Page 8 of Toto’s Tormented Trio

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push away the images forming in my head. I don't even know what happened to her, but my imagination is doing a damn good job of filling in the blanks.

"She's okay, Nick." Toto's voice finally breaks through the ringing in my ears, and I realize she has her arms wrapped around me. "Breathe. Dottie's safe. They found her."

I drag in a shaky breath and blink, finally taking in my surroundings. We're in the kitchen, sitting around the table. The last thing I remember clearly is the eight wizards confronting us outside the workshop. They turned out to be detectives, but whatever they said after telling us about Dottie barely registered.

Toto continues murmuring reassurances as she holds me, and slowly, her words sink in. Dottie's safe. She's alive. She's going to be okay.

As the panic recedes, it occurs to me how good it feels to be held. I've gotten through many a lonely night imagining myself in these very arms, but it was a lot sexier than this moment.

"Mr. Chopper," the detective with the thick salt-and-pepper mustache says. What did he say his name was? Pullier?

He sits across from me at the kitchen table—the same table I carved by hand over a decade ago. The one we used for countless game nights and family dinners back when Dottie lived here full time. Granger still makes us sit down and eat together on Sundays, but it was never the same after Dottie left. Life has gotten harder and harder with each passing year.

"Why would Griselda Westing and Vera Eastwood attack Dottie?" Detective Pullier asks slowly, making me wonder if he's repeating the question.

I don’t remember anything after they told us Dottie was attacked tonight. Of course, I know Griselda Westing. She and Vera went to school with Dottie and Toto, and Griselda has been hanging around Vera for as long as I can remember.

But Vera?

Just hearing her name sends the same sick twist of fear and revulsion through me it always has. Vera is cruel, vindictive, and generally unpleasant to be around.

Except my reaction has never felt entirely rational. It’s deeper than dislike. Her name brings a rush of feelings I can’t attach to any clear memory. Fear. Anger. The instinctive need to protect the people I love.

And I’m not the only one. Leo and Granger have always had the same inexplicable reaction to Vera, even though none of us can explain why. The thought of her anywhere near Dottie makes my blood run cold.

I glance at Leo, who gives a barely perceptible shake of his head. Whatever fragments we remember about Vera, he doesn’t want me sharing them with the detectives.

"Mr. Chopper?" the detective prompts, pulling my attention back to him.

I shake my head, but his eyes narrow, clearly expecting more. I scramble for something—anything—to say that might finally get him to leave.

"Vera and Griselda hated Dottie when we were in school," Toto says, coming to my rescue.

She’s standing close to me, her arm wrapped around my back, squeezing me against her body. Since I'm sitting, the movement presses my head against the side of her breast.

Any other day, I would find the willpower and resolve to remove myself from a situation like this, especially with Granger and Leo in the room. We made a pact years ago that Dottie's best friend was off limits, but tonight, I'm weak, and instead of pulling away, I find myself soaking up her comforting embrace.

Being close to Toto is like sitting by a fire on a cold, rainy day. She's warm and comforting, and she smells like caramel, vanilla, and everything good in the world.