"Christopher?"

I ducked down to look at him. "Yes?"

"I'd like..." he stopped himself. "I can sleep on the hearth if you want."

Of course. I closed my eyes.

"Come up when you want to," I said. "I guess the foot of the bed's more comfortable than the hearth."

His smile was wide and pleased. "Thanks."

I nodded at him and continued up the stairs, hardly bothering to strip off my socks and belt before I crawled into bed still mostly-clothed. After a minute I heard claws clicking on the hearthstones, then on the stairs. The bedsprings creaked as he leapt onto the blankets. There was a contented canine sigh.

"I hope you don't have fleas," I mumbled, but the shock of revelation had exhausted me and the slow, regular beat of my heart pulled me down into sleep much faster than I expected.

Nameless -- Lucas -- no, Nameless -- was still there in the morning, though not on my bed. He was sitting patiently in the shop when I came downstairs, ears pricked forward to listen for my descent.

Without thinking, I rubbed the soft bristling short hair on his head and scratched behind his ears. I would never have touched Lucas so personally without asking permission first, but this was Nameless and he was not afraid to ask or receive, as Lucas had often seemed. There was no diffidence, no awkward shyness in his direct blue gaze.

I brought breakfast back from the cafe for both of us, feeding him by hand just as I would have a week ago, a day ago. He accepted the food from my fingers with a canine smile and a wagging tail. As well as I knew that it was Lucas looking out from behind his eyes, I couldn't find it in myself to treat him differently than I would treat any other dog. Sometimes, now, I think that we treat human beings much less charitably than pets.

He left after breakfast. I watched him trot across the snow and saw the tell-tale refraction of sunlight on the smooth hard ice that formed under his paw-pads, preventing him from sinking too deeply in the powder.

And...nothing changed.

Nor, in the end, do I see why it really should have. Lucas came around more frequently, true, but he had to – now that the snow was melting it was easier for him to come in to town, and the little cluster of chairs and tables in my shop was a natural place for him and his trio of children to do their tutoring. Nameless was often in town as well, still begging food from the cafe, still keeping guard on my porch and surveying the people passing like a king. He was petted and loved, brushed, fed, often hugged and once, somewhat disastrously, hitched to a sled. The result was a handful of small children tipped feet-up in the snow with Nameless barking madly and leaping about nearby, good-naturedly attempting to shake the makeshift harness from his shoulders.

But the dogs wouldn't go near him.

And, true, Lucas was in town more, but at the same time he was not. He was quieter, even less given to human interaction than before. He sat in the back of the cafe when he ate there, never met his students at the school anymore, and spent even more time hiding behind the shelves when other people were in my shop.

We did not discuss what he'd told me, and in some ways I began to wonder if it hadn't been some strange hallucination – until I looked at Nameless and saw the human intelligence in his eyes.

It was actually a warm day in April when Nameless came trotting into the shop on the heels of a customer, accepting the attention and admiration of my younger patrons with gracious dignity. I didn't think much about it, other than to note that the fur he'd shed was becoming conspicuous and I would have to start sweeping it up soon. As usual, the boy and his schoolmates were there, trading insults and waiting for Lucas to arrive. I happened to know that they had school projects due which required book-research and so there was no end of browsing, comparing, and secretive copying-of-text when they thought I wasn't looking. The boy bought two books, then dawdled with the girls Lucas was also tutoring while the rest disappeared.

"Isn't Lucas here?" he asked finally, after having exhausted his interest in literature. I glanced at Nameless, lying on the hearth.

"Were you supposed to meet him today?" I asked.

"Yes – it's a tutoring day. Have you seen him?"

"No," I said, as Nameless lifted his head and stared right at me, his ears flat against his skull. I stared back, confused. He heaved a sigh and rested his head on his paws again, looking disconsolate.

"He's not usually late," the boy continued. "Can we wait here?"

"Oh – wait a minute," I said, when it became obvious that Nameless would be of no help. "He – that's right. He called, I'd forgotten."

It sounded lame, even to me, but I'm not a bad liar and children trust people who aren't their parents. Well. They trust me, anyway.

"He said he wouldn't make it in today – feeling a little under the weather, I guess," I said. "I'm really sorry, I completely forgot."

"That's all right," the boy said easily. "Day off, right?"

"You might as well go home – but I'll know if you tell your parents you finished your homework at tutoring!" I called after them, as they threw their bags over their shoulders and ran down the steps. They passed Michael on his way up the path.

"Afternoon," he said, closing the door behind him. I gave Nameless a look that told him he had better stay right where he was, then turned to Michael.

"Good afternoon, Michael. Thought you'd be at the bank today," I said.

"Sandra's taking my shift. I had to go out to the train station down south of ours," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. He laid down two slick train tickets on my counter – Low Ferry to Chicago on the express, the first weekend in June.