by Tempe O'Kun
Doubt flicked across his brow and Kylie had to suppress a pang of guilt. Keeping the truth from this poor dog, her closest friend, felt wrong. The moment passed quickly, though, and he bade her continue with a nod.
“C’mon.” She took him by the wrist and tugged him down the hall. “Tour’s this way.”
He heeled, paws in his pockets. “What’s next?”
“Next…” With a paw swept to either side, she gestured to the towering shelves all around. “…is the library.”
The husky’s muzzle tilted up as he surveyed the countless volumes. Even with about a third of the collection missing, the two-story library made for an impressive sight. “Wow.”
“Comprised entirely of deep-sea fishing guides.”
He shot her a questioning glance.
She stuck out her tongue. “Of course I’m lying, you dope.”
He snorted with amusement.
They picked their way through stacks of old leather-bound books. At least some were trashy romance novels, Kylie knew, as Mom’s smutty reading habits had a long tradition in the family. “We’re not sure where some of the books went. I figure some of the relations took their favorites when they moved out.”
Max nodded and continued looking around. Padding to the far window, he looked down to see a sloping roof of glass. “Your mom’s greenhouse?”
“Yeah, it’s the old sun parlor.” Kylie peered down at the lush plants, including at least one stout pineapple. “The gardening’s good for her. Mom needs a hobby that isn’t identical to work.”
Down the stairs, and through more library. The husky wagged. “We really should check through all this.”
“Lots of exploring left to do.” She grabbed his paw and led on. “I didn’t even show you the ballroom. Or the pool.”
His ears rose. “Another pool?”
“The meeting pool, not the one out back. It’s actually on the other side of this wall.” She rapped a knuckle on the fading wallpaper. “They sealed it off from the library because they didn’t want the books molding.”
They cut through a foyer, with a pair of cracked leather shoes standing guard at the door, probably her great uncle’s; the second-to-last Bevy to live here. Kylie’s mom had been the last. Then she left for twenty years.
Towers of fresh cardboard boxes signaled their return to civilization. They squeezed through the piles into the dining room, which led to what they’d been using as the front door. “This little section of the house we’ve reclaimed is actually the original part.” She tugged Max down by the drawstrings of his sweatshirt and brushed stray cobwebs off his ears. “One of my ancestors worked as an architect for years. He designed the town hall.”
“Cool.” The husky straightened with a wag. “My ancestors mostly designed barns.”
“We have one of those around, somewhere.” She smirked up at him. “If you get homesick.”
His stomach growled.
“How are you hungry again?” She squawked, poking his firm belly through the soft hoodie. “We ate like an hour ago!”
“You ate an hour ago. I ate at the crack of dawn like a normal person.” He gave a polite shrug. Another rumble. “Besides, I’m not as efficient as you.”
“We can head into town for lunch.” The otter tilted her head in the direction of the family room. “Let’s see if Mom’s busy.”
They passed Laura in the living room, pacing with phone in paw. “If we do novels, they can’t just be watered-down episodes. I don’t care who you have writing the forward. Wait, who? I thought he was dead. I don’t care if the studio trusts him—I don’t trust the studio. I made enough concessions to get it on the air in the first place.” The elder otter gave them only a passing wave before grumbling back into the phone. “Why would I want pop stars reading the audiobook? Have you explained they can’t auto-tune?”
Kylie suppressed a giggle, then waved to get her mother’s attention and gestured to indicate they were stepping out. She snatched up her house keys from kitchen counter and led Max out the front door.
As they left the house, Max stopped, ears rotating toward a hammering above. He looked up, twisting his head toward a beaver waddling around the roof between plastic-wrapped stacks of shingles.
The otter touched his arm. “Contractor. I think his name’s Joe. Mom’s having the roof fixed.”
Max raised a corner of his mouth at her. “The great reclamation continues.”
“You have no idea.” A roll of her eyes translated down her lithe form. “Nobody’s actually lived here for close to thirty years, and some parts of the house have been empty even longer.” She led him down the driveway, toward town.
The husky trotted after her. “You should consider getting a car. Your mom’s not always around, and you can’t just hoof it to town in the winter.”
Kylie stopped, spun to face him, and squirmed a little bob of excitement. “Actually, I’ve got a car.”
His ears popped up. “Since when?”
“Since we moved here and I claimed it. Mom said I could keep it if I paid to fix it.” With a proud twitch of her whiskers, she led him over the creek that ran between the house and garage. Crunching across the gravel, she hauled the carriage house doors open, stirring calf-high swirls of dust. Inside, tarps shrouded the ghosts of forgotten hobbies. Here and there a fishing net or a mess kit peeked out, void of context. In the center of the clutter, a seafoam-green machine perched like a frog. It gleamed like one too. Its headlights watched with wet interest.
Max’s head tilted at the vehicle. “What is it?”
Her dainty paws wrung with glee. “A car! An excellent car.”
Head tilting further, he squinted at it. “…What else is it?”
The lutrine draped herself over the hood to run her paws over its shiny surface. “A boat.”
His paws spread at the machine as he tried to grasp the concept. “Okay, so a pedal car crossed with a paddleboat—”
“It has a motor!” With a lash of her tail, the otter popped up. “It’s an excellent car.”
“You mom isn’t just making you drive it because it’s funny?”
She crossed her arms and cast him a narrow glance. “No.”
He tipped a claw at her, his grin teasing. “And you’re sure it’s not a toy?”
“It’s the ultimate car!” Her fists propped on her waist. “It drives on land and water. Amphicars are very popular with otters.”
“I have to admire good marketing.” He threw an arm around her shoulders. “It does float, right?”
“I assume so.” She stroked her whiskers. “My aunt almost never parks her Schwimmwagen on dry land, and that’s a similar design.”
“You haven’t tested it?” His gaze traced over the craft, finding a series of maritime registration numbers along the front fenders.
“I only just got it fixed!” A sigh escaped her muzzle. “It just sat here under a tarp for thirty years, so it needed a new battery and hoses and stuff.”
“And tires.” He prodded the fresh, firm rubber with the toe of his shoe. “You’re sure it was worth the money?”
The lutrine crossed her arms. “Mom insisted it’d be a waste to buy a new car when I have this one sitting around.”
“Your mother always did like to embarrass you.” He rounded the aft of the car. Steering foils with floats to keep them level graced the hubcaps. Two full-size propellers hung under the rear bumper. A little banner with a kracken crest drooped from a miniature flag pole. “So this is the only car to actually need tail fins?”
“Not sure those do anything. They’re not in the manual.” She reached in the window and pulled a booklet from the passenger seat. “Comes with an anchor, though.”
She snatched a harpoon gun from where it leaned against the wall, still loaded with a tarnished steel spear. “It even had this in the back seat.”
The husky looked it over. “In case of sharks?”
“Of course. What else would you need a harpoon gun for?” She set the
weapon back down on the dusty workbench. “And if you spill a drink, you’re supposed to keep spilling until you activate the bilge pump.”
Max nodded in approval. “That does reduce our odds of drowning a little.”
She shoved the manual into his paws and drew the key from her pocket. “Hop in.”
He offered a genial shrug and followed her order into the car.
The otter threaded her tail through the hole in the seat and popped the key into the ignition. After a few turns over and considerable willpower, the car fired up. She tugged it into gear and gripped the wheel as the machine puttered forward. A smile spread around her muzzle as they exited the carriage house. “Isn’t it great?”
Folded up in the passenger’s seat, Max poked his head out the window to watch as they crested the moaning bridge over the house-creek. “Great.”
The little car grumbled downhill, rattling toward civilization. “The walk to town isn’t bad, either, if you cut through the woods. It’s how I get to work whenever it’s nice out.”
“But you can’t drive this convertible in the winter either.” The husky gave a coy nod. “Further evidence your mother only wants you to drive it to embarrass you.”
She stuck her tongue out at him and steered toward town.
His best friend’s fur shone in dappled sunlight. She looked better now then she ever had on set. Less harried. Nowhere to be but here.
Kylie caught his gaze. “Well, what’d ya think?”
The dog shrugged, enjoying the breeze through his whiskers, tinged with growth, gravel, and gasoline. “I wanted to smell the local scents. I guess I can’t complain.”
Forest rose around them, draped with moss and feathered with ferns. Sunlight pierced where it could, but shade hung from the canopy. The road twisted and turned just as much as the game trails they passed, though Kylie seemed to know her way well enough. “Some early settlers found the ground around here all ripped up after a big storm or something, and it had exposed a ton of silver veins.” She pointed at a tunnel hunched in the hillside. “Set off a big rush.” A bump in the road bounced them both. Kylie’s muscular tail seemed to absorb the shock, while for Max the job fell to his shins against the dashboard. “By the time it ran out, they realized they could make more money selling the trees they’d cut down to mine.”
He nodded and squirmed, trying to find an angle that didn’t kink his tail or whack his knees on the dash at every bump. Out the windshield, what he at first assumed to be some kind of anvil hood ornament turned out to be a tie-off cleat for docking lines: the first reasonable part of the design he’d seen. His knee bumped the glove compartment open, spilling the contents of a tackle box, complete with pocket-size fishing pole. With a groan, he resolved to stow it all back when he wasn’t folded into a fetal position.
The mustelid chattered on. “These days, the town’s cashing in on ‘supernatural’ tourism. Basically, Internet weirdos have heard we’ve got a bunch of ghosts and goblins, so they drive up here to be separated from their disposable income.” She couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Having a TV show based on the town may have helped a little.”
The canopy broke overhead, spilling them out onto a paved road at the edge of Windfall. She drove past an old lumber mill and into town, where the gas station and at least two knickknack stores had shelves of googly-eyed monsters staring in silence out the windows. They passed the nostalgia shop and she poked her head out the window to wave to her tabby coworker. Along Main Street, giant metal sculptures of space aliens directed motorists up to cute little eateries overlooking a rocky bay.
She pulled into the parking lot of a café with a giant albino lobster as the roof. The sign read Outlook Pointe. “Everyone in town calls this place ‘Pinchy’s.’”
The husky lifted an eyebrow. “That does fit better.”
“Just come try it, smart guy.” Bounding out of the car, she unfolded him from the tiny car and towed him inside, only to shove him into a booth. “I thought I’d miss the sushi in California. Then I discovered clam chowder. One taste of real New England clam chowder filled the sushi-shaped hole in my heart.”
He smirked with a chuckled woof. “More like the sushi-shaped hole in your stomach.”
“They’re the same shape!” She opened a massive menu, unveiling a photo gallery of fish-based soups, fish-based salads, and fish-based desserts. “Mom used to take me here as a pup when we visited, but I always got the fish and chips. The place has looked exactly the same my entire life.”
The husky looked up from the specials pamphlet, which asked if he’d found cod. Paintings of ships, lobster traps, and old rigging comprised the decor. Sure enough, from the faded menus to the worn tabletops to the knickknacks on the walls, everything looked like it had been there for decades. The pair placed an order with a rhino waitress, whom Kylie greeted with a familiar nod.
A second rhino crashed through the doorway in a rush of panicked breathing. He turned to stare at Max, stammering: “Holy cow! Wow, okay. This is amazing.”
The otter pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed over her coffee. “Hello Karl…”
He plodded over. “I mean, I hoped you’d be here, more than hoped: deduced. But to actually see you in person. Wow.” Bouncing on massive feet, the rhino seemed to swoon on the edge of fainting.
“Hello…Karl?” Max extended his paw. “How’d you, um, calculate that? I’m Max, by the way.”
“Oh, I know that, Mr. Saber.” The rhino suppressed a squee, gripping hard enough to pop the husky’s knuckles.
The canine winced. “Just Max, really.”
Breathless explanation flooded the conversation. “You were spotted on a train on the only line that leads to Windfall.” His wide fingers danced over the phone’s touchscreen. “It seemed like a good guess that you’d be coming here, to the ancestral home of the Bevys. Oh my gosh, this is so cool!”
Kylie’s finger webbing hid her face. “Max, meet Karl: our biggest fan.”
“Only if you go by updates on the Strangeville wiki. Or by, you know, mass.” He laughed, running a hand down his ample frame. “Is it weird if I ask you to autograph my horn?”
The otter gave him a look over her coffee. “Karl?”
“Right, sorry. You’re real people who have lives. I’m just excited.” His frantic little tail whipped the air. He stuffed his mobile into the pocket of his jeans.
Max lifted a finger off the Formica tabletop. “Hang on. I was…spotted?”
The rhino whipped out his phone again in one smooth motion, as if he’d been hoping for just that question. His thick fingers danced along the screen, pulling up an image of a very patient Max standing beside a teeny bopper mouse almost as excited as Karl. He grinned with pride. “It went viral on the Strangeville forums last night. Everybody’s been posting these great little snippets about you being a nice guy.”
Kylie snickered and rolled her eyes at him. “Jeez, Max. That’s the weakest smile I’ve ever seen. Was she standing on your tail?”
“I couldn’t just brush her off; we were on the same train car.” He sipped his ice water. “Besides, I remember being young and obsessive.”
“Whatever, glory hound.” She turned to the rhino. “How’d you even find us? Are you tracking my spirit energy now?”
“Just like that wolf in the Scent of Evil story arc! Ha! But no, my cousin Myrtle texted me.” He waved to their approaching waitress, who gave a sheepish smile as she delivered their order.
The otter attempted a scowl, but it didn’t survive the arrival of her steaming plate of chowder. Diving in, she scooped the creamy soup into her muzzle with abandon, spattering it on her well-groomed whiskers.
Karl, seeming to sense he’d get no further info for his wiki for the duration of the soup, started edging for the door. “Well, I’d better let you guys have lunch.”
“Okay.” Catching the scent of the cod special, Max tried not to drool as he shook the fan’s hand. “Good meeting you.”
“Oh man, you
have no idea.” A massive grin overtook his muzzle as he backed away. “You guys just go back to eating.” He patted their table, making it rock a little. “I’m sure we’ll bump into each other —eeee!— around town. Ohmygosh!” He trotted away.
Max watched him leave. “This town’s more interesting than I thought.”
Kylie deployed a napkin on her soup-coated whiskers. “Oh?”
With a smile, he picked up his cod burger. “I’ve never seen a rhino bounce.”
She shot him a sidelong smile. “That doesn’t bug you even a little?” She pointed a spoon at the door. “Him coming up to us like that?”
“I used to be a giant fanboy.” He shrugged. “I still am. Getting a role just helped hide it. So I sympathize.”
“You’re a six-foot studmuffin.” Her paws swept a gesture over him. “Not a lot of rhinos in television, outside of roles that require a character who chews a cigar.”
Max leaned back against the lobster-red booth. “I like him.” He chomped into his fish sandwich, then gave a thoughtful swallow. “He didn’t even call me Serge.”
With sunlight fading out the window and Mom upstairs in her study, Kylie wiggled from behind the entertainment center. She sat down on the sofa, stringing a display cable from the TV to her laptop. “I’ve been saving this for a special occasion: ‘Revenginator Third: Hunt Future.’ Turkish film translated into Italian, now with bootleg subtitles by a non-native English speaker.”
“Double translated?” Max emerged from the kitchen with one bowl of popcorn, another of popcorn shrimp. “I dunno; I like to at least pretend to know what the writer intended.”
The otter bounced up in her seat at the scent of snacks. “Yeah, ‘cause we’re totally here for the plot.”
The husky set both bowls on the coffee table. “Did we see the second one?” Wry smirk on his lips, his arms crossed over that wide chest. “Or the first? These movies kind of blur together.”
“It doesn’t matter.” A webbed paw waved the notion away. “The original film, Revenginator: Folly of Regret, was a French film with a lot of shots of a guy smoking in the rain, telling us about a robot. Revenginator 2 was an unrelated Italian film which stole the name for purely capitalistic reasons. This is an actual sequel to that film, but unauthorized, so it has none of the same cast, but it has an actor from the first film playing a different character. It’s an ouroboros of bad cinematography.”