Cybermancy by Kelly McCullough Page B

me, however, turned out to be fair game, a fact I found out after he bounded up the hill to meet me.
    As soon as I’d scraped enough of the foul stuff out of my eyes to see again, I gave Cerberus a slight bow. “Nicely splashed. I take it then that you’re not just going to bite my head off?”
    “How do you figure that?” asked Bob, an edge of anger clear in his voice.
    “I suppose I could be wrong,” I said, “but you never struck me as a big fan of muck-blackened cuisine.”
    “Point,” said Mort, sounding much calmer than Bob.
    “Not bad,” agreed Dave, clearly amused, “but what if we just didn’t think of it? What if our poor little doggy brains don’t plan things out that well?”
    I raised an eyebrow at him. “Poor little doggy brains? Nice try, Dave, but I’m not buying it. You’ve got about as much in common with a normal dog as I do with a sparrow.”
    “That might be more than you think, Raven ,” said Mort. “There are certain habits of thought and behaviors that we share with our mortal kin.”
    “Like an irrational attachment to our two-legged friends,” Bob said, giving Dave a sour look.
    “Look,” began Dave, his voice hot, “just because I like Raven and take my duties to our mistress more seriously than you do—”
    “That bitch hates Hades,” snarled Bob. “I’ve never liked her. From the day he brought her home, she’s caused nothing but trouble. We owe her nothing! Nothing. I wish she’d go away and never come back, that her mother would just keep her.”
    “Jealous much?” Dave sneered.
    “Of Persephone?” howled Bob. “That’s a joke, right?”
    “If the collar fits . . .” said Dave.
    Bob growled low in his throat and Dave snapped at him contemptuously. Seconds later both heads were barking and snarling at each other.
    Meanwhile, Mort had moved as far away from the other two heads as he could. “At least I’m not between them,” he said to me in a quiet aside. “Sometimes I wish I could take a couple of weeks off from pack life and play only dog.” The barking cut off abruptly as Dave and Bob locked jaws, straining against each other.
    Mort shook his head. “Bob never learns.”
    “Learns what?” I asked.
    “That he’s not as strong as Dave, that he always loses arguments, that he’s never going to be alpha. Take your pick.” Bob began to whine then. “Whatever you might think about our relative dogginess, our shape makes a difference. And so does our name.”
    “Subtle you aren’t,” I said, and it was my turn to sound sour. “If you think so much of this whole Raven thing, why don’t you just tell me about it?”
    “Is that a sign of curiosity at last?” asked Mort. “Are you actually starting to wonder about who you are?”
    “I know who I am,” I said. “I’m Ravirn, no matter what the Fates say. On the other hand, I have to admit that I’m beginning to wonder what I am. Or what others see in me. So, are you going to tell me anything? Or are you just going to stand there looking smug because I finally asked?”
    “Asked what?” said Dave, who’d finally let loose of Bob.
    “Who he is,” said Mort.
    “What I am,” I corrected.
    “A filthy little prison breaker,” said Bob, who went silent a moment later when Dave turned a dark eye on him.
    “It’s about time you asked that question,” said Dave. “I just wish I knew the answer.”
    “What?” I demanded. “All this time, the three of you have been giving me shit about this Raven business, and you don’t know what it means either?”
    Dave looked sheepish. “What it means, no. That it’s important, yes. You don’t smell like a child of Fate anymore.”
    “What?” I was surprised by that.
    “We’ve met more than a few of Fate’s children,” said Mort. “You don’t die easy, but you can be killed.”
    “I know that,” I said quietly. “I’ve sent two of my cousins across the Styx myself, though I’m not proud of it.”
    “Moric,” said Dave, “and his