Instinct: An Animal Rescuers Anthology

by L.J. Hachmeister

while he doesn’t have a dog to save the day, his three cats would happily watch if something were to happen to him before going back to their naps.

George and KitKit Save the Witches By Faith Hunter Author’s Note: Based on “My Dark Knight”, a short story set in the Jane Yellowrock world, but from the critters’ point of view.

Gwendolyn Faith Hunter is an American author and blogger, writing in the fantasy and thriller genres. She writes as Faith Hunter in the fantasy genre, and as Gwen Hunter in the thriller genre. She also has collaborated on thrillers with Gary Leveille, jointly using the name Gary Hunter. Hunter is one of the founding members of the blog, MagicalWords.net, a writer assistance blog, and has developed a role-playing game based on her Rogue Mage series.

Fugitive A story in the world of The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher

Jim Butcher is the author of the Dresden Files, the Codex Alera, and a new steampunk series, the Cinder Spires. His resume includes a laundry list of skills which were useful a couple of centuries ago, and he plays guitar quite badly. An avid gamer, he plays tabletop games in varying systems, a variety of video games on PC and console, and LARPs whenever he can make time for it. Jim currently resides mostly inside his own head, but his head can generally be found in the mountains outside Denver, Colorado. Jim goes by the moniker Longshot in a number of online locales. He came by this name in the early 1990’s when he decided he would become a published author. Usually only 3 in 1000 who make such an attempt actually manage to become published; of those, only 1 in 10 make enough money to call it a living. The sale of a second series was the breakthrough that let him beat the long odds against attaining a career as a novelist. All the same, he refuses to change his nickname.

The Unexpected Dachshund By L.E. Modesitt, Junior Rudy was a dachshund. Rudy was a sham. Rudy came to Nieuwhuis and found there was no lamb. We were stuck on Nieuwhuis, out of heaven’s way. Building domes on barren clay, under skies so gray…

L. E. Modesitt, Jr. is the bestselling author of over seventy novels encompassing two science fiction series and four fantasy series, as well as several other novels in the science fiction genre. Mr. Modesitt has been a delivery boy; a lifeguard; an unpaid radio disc jockey; a U.S. Navy pilot; a market research analyst; a real estate agent; a director of research for a political campaign; legislative assistant and staff director for a U.S. Congressman; Director of Legislation and Congressional Relations for the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency; a consultant on environmental, regulatory, and communications issues; and a college lecturer and writer in residence. In addition to his novels, Mr. Modesitt has published technical studies and articles, columns, poetry, and a number of science fiction stories. His first story was published in 1973. He lives in Cedar City, Utah.

Nine By Seanan McGuire

CATS HAVE NINE LIVES, THEY SAY. Cats come back nine times, and our lives follow a strict pattern. Three to stray, three to play, and three to stay. And then, they say, it’s over. No eternity for Cats, oh, no, but nine lives should be eternity enough for something small, and soft, and swift. Nine lives should satisfy our souls. The people who say that don’t account for the ones we love, the ones who walk more slowly, the ones whose hands are soft but whose skin is as rough as a paw-pad, the ones who tower over the world. We are their hearts gone running wild through the places they cannot see, and to say that we don’t deserve anything more than nine is to say that our Humans must go to their own eternities without their hearts.

I have seen Humans in the clearing who never knew their hearts were in the world, or knew but didn’t care, or found their hearts in other forms, and were waiting for them still. I saw them, and I knew them, and I knew which they were, whether the companions for which they waited were Dogs or Horses or—in a few rare, terrible cases—nothing at all, whether they had lived their lives so outside the possibility of love that they had never found comfort outside the sanctums of their skins. Those Humans, who have never learned to love anything other than themselves, find only one route from the clearing, and it leads back to the world they left. They have to go again, to run a life the length of our nine, in hopes that their return will teach them love.

That alone makes me look forward to the day when I will take my last trip to the clearing. There is no promised paradise that I have ever seen, only the clear and quiet green at the ending of the longest road, but it only allows those who have learned love to continue on. Whatever comes next, whatever form it takes, we go together, and we go knowing the shape and the substance of love. That is a powerful thing.

Seanan McGuire is a native Californian, which has resulted in her being exceedingly laid-back about venomous wildlife and terrified of weather. When not writing urban fantasy (as herself) and science fiction thrillers (as Mira Grant), she likes to watch way too many horror movies, wander around in swamps, record albums of original music, and harass her cats. Seanan is the author of the October Daye, InCryptid, and Indexing series of urban fantasies; the Newsflesh trilogy; the Parasitology duology; and the “Velveteen vs.” superhero shorts. Her cats, Lilly, Alice, and Thomas are plotting world domination even as we speak, but are easily distracted by feathers on sticks, so mankind is probably safe. For now. Seanan’s favorite things include the X-Men, folklore, and the Black Death. No, seriously. She writes all biographies in the third person, because it’s easier that way.

A Memory of Witches By Patricia Briggs Author’s Note: This story takes place during Storm Cursed.

Sherwood Post

We are stronger, said Sherwood’s wolf, but Sherwood ignored it because both of them, wolf and man, knew that they would not be able to keep their pack safe the way that Adam could. Stronger did not make one a better Alpha.

“Possibly good luck for you,” said Coyote. “You shouldn’t have wandered around in a witch’s house when you were trying to hide yourself. Without that exposure, your safeguards might have held out another month or two. But you aren’t going to keep the Singer out of your head with that mishmash you’ve cooked up now. He’ll have you consumed in a few days.” The Singer, said the wolf. I remember the Singer. Sherwood didn’t say anything. He was pretty sure that Coyote was right. He is, agreed the wolf.

“But,” said Coyote when Sherwood didn’t say anything. “But. But you were harmed watching over Mercy. But you were harmed originally hunting down the Singer because I told you about him. But it doesn’t suit me that the Singer moves on to the next phase of godhood.” He caught Sherwood’s expression and grinned sharply. “Oh, he wouldn’t be all powerful. There are gods and there are gods—” he gestured to himself “—and then there is Apistotoke.” He frowned at Sherwood. “Gitche Manatu. Wakan Tonka?”

it tasted foul on his tongue. Coyote sat down properly and swung his feet a couple of times. “That’s true enough. Or rather it isn’t, and it is. There’s no proper word for exactly what you are anymore. But you were witchborn—” Sherwood felt his lips twist in a soundless snarl and fought to control his expression. Coyote waved a dismissive hand. “Witchcraft can be useful—but I am not here to dictate your morality or lack thereof. I am here to tell you that I will have made use of that cat. That means that making it your familiar will give you—” he paused and peered at Sherwood.

Thank you so much for purchasing this anthology. 70% of book sale profits are donated to Lifeline Puppy Rescue, a no-kill shelter for puppies in Brighton, Colorado. Each $20 raised means that one puppy is saved from a kill shelter or other dangerous situations. So, thank you, from the bottom of our hearts for helping us share great stories and save lives.