There was a loud yelp, and Ann glanced at the dogs. She immediately turned bright red, and took a few steps away. He’d have to deal with his new friend by himself for the moment. Whiskey whimpered, remembering his days at the pound: He’d always been too pretty for prison.

“Um, is that a threat, Mr. Keyhotee or whoever you are?” Ann could feel her voice getting shrill with nervousness. “Because… Well, you’re going around kicking people and being all vague, and it seems awful suspicious that you know about some complete strangers hallucinating. How do we know you’re not causing them? ...And what do you mean by revenge?” She waved her arms around a bit in a frustrated gesture.