This Menagerie

An excerpt from Blind Spot: The Covenant’s Forfeit

By Thio Isobel Moss

Eli perched on the counter, phone in hand. He glanced up as I walked in and pocketed it; he’d been waiting for me.

“Mom says I can't have a phipthere as a pet,” the pixie child solemnly explained, his puckish features at odds with his old soul.

“Oh? Why’s that?” I asked, hunting in the fridge for my chai concentrate. My pitcher was gone. Davy caught my perplexed expression and rolled her eyes.

That was odd. She’d never scoffed at my chai dependency before — not when she relied on unhealthy amounts of caffeine to battle insomnia and get Eli to school on time. Of all people, she ought…

“Wait—what’s today?”

“Sunday,” Lou reminded me, smirking as she handed over my spice caddy and a clean pitcher. I mumbled a thank-you and reached for the grinder.

“Because they're native to other realms and aren't trainable. The norms don't know about magic or phiptheres and would freak.”

Phiptheres... The dots connected; Davy's eye roll suddenly made sense. Edwician helped with sleep deprivation, but it did nothing for attention regulation. We did not require any magical constructs in this menagerie. I was Team Mom all the way.

“All excellent reasons,” I said, plugging in my milk steamer. No eight-year-old really needed a flying serpent. They could get large and ate everything in sight — phiptheres, not eight-year-olds. Well, some did. Eli was tall for his age.

“They are,” he allowed.

“I sense a 'but' coming.”

“Hold on.” He hopped off the counter and darted down the hall.

I shot Davy a look, pointing my spatula after him.

“You'll see,” she sighed, brushing curls out of her eyes and smiling indulgently after her child.

“He'd better not be bringing a phipthere in here.”

Lou's smirk did nothing to reassure me.

I dumped my ground spices into a steeping bag and filled the Dutch oven with hot water. The spices would steep before I added the decaf Assam. I nabbed my favorite mug and tidied my space.

Eli returned, cradling a cross between a twelve-pound cream-colored fennec fox and a Pomeranian. Its muzzle was slender and elegant, its ears large, and it ended with an oversized bottle-brush tail. The fluff ball gazed at Eli with adoring, jade-green eyes. Tiny, curling horns grew from its head, and neatly tucked wings sheathed its sides.

“He arrived this morning. He’s dog enough that he wouldn't scare the norms if his wings and horns were glamoured. He's used to this plane. He may even have been born here,” Eli argued. Both his blue eyes and the pom-fox's pale beauties pleaded with me.

I glanced at Davy.

She shrugged. “He's not wrong. Maybe add in the eyes? It’s your call.”

Oh. Her calm surprised me. After twenty years of friendship, I guess she’d become accustomed to the oddities that followed me home. There’d been a few daimons in there. Still, this was her child. It was one thing for her crazy pal to take in every magic-touched critter in the known universe and another for her baby boy to adopt one. She was surprisingly chill about it. Of course, compared to a wild construct, this fellow might as well have been a dog. This was a teachable moment for me.

I shifted my glasses and peered at the pair. A mess of ley lines connected them; they had already formed a familiar bond.

“Do you see how he’s looking at me?” I asked Eli.

He looked: the creature shifted his attention to Eli, licked his chin, and then back to me. Twin tears pearled in its enormous eyes; it looked adorable as hard as it could.

“Yeah,” he replied, cautiously.

“He understands what we're saying. We don't know anything about the practitioner he was bonded to, but he is intelligent. Don't show him off. He's your familiar, so his care’s your responsibility. He won’t be added to the automated system until you've demonstrated your ability to care for him. If he's neglected, we'll revisit this discussion,” I said before looking at the pom-fox thing. “As for you, try to blend in. Don't work any unnecessary magic. Don't fly unless you're alone. Your place is with Eli, and I expect you to protect him. Understood?”

It yipped excitedly and bathed Eli's face in earnest. Sighing, I dug in the junk drawer until I found a precast glamour and flicked it at the pooka. The astonishing eyes dulled, and the darling horns and wings disappeared. I turned back to my spicy water, adding mesh tea balls and cackling over my cauldron.

Eli offered up a rare grin. “Thanks, Aunt Kenny!”

“You are welcome. What's his name?”

“Boruta, but he said Boris is acceptable since that fits our naming conventions.”

“He said?” Davy asked sharply, dropping her paring knife.

Eli, Boruta, and I stared at her, confused by the shift in her tone.

The pom-fox thing was a sophisticated creature. What would be more natural than him speaking? Daimons often spoke.

“Many magic-touched creatures speak,” I said slowly, getting an inkling that I’d grabbed the wrong side of the stick.

“You're sure he’s safe,” she demanded, crossing her arms.

“Nope, nope, nope. You're not putting this on me, little mama. You green-lit the daimon if I agreed before consulting me. If you had, I would have reminded you that he's an unknown commodity. The only thing I can definitively say is that he hasn't tripped any wards — but you knew that.”

“Demon,” she gasped.

Really?

“Oh, come on. Daimon, Davy. A helpful spirit! Imp, hobgoblin, puck, sprite — they're all the same family! Some words sound a little scary, some sound cute — that's how folklore works. Something bad happens — blame the imps. Something good happens — thank the brownies. Look, he’s not a demon, and he doesn't intend any harm. Besides, it’s too late anyway.”

I grabbed the almond milk and poured enough for a monster chai into the steamer. I was going to need it.

“Might I weigh in?” Boruta interposed in a shrill but comprehensible voice. The pooka was older than I'd thought. Centuries older.

Interesting.

“Thank you, but now's not the best time,” I told him.

Davy blanched, and Lou stifled a snicker.

“Boruta will be good for the other familiars,” I argued, waving a hand behind my back at Eli. “He'll keep them in line, make sure no one gets bullied. He can help Eli with homework. He'll provide incredible insight into history and literature. Don't get me wrong — Eli’s brilliant, but he's all prose and no poetry, if you know what I mean. Boruta might get him interested in things beyond science and math.”

Davy gaped, her mind processing. I risked a glance around. Eli and Boruta had scarpered.

“Give the little guy a chance,” I suggested, putting my mug back and hauling out the big tumbler. “He might surprise you. In a good way.”