He turned to try to help Laddin, who had fallen onto his side in the fetal position. But while Bruce stared, the cheese manacles on his wrists popped open and their tiny hands were clapping together. The squeezed American cheese between Laddin’s fingers solidified back into squares and hopped up and down in celebration. His ankles released too, and all the string cheeses around his torso and legs were doing backflips of joy.
WTF?
Bruce started to yip a question, but another disaster was building in his gut. He was back on his feet, and he danced around, crashing into the stick construction again. The pieces went everywhere as he accidentally destroyed whatever the structure had been, and the bell-like cheers got even louder.
He would have stopped to wonder, but he didn’t have time. Tail-up time.
He released another long, loud fart of magical gas, and this time Laddin made a sound—a snort mixed with a chuckle that quickly turned to laughter that blended in with the high-pitched cheering from the fairies.
Hell. Bruce was never, ever going to eat cheese again.
Chapter 9
PROMISES, PROMISES
OF ALLthe memorable sights in Laddin’s life, nothing topped the sight of Bruce shooting fairy cheeses out of his lupine ass. And even funnier? The pixies seemed to love it. After tumbling, rolling, and flailing through the air from the explosive release, they gathered together and dashed back at Bruce’s mouth, obviously hoping he’d eat them again.
He didn’t.
He growled and backed up. And though he looked like he was going to explode—again—he didn’t chomp down on a single fairy. What he did do was glower in frustration at Laddin, who couldn’t stop his hysterical laughter—“hysterical” being the key word, because he was losing it big-time.
The past two minutes had been the most terrifying experience of his life. He’d been slowly encased in cheese that hardened into something like concrete. First a knee, then his chest. Next his hands had become boulders of rock. As soon as he understood what was happening, he realized he had to duck down to protect his nose and mouth. He needed to breathe, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like he was being encased in stone.
He’d kicked, he’d rolled, and he’d hyperventilated with horror, but nothing stopped the steady assault of the cheese. He was going to die, and nothing could stop that.
Until itdidall stop. Suddenly he could move again. His lungs dragged in air, his hands opened, and his ankles released. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t care. He could breathe easily again! He could move! And for long moments, that was all he focused on. But eventually he looked up, and what he saw was so ridiculous that hysteria bubbled up and came out as side-splitting laughs that had everything to do with the joy of being alive.
He was alive, and Bruce was shooting fairy farts.
Eventually Bruce lost patience. It couldn’t be comfortable pushing out those explosive little fae. And though he couldn’t speak as a wolf, hecouldget into Laddin’s face and growl with menace. He had a good growl, one that made the hairs on Laddin’s neck leap to attention, and it was enough to ground Laddin back into the present and calm the hysteria that still careened around inside him.
He held up his hands in surrender. “I don’t know, Bruce. Truly, I’ve got no idea.”
Then a tiny voice cleared his throat. It was hard to tell what got their attention first, the sound or the abruptly rank air. But either way, both man and wolf turned to look at a tiny clump of white lumps that smelled like dairy gone very, very bad.
“We greet you, friend of the True Cheeses,” it said with a very deep bow.
Laddin narrowed his gaze until he could make out a face with dark eyes that looked like mold on the cheese body.
“I am Grand Master Cheesy, the great Fetid Feta. We ask you, Hero of the Bottom Air, is this human friend or foe? If friend, we will cheer his place as your second. If foe, we will destroy him with fermentation bombs and diabolical string mozzarella. What say you, Sir Bottom Air?”
The words didn’t make sense. Bruce first stared at the fairy, then turned to Laddin, his wolf expression managing to be both grumpy and baffled. Laddin wasn’t any help at all. It took all his resources just to hold back the panic. Then Bruce shook himself as if trying to clear his vision.
“They’re pixies,” Laddin said. “Or a fairy of some sort.” He looked at the Grand Master. “Right? You’re pixies?”
The Grand Master did not answer Laddin. His attention was all on Bruce. “Friend?” he repeated. Then he brandished a tiny, moldy fist. “Or foe?”
All around Laddin, the string cheese was getting ready to attack again. He saw them squat like a spring about to release, and panic set all his cells to screaming. “Friend!” Laddin cried out. “Bruce, tell them I’m your friend!”
Bruce didn’t speak because—damn it—he was still a wolf. He probably didn’t remember how to shift back. And now the cheddar cheese boulders were starting to combine into larger ones. Shit. Laddin knew from experience that they were hard as rocks.
“Come on, Bruce. Tell them I’m your friend,” Laddin said.
Bruce yipped once, then sidled up right next to Laddin, twisted his backside, and let fly with another rancid fart. Laddin thought he was making a statement, but the wind from his body was strong enough to send the string cheese rolling away. Tumbling alongside them were bits of parmesan that had come from places best left unmentioned.
And while those cheeses were laughing with great cheer, Laddin was quick to make everything clear to the Grand Cheesy. “That means we’re friends. Great friends!” he said as he wrapped his arms around Bruce’s wolf neck.
Fortunately Bruce dipped his chin in agreement. And then he turned and licked Laddin from chin to temple with a big wet tongue.
