It was the biggest transformation spell recorded, they said, once they worked out it was a spell at all. Its effects were felt around the world, although Britain was the definite focal point. The larger packs were all affected; Mrs Pennelegion stepped down, partly due to injury, partly in shame. The main hunting organisations soon disbanded.

The Great Hellhound Rebellion they called it, to start with; going on the theory that puppy-dolls transformed themselves by willfulness. It was an independent journalist who first had the idea that it was abused puppy-dolls that were affected. The name had stuck by that point.

I sat on the window seat; over the moonlight grounds, I could just make out the wood where the local hellhounds lived. That had been an adjustment for people; packs of demonic creatures in parks and run-down buildings. Eventually people realised that, unless you went looking for trouble, the hounds would leave you alone. Occasionally, they would even help; a lost hill-walker, a panicked kidnappee.

Only six deaths; a price worth paying, I think, though I do not blame you if you disagree. Of course, one of those was my mother. Evelyn had been the more sensible of the two, locking themselves into a cupboard while chaos raged. But Genevieve’s temper was up; she grabbed a horsewhip and went to tame them. She was torn to pieces.

Evelyn was left a sizable sum in the will, but most of the estate was mine. Even though I had barely spoken to my mother in an age, she assumed I would take over from her. I suppose I did, in a way.

Greengrave Hall was empty for a while. I would have let Evelyn stay, but she had no wish to.

Veronika went back to the US, pleased with her anti-Briton action. Me and Wren talked about the degree to which we were pawns, but came to the conclusion that ‘subs’ was a better word for it. We emailed sometimes.

After the American billionaire’s untimely death, we found ourselves needing to move out of the cottage. I was doing my final exams, and the simplest thing was for us to move into the Hall. It was a bit silly, though; us taking up four rooms of an impossibly large mansion.

“Babe, what are you doing?” asked Wren, padding up beside me.

“Dunno,” I said. “Thinking, I guess. Unintended consequences.”

“Oh babe,” said possibly the greatest and most humble witch who had ever lived. She hugged me.

“It’s alright,” I said.

The guilt was not the guilt I expected. Maybe I ought to care more about the six who died? But I don’t. What I didn’t expect was the reaction of people towards puppy-dolls. Most of them hadn’t been affected by the spell, after all; they had largely content doll lives.

I ought to have expected the reaction, I suppose. Nobody trusted them any more; the most adorable puppy-doll was—in their view—ready to turn into a hellhound. Some witches just kicked them out, others looked to sell them cheaply, many just kept them, but regarded them suspiciously. 

So as a newly qualified witch, and also Viscountess of Greengrave, that was how the Greengrove Sanctuary for Puppy-dolls came to be. Yes, I changed from -grave to -grove, largely to piss off my mother, but also because I had a lovely nature witch here, and nature witches live in groves.

Apart from our few rooms, the sanctuary takes up most of the house. It employs a lot of staff; mostly trainee witches. We take care to avoid the ones who purely want to fuck the puppy-dolls, but, at the same time, they are dolls, so using them is important.

Of course, we can’t look after every puppy-doll; we work with other charities around the country. Many abandoned pups join the hellhounds, which seems fine to me, but makes most people nervous. People don’t like wild magic, I suppose. I think Britain has been tame for too long.

As a viscountess, I mostly do the PR side of things. I’m a tiny bit jealous when I see staff in a puppy pile. 

“Is it time to get up?” said Sophie, trotting over. It had gotten a lot better with its speech.

“No, it’s half three in the morning,” said Wren. “It’s butch introspection hours.”

“Oh.” Sophie maneuvered so that it could kiss both of us, and then climbed—a bit awkwardly—into my lap. I patted its head.

“If you all get out of bed, it gets fucking cold,” complained Enoki. It scurried over. “My turn on the lap,” it said.

“Excuse me,” said Wren. “I think, as her wife, it’s my turn.”

I knew what they were doing, but it still worked.

“Okay, okay,” I said, “let’s go back to bed.” 

I stood, placing Sophie on its feet, and picked up my wife.

“Oh no,” whispered Wren, “I’m being kidnapped by a fearsome brute.”

“That’s Viscountess Brute, to you.”