Hydrophonics

The air had a metallic sting to it tonight; the fog rolling in from the coast, slow and thick, tasting like salt and smog, a sensation unique to Los Angeles. I feel all the pulsation, smell all the smells of the city as we move in tandem, the pavement humming with damp energy under my feet. The pull between me and Jimmy gets stronger when there’s fog.

He had a hurried stride tonight, lost in thought and tunes, his earbuds flashing dimly while we hurried along, he always walks fast when he’s thinking too much, feeling a funny vibe.

“C’mon, Dude,” he says without looking down. His voice is low, rough around the edges. "We'll just take a quick walk tonight.”

I don’t need to answer. He knows what I mean when I flick my ears — You said that last time.

He continued along the crumbling sidewalks, coat collar up, hood shadowing his eyes. But his vibe tingles anxiously like the undercurrents that surround us, everywhere we go, that he can control— quiet, deep, cautious.

When we enter the park, I feel it — subtle vibrations on the pads of my feet, the park lake rippling subtly. My ears pointed, my nose twitched towards the disturbance in the force.

Jimmy stops by the lakeshore. “You feel it too?”

I tilt my head. Of course I do. I bark once, and the air trembles.

I smelled it. Something’s off, and it wasn’t just the smell of the city around us and mucky lake.

He pushed pause on his earbuds and tuned in to it. He bent down by the water's edge, dipping his fingers in, running them along the surface. When he pulls his hand back, the currents follow, like it doesn’t want to let go. Droplets hang in the air for a breath before falling back into the lake with a soft plink. He smiles at that — tired, but real.

I nudge his arm, my fur brushing against his sleeve. He smells like sea salt and cigarettes. The kind of scent that never fully leaves, no matter how far inland we are.

I smell him before Jimmy does.

Cheap cologne and stale cognac, desperation, bleh.

Jimmy was lighting a cigarette, his hand trembling a little when he flicked the lighter. Not of fear though— just the pulse of anticipation flowing through him

I growl low. He glances down.

A shadowy figure, a man in a trenchcoat, emerges from the murky mist. Tries to sound casual. “Jimmy Santos?”

Jimmy stared ahead, out at the lake, the cityscape, cigarette smoke mist clouding from his breath. “Depends who’s asking.”

The mysterious man keeps his hand near his jacket. His heart pulsates rapidly, the blood flowing through him anxiously.

“Friend of a friend, well old friend it seems. Nice little mutt you got there.”

I was consistently growling in warning, but mutts also just don’t like being called mutts.

Jimmy flicks his cigarette into the dirt, sizzling before he stomps out the ashy embers. “Devin's just full of surprises huh? Sending someone so mundane, impressively stupid.” I suppose he referred to his basic humanity, as I smelled the scent of literal basicness on him.

“Well, seeing as you got that pretty little amulet around your neck, he had to outsource the job.” He referred to Jimmy's silver amulet that protected him from detection from magic mystical types like ourselves.

“And he didn’t think I’d consider the option? Wow, he really is getting senile in his old age...”

“Oh, if I had the genes to look half as good as him at 120.”

“Mmm, if we all didn’t have such a blessing, well existential curse really in my opinion but you know.”

“Well, I suppose you know why I’m here then?”

“Suppose I do.” They both had these subtle nods and eye glances of mutual agreement. I didn’t dare move my gaze from this shady man. And then I saw him reach for something from his pocket and before he could raise it, I leap and clamp onto his arm before the shot fires, jerking his aim wide. The gun clatters to the concrete. Jimmy hurries over, grabbing the man’s trigger arm, wrapping his hand tight around it, a fine layer of frost building up and around it.

“Devin should’ve told you,” he says, his blue eyes brightened wide in a frenzy. “He should’ve told you I don’t like being hunted.”

The man tries to pull back frantically.

“What the hell are you—?!” the ice built up till it covered the entirety of his hand and forearm. Then a crack! As I saw an index finger shatter and a shrill scream emerge from his throat. Fortunately, this park was already so sketchy we needn’t worry about attracting too much attention with our shenanigans. Another finger cracked and shattered before Jimmy let go of the man, in a frenzied state, stumbling backward clumsily.

“Now, go back,” Jimmy says to him. “Tell him if he wants to kill me let him look me in the eyes while he does it.”

The man’s breath steams in the air. I stay between him and Jimmy until he disappears into the night haze, stumbling and muttering.

Silence settles. The fog thins.

Jimmy crouches down beside me, giving me pets behind the ears. His fingers are still cold, colder than they should be. I try not to recoil lest I disappoint him. “How’re you doing little Dude?”

I lick his hand once. He’s not asking about me.

He looks back out toward the lake— a black pool of emptiness. “He’ll keep trying. Until he’s dead.”

I huff and nudge his arm. He half-smiles, tired. “Yeah,” he says softly. “But we’ll still be here. I’m not going anywhere, how about you?” he continues to look at me, but with his expression now changed from frenzied to friendly.

He stands, slips his hands back into his coat pockets, and we start back homewards. The frost melts where he steps.

I pad beside him, trotting my paws quiet on the wet pavement. Behind us, the lake ripples, slow and steady.

And I know — whoever Devin sends next, or if he decides to show up himself, the current will always pull towards the two of us.