Hare Trigger

(word count - 957)

Professional wizardry is a very inconsistent job. Most of the time, it requires little more than strutting about and acting like you're automatically smarter than everyone else in the room – and believe me, no one struts and feigns smartness better than Michael Reeve.

But then, some days, it requires considerably faster reflexes.

“Nope – this way!”

I barreled through the open door, dragging poor bewildered Ashlynn behind me. A mighty slam sealed the path behind us and a hastily-relocated cabinet ensured it would stay that way.

“Well... Miss Briar,” I said, panting. “I think I found... the source of your... little haunting problem!”

“N-no kidding!” she gasped.

A sharp, splintery thud clattered against the door. When the barrier proved solid after all, the sound of tiny claws clicked impatiently along the hallway.

“N-now what? W-what do we do, Michael?” Ashlynn said.

“I guess that depends,” I said, scanning our sanctuary. Of course we had to stumble into Ashlynn's guest bedroom – traditionally the cleanest and least-cluttered room in a person's house. If ever an emergency called for quick access to a firepoker or a baseball bat or an antique battle-trident... well, good luck finding one in a guest bedroom.

“Depends on what?”

I frowned. “Mostly on what this thing actually is.”

Another blow crunched into the door.

Tiny windows, my brain noted. Not great for escaping.

“Y-you don't know?” Ashlynn stammered.

Eager claws scrabbled and scraped against the wood.

No other doorways, either – just who designed this deathtrap, anyway?

“But you're a w-wizard! You're supposed to know everything!”

“Hallooo in there!”

In a way, I was relieved to see the horrified expression on Ashlynn's face – it meant I didn't just imagine the soft, dulcet voice seeping under the door.

“It's okay to come out!” the voice said in a friendly tone that was somewhat negated by the intent scratching. “He's gone now. There's nothin' to worry about!”

Ashlynn's eyes were nailed to the door. Her mouth clearly wanted to say something, but her brain wasn't quite up to it yet. I was almost tempted to admit to a bit of panic, myself.

But then, what good is a wizard who can't prattle under pressure?

“Ahoy, there!” I called through the door. “Say, would it be at all inconvenient to just – y'know – buzz off and leave us alone?”

The phantom claws hesitated, and then pattered down the hallway. It seemed suspiciously like an easy victory until a skittering gallop brought another unwelcome crash to the bedroom door.

Yeah, that seems about right, my brain grumbled. Of course it wouldn't be so– Hello! What have we here?

Perched in the shadows over the doorframe was a painted metal grate – little more than a ventilator. With any luck, maybe I could finally get a useful glimpse of our beastly battering-ram.

“W-what are you doing?” Ashlynn whispered as her trance dissolved.

I held a warning finger to my lips and clambered onto the barricading cabinet. By the time I managed to stealthily pry loose the vent grate, the clicking claws had resumed their restless pacing.

The hallway beyond the ventilator was dimly lit by lazy late-afternoon sunlight. Little dust motes hovered through the air, blissfully apathetic to our plight. And shuffling along with a half-prowling, half-loping gait...

... was a large, gray hare.

It was the size of an average bobcat, with a lean frame and wide-set, staring eyes. But the most prominent feature by far was a pair of gleaming, black, two-pronged antlers.

If the ornery little critter knew it was being watched, it gave no indication. It stalked easily back down the hall, seemingly conceding its besiegement. But then, with a great whirling leap, the creature burst into a full gallop and careened antler-first into the guest-room door with a thudding crunch.

“Michael? W-what... what is it?” Ashlynn asked as I hopped down from the cabinet.

“Not sure. Give me a minute.”

Okay, I muttered to my brain, differential diagnosis. A jackrabbit with antlers. No wings – that rules out skvaders and wolpertingers. No visible tusks – probably not a rasselbock, then. Two antlers instead of one horn means it's not an al-mi'raj – there's a relief! So... does that mean...?

“Well,” I said to Ashlynn. “The good news is that it's not going to eat us.”

Ashlynn gaped. “Was... was that likely?” she squeaked. “Then what's the bad news?”

“You might want to cover your ears.”

If I was right – and really, when am I not? – there was only one way to escape un-mauled. I drew a deep breath, faced the door square-on, and let fly my wrath:

“Happy traaaaiiills to yoooouuu, untiiiilll we meeeet agaaaiiin!”

The creature stopped scraping at the door. Ashlynn grimaced, seemingly torn between shock, discomfort, and bewildered laughter.

“Who cares about the clouds when we're togeeeetheeerrrr?”

Apparently Ashlynn opted for laughter.

“Happy traaaaiiills to yoooouuu, 'til we meeeet aaaagaaaiiin!”

The house echoed with silence. No scratching, no clashing – nothing.

Well, nothing except suppressed giggling.

“What was that?” Ashlynn chortled.

I bristled. Pride is pride, after all. “Singing, of course! What else d'you think?”

“Oh, Michael!” said Ashlynn with all the amused diplomacy of a mother appraising a child's first clumsy cartwheel.

“Don't 'oh, Michael' me – I just happen to have solved our little predicament!”

Before she could stop me, I scooted the cabinet aside and popped open the hall door. Ashlynn's grin evaporated as she darted behind her Michael-shaped shield.

But instead of a shin-level savaging, we were met with absolute quiet. No horns, no raging beast, no sign of foul play whatsoever – excepting some vicious slashes carved into the bedroom door.

“As I thought,” I said approvingly. “Nothing scares off a jackalope quite like some Roy Rogers!”

End


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For more Michael Reeve, see also:

FOLDER

Michael Reeve: The Lorelei Chronicles  (E) Meet Michael Reeve: professional wizard, wise detective, and eternal smart-aleck. #2024897 by BD Mitchell