Fable took the afternoon off. There were no patients scheduled at the clinic for the rest of the day, and she decided to take one of the dogs in her care for a walk. His name, he told her, was Buster. Buster lived in a neighborhood near Yerby Park. He had been turned into her clinic after being found, starving on a road nowhere near the park. Once she had fixed his dehydration and filled his empty belly, he’d told her how he had accidentally jumped into a neighbor’s car one day because he’d smelled food in the back seat. He’d found a bag of hot dogs. He was munching on them when the angry neighbor discovered him in the car and stopped the car on the highway. Buster was afraid and ran off. He tried to find his way back home, but never found it. With him now fully recovered, Fable decided to drive him around the streets near the park to see if he could recognize his home.

  It was only when Buster alerted her that he needed to relieve himself, that she pulled into the park and took him for a walk. She saw the picnic area where she’d been with her mother the day before. It was no longer roped off, but news of the murder had spread through town and there was absolutely no one anywhere near the pavilions. Fable parked her car in the general parking area and led Buster off on a leash. He didn’t need one. She knew he had no intentions of running away again, but leash laws required it.

  As they walked, she hoped some of the very attractive male joggers running shirtless on the path might take notice of her and stop to say hello. It had been months since she had a decent date with a man.

  As she and Buster turned down a path between a canopy of shady trees, she noticed a guy approaching her walking his own dog, a gorgeous brown Great Dane. The man was equally as gorgeous. She thoroughly inspected him behind her sunglasses. Tall, lean, muscular with almost white blonde hair. Typically, she did not like blonde men. A blonde man was either outdoors playing sports way too often to be any use to a woman, or he chemically highlighted it—which posed its own set of issues. A vain man, or an overly stylish one, didn’t appeal too much to Fable. However, it had been such a long time since she’d enjoyed the company of a man she decided if this man showed her even the slightest bit of attention, she’d go out with him.

  She maneuvered herself, and Buster, closer to the man’s side of the walking path so that he had to notice her. “You have a beautiful dog.”

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  “Thanks,” he grinned. “He’s not as cuddly as the little guy you’re with, though.” As he gestured to Buster, Buster took it upon himself to pick this inopportune time to relieve himself on a nearby bush.

  Good. We’re talking, Fable thought to herself. I hope he’s not gay. With that hair, you never know.

  “What’s your dog’s name?” she asked the man.

  “Tank.”

  Doubt he’s gay then.

  “And yours?”

  “Buster,” Fable smiled. “But he’s not my dog. He’s my patient. I’m a vet. We are just out for a stroll before I take him home.”

  Before the guy could speak again, Buster and Tank began barking ferociously at something near their feet. Fable glanced down and discovered a copperhead slithering between she and the man. The man jumped backwards and screamed a high pitched, almost glass shattering, cry.

  He’s gay.

  The man bolted with Tank, leaving Fable standing in his dust as he escaped the slithering snake. My Lancelot, Fable thought to herself. Buster was still barking, and the snake appeared to be curling up ready to strike. It raised its head, gearing up for action. Its forky tongue fluttered out, tasting the air--feeling it’s strike zone. As its body coiled more tightly and its head reared back on the ready, Fable looked down to the snake.

  “Do not bite us. We are just passing by. We are not your enemy or your prey. And you are in danger here. There are dogs everywhere. One of them is going to hurt you.”

  The snake relaxed its body and responded to her with a slithery tongue.

  Fable knelt down to it and cooed, “Of course I worry about your safety, too. I’m a friend to all creatures, not just fluffy pets.”

  The snake backed away and slithered back into the woods. Almost at once she caught sight of a man a few feet behind her. He had been watching the exchange. Normally she wouldn’t have spoken aloud. She hadn’t been aware anyone was around. She had not heard him walking up. She quickly got to her feet.

  “You are gifted,” the man said. “A lovely thing like you, able to converse with the beasts of the world. You must be a remarkable lady.”

  Fable was surprised by his nonchalant reaction. There was something remarkably familiar about him. She couldn’t quite place it. She wracked her brain to figure it out. He wasn’t a client. He wasn’t an old schoolmate. He wasn’t a fellow witch—at least not one she’d ever met.

  “You’re wondering why I look familiar,” he said grinning and blushing.

  “Yes. I am.”

  “We’ve never met,” he said. “But we were in the same grocery store several nights ago. I think you’d just knocked down a spice display.”

  Now Fable was the one blushing.

  “I’m Patric.”

  “Hi. I’m Fable.”

  “Fable,” the man replied. “Quite fitting. Even the animals appear to be aware you are their princess.”