of the kind.” He turned his head to look back out of the window. “Jim is a lesser demon—I do not rightly recall its class, although given experience with it, I assume it’s a low one; nonetheless, it possesses all the qualities inherent in a demon. I do not understand why it refuses to speak, though.”

“Dogs can’t talk,” I said in my super-calm voice. This despite the warning bells shrieking in my head.

“Demon ones can. Jim, tell the mortal you can speak.”

“I can?” The car jerked violently to the side at the sound of a male voice from the backseat. “Oh, wow, I can talk. How cool is this? Lookit me, I’m talking! Talk, talk, talk. I can talk. Whoa, babe, you may wanna watch the road and not look at me, because that tree is getting awfully—aieee!”

I slammed on the brakes, the rear of the car sliding with a horrible noise along the dirt and grass before we came to an abrupt halt less than a foot away from a stone fence.

My entire body shaking, I carefully unstrapped the seat belt and turned around as far as I could to look at the backseat.

Or rather, the dog that sat on it. He was panting, his eyes round, but there was nothing at all odd about him.

Other than the fact that I’d just heard him speak.

“You can’t talk,” I told him.

“I think I can,” he answered.

I blinked.

“Okay,” I said, raising a shaky hand to rub my forehead. “I’m having some sort of episode. Some… I don’t know, psychotic flashback or something.”

“Maybe the dude better drive, then,” the dog said sympathetically. I closed my eyes, wanting to scream and cry and run away as fast as I could. “’Cause you look like you’re going to ralph all over the place.”

“This is not happening,” I said, still rubbing my forehead. “I’m going to have to call Dr. Barlind, and she’s going to lock me up again, and I don’t want to be locked up! I’m sane, dammit! I’m perfectly sane!”

“I don’t know about that, but I agree with Jim that if you are going to vomit, I should drive,” Kostya told me.

I opened my eyes to glare at him. “This is all your fault!”

“I reject your accusations,” he answered with lofty disdain, then ruined the effect by asking, “How is it my fault?”

“You put the idea of a talking dog into my head! If you hadn’t, I’d be perfectly fine.” I smacked him on the arm. “Dammit, if I’m going to be locked up again, then so are you. I’m going to tell everyone what you said about that… dog… being a demon.”

“Hey, you don’t have to say the word dog like I’m made of poop or something,” came the protest from the backseat. I ignored it. It was just a delusion, nothing more. “And what do you mean, demon? I’m a demon? I thought I was a dog? That’s what the vet said. She told Aoife here that I was a handsome specimen.” In the mirror, I could see the dog looking down at himself. “Really handsome, I should say. Hey, I got a white spot on my chest. That’s cool.”

To my surprise, Kostya looked startled at the dog’s words. “What do you mean, are you a demon? Of course you are. What game are you playing?”

“I dunno. Spot the white on a black dog?” Jim the impossibly talking dog shrugged. I swear to all the gods, he shrugged! “What game do you want to play?”

“Why are you not with Aisling?”

“Twenty questions, is it?” Jim’s eyes narrowed on Kostya. “Okay, I give. What’s an Aisling?”