Page 6 of The Fantastic Fluke

So I pulled out my phone and put it as far from the tub as I could get, then sat on the edge. “Okay, so this is probably gonna be a little stressful, but I swear, it’s for the best.” I put a calming hand on the fox’s back and turned the faucet on.

It leaned forward to sniff, and almost immediately started lapping it up, despite it being warm tap water. Not that I thought foxes were big into bottled and chilled Evian, but I sure felt like a self-involved jerk, worrying about getting clawed when the poor fox was probably dehydrated and hungry.

“We’ll get you some food when we’re done here. It’ll be okay. Just, you know, don’t freak out at getting wet, okay?”

Without turning away from where it was still lapping at the stream of water, the fox looked at me in question.

I grabbed the detachable shower head, and slowly, so as not to startle the fox, flipped the switch to move the water flow from the faucet. It continued to lap at empty air for a second, confusedly, and when it realized the water had moved, it went for the shower head.

It didn’t try to dodge the warm spray at all—didn’t seem the least bit put off by being soaked to the skin. Just kept sneaking licks at the water when I got the spout close to its head.

When I figured it was wet enough, I set the shower head in front of it with the pressure turned down low, letting the water burble into the tub so the fox could drink its fill, and reached for my shampoo. It didn’t struggle at all as I soaped it up—soapedhimup, I discovered as I went. He stood there and watched me with fascination when he was finished drinking.

Once, he leaned in and licked at my soapy hand before pulling away, disgustedly licking at his chops to get rid of the flavor of soap. Apparently, foxes didn’t like it any better than humans.

When I picked up the shower head again, the water was properly warm, not just lukewarm, and the fox leaned into the stream, a little like I did after a long tiring day. The water that rinsed away was utterly filthy, and it was tempting to do another round of shampoo, but my hot water heater wouldn’t hold out for it. He’d been so damn good about getting bathed; I sure as hell wasn’t going to force him to deal with cold water.

I flipped off the shower and stood to replace the head in its holder. As I did so, I remembered the other danger of washing Beez’s dog when we were kids, but it was too late. The fox shook himself violently, water flying in every direction, droplets spattering against every wall.

Good thing bathrooms were made to withstand a certain amount of water. Also, good that I was between the fox and my phone, so the water that might have ruined it was instead all over me.

That sucked, maybe, but better a soaked suit than a destroyed phone.

Besides, it was hard to complain when he hadn’t put up any kind of fuss. No howling or mauling or biting, so it was an overall win.

I grabbed one of the towels and gave him a quick rub down, but the shake had done the trick pretty darn well.

“Okay, buddy, first you stay here while I shower, then it’s peanut butter and jelly time. Sound good?”

As though he understood me, the fox gave a lazy yawn, stretched, and sat on the bathmat to wait.

Yeah, I couldn’t lie, not even just to myself. I was always jealous of mages who found their familiars. Whoever belonged to foxy was one lucky asshole.

Chapter Two

I’d never woken nose to nose with a fox before, but apparently foxy wasn’t impressed with my phone alarm blaring loud music at the break of dawn. He stood over me, my phone in his mouth and accusatory expression on his face.

“Sorry, foxy. I know it sucks, but I gotta get to work.”

That was when I remembered my initial problem with the notion of having a dog. Fox. Whatever. I couldn’t take a fox to the shop. I sure as hell couldn’t leave him alone in my house. He’d probably pee on my stuff and howl until the neighbors called in a noise complaint, or hell, maybe break a window and leave.

The thought of cleaning up pee was annoying, but the thought of him leaving was just... I sat up and wrapped my arms around his neck, taking my phone out of his mouth and flipping off the music. For a moment, I just sat there, head leaned down against him. He licked my cheek and whined worriedly, like if the incessant chatter I spent all the previous evening throwing at him had stopped, something was clearly wrong.

I sighed as I sat back and scratched his head. “Even if you don’t pee on my stuff, you’d be alone and trapped and hungry if I left you here. That’s no good.”

I didn’t sell food in the shop, not even chocolate bars or other impulse stuff right at the register, so it wasn’t like people could call him a health code violation.

I stretched and pulled myself out of bed, padding out to the kitchen, where I found the remnants of the bread, peanut butter, and a jar of the jam Beez and I had made from my backyard raspberry bushes over the summer. Well, Mom’s raspberry bushes. She’d had a whole beautiful garden, but I hadn’t ever bothered fixing it up when I moved into the house. It was just wild with mint, raspberries, and blackberries, all of which grew well without human hands there to cultivate them. There were other herbs and oddities to be found if one searched, but I didn’t spend a lot of time on it.

There were four slices of bread left, including the heel. Eh, it was enough. I’d eaten sandwiches with heels before, and I’d do it again.

I grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer and made two sandwiches. With the flat end of the spoon, I cut foxy’s breakfast into half a dozen pieces, put both sandwiches on plates, and took them to the table.

Foxy hopped up into one of the chairs, and when I set his plate in front of him, he delicately picked up one piece of his sandwich between his front teeth and ate it, taking a full thirty seconds afterward to lick all the peanut butter off his teeth and the roof of his mouth. Then he went for another.

It was cute, but I had to buy some dog food and see if he’d eat that. A thorough internet search said that grains weren’t good for foxes, so we needed to cut out the bread. Since I hadn’t gotten a familiar, I didn’t know what kind of nutrition they needed, but it seemed reasonable that it would be the same as any fox. He was imbued with magic, so he’d live a lot longer than a normal fox, but that didn’t mean he should go around eating cotton candy and pie all day.

“If I agree to take you to the shop, you have to be good there. No knocking over shelves or gnawing on books or anything like that. Got it?”

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