statues—a sleek abstract chrome cat and a black stone greyhound sitting opposite each other on his entertainment unit. There were no DVDs, no speakers, and nothing at all that would clutter up the sheer minimalism. The whole room was black, white, and chrome. It felt like the coffee shop, a little—impersonal and empty and strange.
“Why did your father eat off mirrored plates?” Mal called from the kitchen. They had only met my father a handful of times, and never for long, so this sterile reflection of his personality was likely a surprise to them.
“I’m surprised there’s not a mirror over the bed,” Beez yelled back from the bedroom. “Guy’s favorite pastime was looking at himself.”
“He wasn’t that bad,” I mumbled, but my heart wasn’t even in it enough to say it out loud. I didn’t believe it, and I wasn’t even sure why I was doing it, other than habit.
There was a tiny cough behind me, and I turned to see Mal in the kitchen doorway. Their face was apologetic. “You okay? You could always tell us to can it. I mean, I’m not my father’s biggest fan, but I don’t think I’d want to hear all about what an ass he was if he died.”
I thought about it. Remembered the yelled insults of Saturday. The slightly less violent ones of the previous week. The two decades of cold distance. “I’m not sure I even knew him, Mal. It wasn’t like he wanted a kid, let alone one who was barely even a mage.”
Fluke gave a little growl at that, and Mal looked at him. Then they waved in his direction, a small smile playing across their face. “Barely even a mage, but you got yourself a familiar. So not only did he judge you on something you couldn’t control, he did it wrong. Sorry, but he really does sound like a tool.”
It was the first time someone called Fluke my familiar and I didn’t have the slightest urge to correct them. That warmed me all over, despite the rest of the crap going on. Finally, I shrugged and nodded. “He kind of was.”
Mal nodded decisively and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Still, for some reason I sat down and hugged Fluke for a while. I didn’t miss my father. I didn’t miss our lack of a relationship. He’d been more a demanding boss than a father, and no one missed that when it went away. Plus, well, it hadn’t gone away.
“I miss Mom,” I finally whispered to Fluke. “I’m kind of a shitty son, and I forgot how much I missed her.” Losing Dad hadn’t hurt me the way losing a father hurt most people. Mostly, it had brought the loss of Mom back to the forefront of my mind, opened that old wound I’d thought long closed.
Fluke’s response was to burrow into me, shoving his whole body at me and licking my face until I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Slacking off out here?” Beez asked, lugging a box into the living room. Then she really looked at me, dropped the box in the middle of the floor, and came over to sit next to me, leaning against the entertainment center. “Am I being shitty? Not sensitive enough? I know I’m like that sometimes.”
“Nope. You’re fine. It’s not—it’s not about him. I don’t even think I’d be this bothered if I lost him and that was it. But first him dying and then finding Fluke and”—I barely stopped myself from adding Gideon, even though Beez didn’t know about him— “and finally having someone around all the time, it’s reminded me of Mom.” I leaned on her shoulder, still holding Fluke against my chest. He leaned over and licked her cheek too, and she giggled and pulled away.
“Silly fox, I’m wearing makeup; don’t lick that.” As though just to prove a point, he leaned in and licked her again. Then he spent a minute looking like he wanted to scrape his tongue against something to get the taste off. He glanced over at the edge of the table, then back at me, tongue still hanging out, like maybe I wouldn’t notice if he did it. It almost made me laugh, because hell, I didn’t care. It wasn’t my table, and I suspected the estate people were going to wash everything anyway.
Mal came out of the kitchen with a box, and gave us both an affected, melodramatic glare. “I see how it is. You ask me to come here so I can do