Page 10 of The Fantastic Fluke

Maybe it was the fact that I’d never seriously considered getting a pet and now had a full grown fox to worry about, but I realized sometime in the middle of the morning inventory, that not half a block down the street was a pet shop. It was a tiny independent place, much like my dad’s shop—like most of the businesses on the street, in fact.

We were half a mile from the local university, and our little area was full of independent shops funded by half broke college students. It was why a few years ago, I’d started keeping a ready supply of cheap used copies of the classics, to draw in students from the university. Or at least, the books that universities called classic.

Dad hadn’t liked it, had railed about how we weren’t a used bookstore, but he’d shut up pretty fast when the students who’d come for beat up two-dollar copies of Ulysses stayed for full price novels. He still hadn’t let me make other changes, like cutting out some of the slow-moving hobby magazines in favor of graphic novels, or enlarging the sitting area and adding tables, but it had been something.

Ironically, he’d said if we attracted too many college students, they would sit around and read our books but not pay for them. Maybe that was only okay if the deadbeat was someone he personally liked. The truth seemed to be that he didn’t want customers under thirty.

The pet shop was a tiny place called Fetch; its understated sign bearing only a hint of its purpose with the silhouette of a dog. I wasn’t sure how I had missed it before that day, since it was right next to a Chinese restaurant where I regularly grabbed takeout.

Instead of dwelling on my lack of attention, I pulled out my phone and looked them up online. They didn’t have a website, but their number was right there...

But I needed to contact the registration office first, didn’t I? I wasn’t going to go to a pet store and buy foxy a bunch of stuff if he was going to be gone in a few hours. It wasn’t like doing the western inventory had been an attempt to put off the inevitable. I took a deep breath, closed the internet app, and opened a new search for the local familiar registration office phone number.

Foxy whined and pressed against my leg, so I scratched his ear and considered putting it off till tomorrow. But I couldn’t be selfish and do what I wanted. I needed to do the right thing, even if it did make my chest tight and breath thin.

“I know, buddy. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll find your mage.”

He huffed at me and leaned harder, the extra weight almost knocking me down because I was distracted by someone picking up the other end of the line. “Familiar Registration, how can I help you this morning?”

“I, um, I found a familiar.” The words stuck in my throat, almost refusing to come out. As soon as she knew I had foxy, someone was going to want him. They were going to take him away.

“Wonderful,” she said, unexpected warmth in her voice. “We don’t require appointments, so you just need to come down and fill out a little paperwork, and—”

“Oh, oh no, I mean I found someone else’s familiar. He’s... lost?”

That seemed to stump her. “You found... Just a moment, let me check something.”

A loud, tinny instrumental version ofThe Girl from Ipanemastarted playing on the line, and foxy reared back, staring at the phone as though it had wronged him. Which was fair, really. Hold music was an abomination.

About the time I realized she hadn’t even asked what kind of familiar foxy was, she came back on the line. “We haven’t had any reported abductions or losses, young man. I assure you, if you’ve found a familiar, it’s entirely yours. You just have to come down, fill out the paperwork, and pay the three-hundred-dollar licensing fee.”

I cringed. I’d remembered the fee being high, but that was as much as I paid monthly for all my utilities combined.

But wait, forget that. No one was looking for foxy. I grinned down at him and scratched his ears. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be sure and do that as soon as I can.”

“You’ll need someone over eighteen to sign off,” she told me, “so make sure to bring your mom or dad.”

“Um, right. Yeah.” I hung up the phone and looked at foxy. “Okay, I know I don’t have a deep voice, but I don’t sound twelve, do I?”

Foxy gave a little whuff, like he was laughing at me.

I needed to go over to the pet store after all, I realized. I’d have to get a bowl, and food, and... well hell, what did I need to take care of a fox?

The bell over the door chimed, so I didn’t have time to go back to researching. Probably not a great idea to research it where Dad could catch me, anyway. He’d never let me hear the end of it, slacking off when I should be working.

As though he’d heard me thinking about it, he was glaring at me when I came out of the stacks, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. I pretended to ignore him.

“You look great,” my best friend announced as she pulled herself up to sit on the counter. She was five foot three, so it was an impressive feat. As always, she left her shoes sitting behind on the floor. Her pin-straight black hair was getting a little shaggy, not quite in the usual pixie cut her mother so despised. “I did not expect you to look like a million bucks the day after the funeral, even if your dad was a dick.”

It was impossible to hide my smile at that, but I ducked my head and tried. Beez would have said the same even if she’d known my father’s ghost was standing three feet away from her. It was who she was: honest to a literal fault and blunt as hell.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral. I mean, I didn’t want to make it, but I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

“It’s okay, Beez. I doubt he would have wanted you there anyway.” Also, she appreciated the same blunt honesty in return. Sometimes I was even good at giving it. Not usually, but sometimes. Like when I knew she wouldn’t give a damn what my father thought of her.

My father, meanwhile, rolled his eyes and scoffed aloud, then marched over to glare at the sofa, all the while muttering about wasteful sentimentality.

He hadn’t figured out how to sit down as a ghost yet.

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