by Tempe O'Kun
“Hey, watch it!” The dog stirred, crossing her ankles. “My new fur conditioner’s gotta set and I don’t need you wiping it all off.”
Kylie heard her co-worker’s old van fire up in the parking lot, around the back of the building. Resigned to spending the next minute in Cindy’s presence, the otter sighed. “Hey Cindy. Good to see you too.”
The canine remained in her pose. “Shutting down the junk shop early?”
Resentment bubbled up through the otter. “I figure you’re working hard enough for the both of us.”
The cocker spaniel arched a disdainful eyebrow at her, scarcely tilting her head. “Ugh. Unlike some people, my public still appreciates me. Besides, there’s only one way in, so anyone who wants something’ll have to walk past me anyhow…” Her head shook just enough to toss her ears. “It’s called business sense, duh.”
“Glad you’ve got it all figured out.” Glancing at her phone again, Kylie saw time had remained frozen.
“Whatever.” She turned up her own, slightly newer phone, blasting terrier yip-hop from the tinny speakers. “At least our store gets a customer once in a while.”
The otter simmered, trying to think of a scathing comeback. As much as she hated to admit it, Cindy and her assets were probably better than a billboard for business. Then the otter remembered why she was waiting and suddenly stopped caring about the other girl. Shane pulled around from the parking lot in a faded minivan. Without another word to Cindy, she hopped in and they rumbled off toward the highway.
The cat smirked. “Enjoy your little chat with Cindy?”
Kylie buckled up and crossed her arms over her less-impressive breasts. “As much as anyone ever does.”
“I learned in the third grade: just stay out of her way. I don’t know why my sister puts up with her.” Shane adjusted the sun visor as they took the first ramp out of town. “So, no offense, but your show’s a little repetitive.”
“Watching Season One, huh?” She elbowed the cat. “About time.”
“Lots of stock mythological creatures.” Orange paws gripped the steering wheel as he watched the road with mild disinterest. “And, if everybody knows your character gets psychic visions, why don’t they ever listen to her?”
“They don’t really start to believe her until Season Two. They get into a little subplot later where my older sister thinks aliens gave me hallucinations. Give it a chance.” Her limber body wriggled to get more comfortable on the angular seat. “The series finds its groove.”
Shane pushed back his hood for added peripheral vision, then smirked. “When Max shows up?”
Soft joy washed through her. She giggled. “Everything gets better when Max shows up.”
“Apparently.” He rolled his eyes, whiskers quirking in a smile. “This guy’d better be amazing with how much you’re talking him up.”
Almost half an hour passed before a small city rose up around them. They exited near the transit hub. After a brief parking adventure, they headed into the train station. Signs for buses, trains, and a convenience store greeted them, while passersby milled around ignoring them. They found the right platform and the otter felt a minor burst of anxiety well up from her guts.
She bit it back and made small talk. “I wonder what replaced us anyway? I never really found out.”
Shane didn’t look up from his phone. “Frisky Blues.”
Still leaning against the platform railing, she turned to look at him. “Do I want to know?”
“Probably not.” He shrugged and looked up the tracks. “It’s a police drama with mostly foxes, and no one can go ten seconds without having sex, or talking about sex, or making terrible sex jokes. The whole thing sets vulpine social progress back about fifty years.”
“Huh, I wonder what my mom thinks of that…” She double-checked the schedule. “Max should be here any minute.” She straightened her hair, then her vest, then verified none of Cindy’s beauty products had smeared onto her tail. “Do I look okay?”
The feline groaned. “Sheesh, Ky, he’s seen you before.” For the tenth time, he checked out the antique railway maps enshrined on the walls. “You’d have to look pretty nasty for him to get right back on the train.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Seriously, Shane.”
“You’re fine.” He looked her up and down. “Nothing has pooped in your hair. This time.”
“That wasn’t funny!” She punched him in the shoulder. “Pigeons are gross!” Resting her paws on the safety railing, she bounced with anticipation as she looked up the tracks. “I think I see it!”
The train rumbled into the station, brakes squealing to a gentle stop. The doors opened, unleashing a small flood of travelers. A pack of wolf cubs with tired parents in tow exited the train first. A herd of giraffes in pinstripe suits chattered out next, bound for the café. She scanned the crowd for pointy ears, but saw no signs of a husky. She scampered forward and peeked inside the train. Nothing. Where do you hide a two-meter canine anyway?
Maybe he’d gotten off at the stop before and missed the train? But why wouldn’t he have called?
Someone touched her shoulder.
A voice echoed behind her, deep as the sea, gentle as a brook. “Umm, you’re watching the wrong train car.”
“Maxie!” She spun around and pounced on him.
The towering husky laughed, delight shining in his blue eyes. His white-furred arms wrapped under hers and lifted her off the floor, high enough for her to see his swishing tail over his shoulder. Something important fell back into place in her heart. His words rumbled against her through a layer of fluff: “Hi, rudderbutt.”
The otter squeezed him back, face buried against Max’s broad chest and sighed into the solid bulk of his body. She could feel him inhaling, reacquainting himself with her scent, like the hug had been the point of the entire trip. She pulled back to examine him, arms still around his waist. Her gaze danced across his lips and she stomped on the wild urge to touch them. Instead, she looked up into his ocean blue eyes. “I missed you.”
He patted her back, that same slow, warm smile she remembered stealing across his muzzle, making his eyes shine. “You too.”
“You’re looking good.” She tried not to layer too much meaning into the phrase. “Your hair, I mean; you groomed your hair down. Not that the rest of you doesn’t look good too.”
He politely ignored her babbling and ran a paw over his ears. “Yeah, ‘Serge’ kept it a little longer. Kept getting in my eyes.”
Released from the hug, she found herself touching his shirt. “I like it.” She managed to peel her gaze away to look up and down the train. “Come on, let’s grab your other bags and we’ll get going.”
The husky stooped to pick up the big, weathered canvas duffel he’d set down when he’d hugged her. “This is all I brought.”
Kylie blinked. “Maxie, you’re staying for, like, two weeks. You only brought one bag?”
Wide shoulders shrugged. “Bunch of clothes, grooming kit, a book or two, the old netbook they gave me on the show.” That slow smile reappeared. His eyes found hers. “What else would I need?”
The otter slipped around his back to get a good look at the rest of him, then emerged under his opposite arm with a roll of her eyes. She grinned and swept a hand out behind her. “This is Shane—he’s our ride.”
“Hey.” Max extended a paw with an acknowledging nod. “Thanks.”
The feline stepped forward and shook his hand with a shrug. “Kylie’s been bouncing off the walls all day. For the sake of our merchandise, I thought I’d better bring her down here.”
“Yeah, I do have practice at keeping her out of trouble.” The husky chuckled and glanced down at her. “If with only limited success.”
“Hey!” She squeezed an arm around his waist. “You should thank me: without me around, you’d never have any fun.”
He gripped her shoulder, still wagging. He didn’t argue.
The otter breathed a happy sigh, pleased wit
h the introduction; Max had trouble reading new people and Shane could come off as snide. Pleased, she bounced alongside them toward the parking lot.
Max wagged against the seat. Hard to believe he had three whole weeks with Kylie. He couldn’t puzzle out the mood of her feline pal, but no one expected him to understand cats, not even cats.
The dappled light through the forest played across Kylie’s delicate whiskers. She caught him staring and tilted her head toward the window. “I promise there’s a town behind those trees.”
The dog nodded, as if he’d been staring at the trees the whole time. Maybe he’d missed her more than he realized. He watched out the window as they crested a ridge and swung around the edge of Windfall. He sat up a little straighter. “Oh, wow, this is just like the show.”
“Yeah, her mom basically copied the whole town.” Shane swished his tail from the driver’s seat. “I’d take you down Main Street, but we’d run into the credits.”
Laura Bevy had been the executive producer and lead writer on Strangeville. Max had always admired how she could cultivate the chaos of running a television show while somehow keeping track of a teenaged otter daughter. Not that Kylie had been a been a bad kid, just precocious and stubborn—traits that had mellowed out around the time she was legally allowed to vote.
A parade of weathered wooden buildings drifted past. Various styles and eras, but most seemed several decades old. The town lay in a hill-strewn valley among a string of minor mountains, a gap where streams and settlement had collected. He hadn’t spent much time on the East Coast, but it felt like the backdrop for a romance novel about lighthouse keepers. Or maybe lobster fishermen.
They left Windfall behind. A winding, uphill road led on as they passed out of sight of all civilization. Gnarled forest limbs grasped from all sides. The road passed under a wrought iron archway; a rust-bled sign, dangling above missing gates, read “Bourn Manor.” To either side, a crumbling stone wall extended into the woods.
Max turned to her. “Bourn?”
“We used to be the Bourns, but, y’know, stuff happened.” She shrugged a little too fast. “Marriage mostly.”
The husky’s brow furrowed in thought, but he let the evasion slide. She’d tell him if it were important.
The minivan rolled up a long driveway, the mundane crunch of gravel counterpointed by the ornate mishmash of a house. The sprawling manor hunched, ancient and aged, against a backdrop of jagged pines. The back half of the structure seemed to have engulfed a smaller house like some kind of architectural growth. Countless windows watched him from three long-forgotten stories. A walkway ensnared the nearby carriage house, between which struggled a twisty, weed-choked creek. Scabby paint whispered shades of gray. What little sunlight dripped through the trees threaded the ornate filigree of porch railings.
Max hopped out of the van and surveyed the property. “So. I see you’ve moved into a horror movie.”
Slipping to his side, the otter wiggled a rueful shrug. “It’s not as bad inside. We’re reclaiming it, but it’s slow going.” She glanced to the open window of the minivan. “Thanks again, Shane.”
“Sure.” The tabby half-waved. “Talk to you guys later.” The dented minivan chugged off, vanishing down the wooded hill toward town.
The canine squinted toward the roof. “What’s the weather vane? I can’t see from down here.”
She crossed her arms. “It’s a fish.”
He grinned wryly. “Of course it is.”
“Max!” The front door swung open. An older, stouter otter in a seaweed-patterned blouse and beige slacks bobbed down the stairs and swept the dog down into an embrace. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”
Kylie rolled her eyes. “Sheesh Mom, let him get in the door first.”
Wagging, he returned the hug, his arms on her shoulders. “Hi, Ms. Bevy.”
“My wayward child returns.” The middle-aged lutrine set a paw on either wide hip, looking up at him. “And I’ve told you to call me Laura.”
A grin as he shrunk a little. “Yes you have, Ms. Bevy.”
“Well, you’re as proper as ever. And more handsome, if that’s possible. Wouldn’t you say, sweetheart?” The elder Bevy elbowed her daughter.
“Mo-om!” The younger otter squirmed back.
Her mother laughed. “I’d have picked you up myself, but somebody didn’t want to wait for me to drive down and pick her up after work.”
Kylie crossed her arms, tail slipping a little around the canine beside her. “In my defense, I thought he’d have more than one bag and we’d need the van.”
Max shrugged, hefting the bag to his shoulder. Long-dead ancestors of the otters he knew had worn most of the paint from the boards of the porch. The overhang seemed faded, perhaps a bit warped, but sturdy. With another look up the looming house, he decided maybe he’d better see more than just the surface before deciding just how creepy it was.
“C’mon, lemme give you the tour.” The younger otter took him by the arm, leading him up the porch. Its peeling paint crumbled under their feet.
The dog shrugged to Laura, who waved him along.
The front door creaked open, carved and heavy. Beyond lay a foyer, appointed with modern trappings against old wallpaper. The younger otter flourished a bow to the left. “Your room, Monsieur.”
Max set down his bag in the entryway, amazed how far she could bend over. After six months out of their company, Max had forgotten just how much otters differed in construction from dogs. If he tried to bend like that, he’d end up in traction.
After a scant glance at the guest bedroom, she walked on, sweeping a paw to the next room. “Living room. Kitchen’s back that way. Beyond lies wilderness.”
He surveyed the landscape of sheet-draped furniture and dusty boxes. A stack of black-and-white photos revealed otters on their backs around a gramophone, knitting sweaters and mending fishing nets. “You weren’t kidding about the place being full of old stuff.”
“Junk is the preferred term.” The lutrine rolled her eyes. “Legends tell of a garage somewhere back there; not sure I believe it.”
Near the foot of the stairs, the husky slowed to examine a board of ancient keys. Each nail held at least one ring of them. Each ring held at least half a dozen keys, sorted by chronology and rustiness.
“The Keys of Mystery.” Kylie jingled them with a wiggled of her fingers. “We found a drawer in the kitchen with like two hundred years of random keys in it. Whenever we find a door with a lock, it’s like the world’s most tedious game of Perfection. Let’s head upstairs.”
Following her, he set a hand on the railing. It wiggled under his weight.
She glanced back, creaking the old stairs. “Yeah, don’t use that. Mom’s got a contractor lined up to fix it.”
His ears lifted in alarm.
She slumped with a small sigh. “No, there aren’t any other safety hazards.” She led him upstairs and into a tidied bedroom. The occasional box lay along the walls, still waiting to be unpacked. A light smattering of posters splashed color around the space—a tattered tribute to the pop sensation The Sugar Gliders sparkled beside the faded cartoon cast of Majestica and the Defenders of Pegastar. “None that I know about, anyway. The house is older than the telegraph or something ridiculous. Who knows what else is falling apart.”
The canine’s eyes flicked from the fresh phytoplankton-green paint to the new carpet to the wide bed. The room was a weird island of girly modernity in the spooky old house, like someone had spliced ten seconds of puppy cartoons into a horror movie. “Nice. It’s very you.”
“I like to think we have at least this much of the house settled.” Her eyes lit up. “Case in point.” She bellyflopped onto the bed. It sloshed back and forth. Her body rolled over every wave as she rolled to grin up at him.
A roll of his eyes did nothing to fade his smirk. “Waterbed.”
“Waterbed!” She wriggled about on its surface. “You have no idea how nice it is not to sleep on a spring mattr
ess.”
With a shake of his head, he glanced out the window, noting a quaint greenhouse and pond. Kylie’s mother seemed to be carrying some sort of flower pot in that direction. Further out, the forest closed in, scaling the ancient stone wall that ringed the estate. “So your mom…”
“Pounced on the master bedroom, which has a study and will soon have a hot tub.” The otter sat up, rocking back and forth like a buoy on the waves. “It’s all very impressive.”
“And the rest of the upstairs?” He waved a digit around.
“More wilderness.” She grabbed a pillow and propped herself up with it. “Peeked into the basement and attic—same deal. About two thirds of the house we’ve only been in to make sure there aren’t any wild animals.” Her tail swished over the sheets, stirring more ripples. “We’ll explore while you’re here. If you’re into big rooms with spooky cloth-covered furniture, it’s a really good time.”
“This place is decked out like a costume drama.” His paws rested on the window sill. “I keep expecting a butler to materialize.”
She nodded, itching the soft, cream-colored fur of her neck. “Back in the day, between the family and the help, something like twenty people lived here.”
Max glanced around and imagined his extended family stuffed into one building for more than a weekend. “Suddenly, even this house seems too small.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I could handle it either. The property has outbuildings; they mostly lived there.” Her rounded muzzle flashed a smirk. “Mom and I just like you enough to let you stay in the house.”
“Thanks, rudderbutt.” Sitting beside her, his weight sloshed her up with a squawk. He watched her with amusement. Paws out spread, he managed to remain upright on the sloshing surface. “I’ll try not to be in the way.”
“No, please, be in the way.” She gripped his arm. “It’s been super boring. Mom hides out working on projects most days.”
“Oh?” The canine’s ears perked in an instant. “What’s she working on?”