Page 11 of The Fantastic Fluke

The first time he’d tried, he’d been giving me a long-winded speech about how he expected me to continue running the shop as he had before his death, because it wasn’t really my shop, it was his. He’d turned, mid-tirade, and flopped into the couch, except instead of sitting down, he’d gone right through the thing. He’d sat there, stunned, up to his chest in couch.

I’d had to work so hard to keep from laughing I’d ended up having a coughing fit.

I still wasn’t sure how he could walk on the ground but not sit on the couch, but the image of him sitting there, half inside the couch, mouth hanging open in shock, was a gift.

“How was it?” Beez asked, reminding me of her presence. “Anyone show up?”

I glanced over to make sure he wasn’t looking and gave her a minute head shake. She quirked a brow at me, then turned to look over at the couch.

She knew I saw ghosts—that wasn’t the kind of thing you kept from your best friend. She did not, however, know that my father’s ghost had taken up residence in his shop. Ghosts were incredibly rare, so the ability didn’t come up often.

As we watched, foxy sauntered over to the couch, hopped up onto the middle cushion, and stared at my father.

“Why is there a fox in the shop?” she finally asked.

“He found me on the way home last night. Or I found him, or something like that.” I couldn’t tell Beez I’d interrupted someone kicking him. She’d want to hunt them down and kick them in an alley. More importantly, then my father would hear the story, and I didn’t want any more lectures on my wasteful sentimentality.

“He’s really clean for a wild animal,” she observed, wandering over to the couch to look down at him. He panted and stared up at her with his best liquid chocolate eyes, and I watched my best friend melt.

I followed her over and scratched his head when he leaned into me. “He’s a familiar, I think. The FRO said they hadn’t had any familiars reported missing, but he’s got to be.”

Beez took a breath as though she would say something, but when I looked up at her, she gave me a smile and shook her head. “Guess you’ve got a new roomie, then.”

“You don’t think that’s ridiculous?”

She held out her hand in front of him, and he leaned in to sniff it, then delicately licked her palm, once. She watched him speculatively but didn’t say anything for a long time. When she did, she shook her head and looked up at me, clear subject change imminent. “Seems like a good thing to me. What about the shop?”

I cocked my head, and my father turned his own head sharply, staring at her. “What about the shop?”

“Oh come on, Sage. This place so isn’t you. You need a change. At least a change from shiny bestsellers, and all thrillers and sci-fi all the time.” She waved at the enormous mystery section, and before I could point out that mysteries and thrillers were different, she went on. “You don’t even have a romance section. Fantasy. Young Adult. At least expand the shop’s repertoire.”

That was a nice thought. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the mysteries and thrillers and such. Those were our bread and butter, but my own tastes ran to the things Beez was suggesting, and she knew it. I loved the shop, and there was no doubt working with books was my ideal life. I even liked some of the customers.

“There’s not really room for anything new,” I hedged, bracing myself for an explosion from my father. It didn’t come, so I glanced over at him. He had completely dismissed her, and in fact, our entire conversation. He was over pretending to face the new release rack by the counter, fingers running just over the corners of books he couldn’t actually touch anymore. “But maybe I should.”

Okay, yeah, it wasn’t likely. I didn’t want to deal with him yelling at me for eternity. But it would be nice to be taken seriously.

He snorted and didn’t even turn to look at me, supremely confident I would never defy him.

I clenched my jaw and glared at him, till a soft hand on my shoulder grabbed my attention. “Oh honey, I’m sorry. I’m being such an asshole. Just because I hated him doesn’t mean he wasn’t your father.” She wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug, and I put my arms around her in return, reflexively.

It took me a moment to realize she’d mistaken my anger for sadness. They weren’t things I’ve ever imagined looking alike, but apparently it was close enough. “I’ll think about it,” I promised her.

My father scoffed, loudly so that I would hear him.

I was still hugging Beez a moment later when he said, in a panicky tone, “What do you think you’re doing, you wretched little beast?”

I let go of Beez and turned in time to see the new release rack tip over onto its front, books spilling everywhere.

There, on top of the rack, stood foxy. He stared at my father, and I swear to the gods, the expression on his face was outright challenge. Then he looked at me and Beez and ducked his head as though embarrassed.

Beez gave a triumphant smile. “See? Your new friend agrees. The shop needs a makeover.”

My father spun to glare at her, or yell at me, or, well... I don’t know what he intended, because I ignored him. I went over to the counter, grabbed a length of receipt paper and a sharpie, wrote out, “out for lunch, back at one p.m.” on it, and went to tape it to the door.

“Sage?” she asked, trailing after me and then opening the glass door and staring at the note in astonishment. “You never close for lunch. Your father would have killed you.”

“My new friend needs some stuff from the pet store, and they’ll be closed by the time I’m done for the night.” I motioned foxy over and he came, panting and looking exceptionally pleased with himself. “Besides, it’s like you said. The shop isn’t my father’s anymore. It’s mine.”

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