Page 7

SEVEN

I dumped the contents of my bag on the kitchen table, trying not to wince at just how much of my own money I spent on firesteel rods. But it was all for a good cause because if I cut Obie's nails and accidentally set him on fire, that would be a massive issue.

So, time to experiment and find out what I was working with.

I grabbed the first firesteel rod and a regular nail cutter for dogs.

I positioned the blades over the rod and squeezed the handle as hard as I could.

Not that it did anything. While it didn't create sparks, it only made the thinnest ridge.

Obie's nails might not be as thick as this but they were pretty chunky, so that was likely not going to work.

My next attempt involved a small saw made especially for metals, but the first bit of friction created a shower of sparks. They fell onto the table and sizzled out, which was a relief and not something I thought of before.

I better not set our flat on fire.

Before I could continue, my phone lit up to signal that a new email had arrived. I grabbed it, excited to see the name of the IREMA contact on it. The email came with a single record and lots of excuses about not being able to divulge more before the case had gone to court.

As frustrating as that was, I was glad to have something .

I was not prepared to stare at a picture of a much younger Obie when he first arrived at the private collection.

His ears were too big for his head and he looked just as scared and dazed.

My heart broke from seeing him like that and I couldn’t understand how anyone saw a vulnerable animal like him and decided to put a tight collar on him and chain him up.

Poor Obie.

There wasn’t any information about where he came from which was pretty telling in itself. Poachers and illegal traders didn’t like paper trails so the lack of one meant he likely didn’t come from another collection.

The picture was years old which meant he had spent most of his life in captivity, no doubt having a horrible time.

That made me all the more determined to make sure we could look after him properly.

He deserved to experience what it felt like to be cared for.

If only there was a way to explain that to him but there wasn’t.

Jabbing him with a syringe was likely going to scare him but things had to get worse before they could get better unfortunately.

He needed these additional blood tests done before we could help him.

The same was true for his nails which was why I researched ways to cut them for the remainder of the evening.

Regular cutters didn't do the job, and a file or saw took way too long.

An electrical saw might do the trick, but all of it created lots and lots of sparks.

Soaking the firesteel in water helped a little, but even one spark could ignite Obie.

This was some impressive material, and if I ever needed to make a fire in the wild, I would totally use a firesteel. But as impressive as it was, it was frustrating too.

How was I going to cut Obie's nails without setting everything ablaze?

I grabbed the wool scarf that I got from a thrift store. It smelled funky but it was supposed to be fire resistant, so maybe if I used it to catch the sparks before they could ignite Obie, we could get somewhere.

I wrapped the firesteel rod with the scarf and grabbed the saw, only now realising that this prevented me from actually seeing where to cut. Frustrated, I grabbed the bolt cutters and cut through the wool and rod alike. Small sparks jumped up but they fell onto the scarf and sizzled out right away.

Maybe instead of covering Obie's nails, I could wrap his legs with wool to prevent them from catching fire. That wouldn't stop any of our clothing from catching fire, but that could be handled.

Yes, this could work.

The sound of the door opening made me look up, and Tamara came in with a handful of friends behind her. She looked surprised to see me and smiled as she tipped her shoes off.

I counted three friends, which was definitely three people too many for my preference.

Tamara gave me a sheepish smile. "Hey, Charlotte. Didn't realise you would be here. Planning a camping trip?"

"No, I'm trying to figure out a way to cut this firesteel without it sparking everywhere," I said, showing her the metallic rods.

"The hellhound?" she guessed.

I nodded. "You didn't tell me you had friends over. Again."

One of the men touched Tamara's waist in a way that suggested he was more than just a friend. He kissed her cheek, nodded at me as he walked past, and opened the fridge like he lived here.

The clinking of glass bottles left no doubt that they were here to drink and Tamara's friends were always rowdy. Not exactly how I wanted to spend my evening.

"Are you joining us for a drink?" Tamara asked.

"I think you know I won't." I pushed all of my things back into my bag. "I think I'll see what Felicity is up to."

"You don't have to leave."

"No, it's fine. I'm just not in the mood for a party," I said, sighing when one of her friends turned the music on loud. They were inconsiderate guests, that much was sure, but it wasn't like I could stop them. This was just the downside of having to share a flat.

Luckily, I had somewhere else to go, although the irony of being a guest in Felicity's shared accommodation didn't escape my notice.

If only I had my own space. Or maybe one I could share with just Felicity?