Off Leash (Freelance Familiars Book 1) by Daniel Potter

jump ten to twenty feet high. I should be able to clear it no problem, right? I hunched down and prepared myself to jump, but videos of cats falling on their faces kept materializing in my brain as I gathered myself, including a very unfortunate one that had resulted in a cat being skewered through the leg.
    No need to sweat, or in my case, pant, however. My yard was well furnished with several overgrown trees. Large and straight pines with lots of small branches—nothing I would have rated as a good climbing tree back when tree climbing had been a favorite activity, but maybe good enough now. Hoping that my claws were good for something other than ripping my bed sheets to shreds while panicking, I drifted over to the tree nearest to the stone wall. The trunk looked a bit thin, about five inches wide, but I didn't need to get up very high. After sinking my claws into the soft bark, I caught a whiff of an odd scent. It smelled like cut plastic. Looking closer at the tree, I found that a brown extension cord ran up the length of the trunk, nestled in the folds of the bark and held in place by rusting staples. Peering upwards, I spied a ball of leaves in the upper branches.
    Just how long had Rudy been watching me? And how the hell could somebody who couldn't weigh more than five pounds operate a staple gun? I muttered to myself about having a squirrel burger the next time I saw the bushy-tailed maniac as I climbed, which for all my mental bitching proved to be a trivial affair. That was until I actually looked over the fence and into the Archmagus' yard and nearly fell right off the tree purely from shock.
    "It’s bigger on the inside," voices from Doctor Who exclaimed in my head. They were right. Through a hazy purple tint stretched a garden that belonged in an English manor. Rows of well-trimmed hedges seemed to stretch for miles beyond the fence, forming circular spaces around opulent statues and fountains. I could see the old man's little house but it sat in the distance, nestled under two gnarled oak trees that grew together over it, sheltering it with their combined foliage.
    My fur prickled as I jumped over the fence, and my ears needed to be popped by the time I landed. It had been a much longer drop than I had been expecting, and my paws stung a bit from the impact. Shaking them out, I looked around.
    On this side the fence had become a wall, perhaps thirty feet up, with no helpful trees anywhere near it. The air smelled wonderful—full of the scents of grass and piney hedges. Yet there was an emptiness to it, like a steak missing salt. Maybe it was just the lack of exhaust? I wandered down a cobblestone path, trying to stick to the main route. I gave the statues that lined the walkway a wide berth. Each one depicted a recognizable, but younger, Archibald with a large staff ornamented with a gem the size of my paw. They had a variety of costumes, ranging from business suits to monks’ robes. Most of the Archies were accompanied by a small cat, but some had other animals with them. They seemed likely candidates for the type of statues that come alive and try to kill you when you’re not paying attention. Whenever I stepped close, I saw glints of color flicker over their stone eyes.
    Fortunately the statues did not seem to have any interest in killing me, although I swear a few of them shifted slightly to get a better look. If they were any more than decoration, then apparently the Archmagus had added me to the guest list. Or perhaps they needed the Archmagus alive to function. I kept my eyes peeled for any rips in reality or a tentacled monstrosity skulking around, but the garden seemed determined to keep its sunny disposition in the face of my paranoia. As I continued to trot for what was surely several miles along the hedges, I did not see a single living creature—not a bird, not bug, just plants and statues. As I drew close to the central maze, the hedges themselves animated. The leaves rustled as if something