So on this particular and in every way unremarkable Tuesday, the wondrous and magical book, with ever-changing text and a built-in alarm system, was gathering dust in the bottom drawer of her desk—the only drawer that locked. She still recognized its value, but simply couldn’t maintain a high level of enthusiasm in the face of no perceivable progress. The book had finally lost its proper pronoun status in Lizzie’s mind. A perusal of her log would show the last entry dated a good two weeks previous. Life had intervened in the guise of bills, work required to pay bills, dog walks, and the occasional margarita night with her girlfriends. So, while not forgotten, the book and magic was far from the fore of Lizzie’s mind.

She certainly wasn’t thinking of magic books as she hushed her frantically barking dogs that evening. Her dogs weren’t big barkers, so she got up with some curiosity to see what all the fuss was about. Their attention was focused intently on the backyard. She squinted, looking out into the darkness. Her yard butted up against several acres of undeveloped land. Not a public green space, unfortunately, so the land wasn’t maintained. Just a property with overgrown grass, and trees scattered throughout.

Lizzie brought the dogs with her as she stepped out into the yard. She lived alone and was accustomed to handling minor household and neighborhood upsets, but the dogs were a comfort and made her feel a little braver. Not that she thought there was a burglar. Ha. Laughable. She quickly decided that turning on the backyard lights might be a good idea.

As she was turning back to the house, she saw a large animal loping away. She didn’t get a clear view, since she saw him through the wrought iron bars of her fence. But he didn’t look scared or in a hurry. Coyotes were bold and not particularly scared of humans—just cautious. So Lizzie thought it must have been a coyote. A large coyote…

At least it wasn’t a burglar, she thought, as she headed into the house. Silly to have worried over nothing.

Later that night, Lizzie lay in bed thinking about the coyote she’d seen. This was Austin. Central Texas was overrun with coyotes. They trolled suburban neighborhoods looking for easy prey, like neighborhood cats, small dogs, even garbage. Lizzie knew all about coyotes. Anyone living in Austin for very long could spot the leggy, spare creatures.

But the more she thought back, the more she questioned her conclusion. What she’d seen was more than three times the size of a coyote and much more densely furred. In that moment, standing in the darkness and with poor visibility, her mind had leaped to the most likely answer—coyote. But the animal she saw had looked much more like the neighbor’s Malamute, Spencer, than a coyote.