A Little Too Familiar Snippet (Patreon)

So I've been working on a lot of things this last year, and one of them is my first novel aimed at adults. It's sort of a contemporary fantasy/romantic comedy, because I like to smash genres together. Though romance may not be your bag, a lot of the things people tend to like about my books--found family, weird magic, snarky banter--will be there. I'll post preorder links as soon as I have them.

Below is a snippet from the beginning of the book from Louise's perspective. She's an animal mage who specializes in binding familiars to people.

I should be back to regular posts next week--I'm almost done with the first chapter for Little Trouble, Big Necromancer!

Snippet:

“Here.” She pushed the fledging almost into my own hands, even though I wasn’t gloved yet.

Surprised, I side-stepped, trying to read her body language. Was she just desperate to hand off the fledgling? I would be the first to admit that I didn’t always read humans well. Animals make sense. People…don’t.

“I can’t live like this.” She leaned closer, brushing his feathers against my scrubs. I yelped, jumping back, smacking the fabric with my free hand. The stench of singed fabric filled my nose. Our clinic saw phoenix fledglings so rarely, that I hadn’t really been prepared when I’d entered the room. I was kicking myself for not grabbing one of our leather aprons. But I’d been so excited to check the little fella in—a baby phoenix!—that I practically ran into the room. There was no way Dr. Larsen, or as I called her off the clock, Mama Ami, wouldn’t notice the singe mark, either.

I had a “your heart is in a good place, but you need to slow down and consider consequences” speech coming my way, which was a classic I’d heard many times before. But come on, baby phoenix.

The woman was being careful to keep the sparks from touching her own slacks, which was good because though I may not know designers or labels, they looked expensive.

I set my spritzer on the exam table, trying to decide how to respond while simultaneously attempting to feel out the situation. You don’t just find a baby phoenix in your sink one morning. Phoenix parents were fiercely protective, nurturing their young for the first few months. Which is good, because fledglings couldn’t control their flames very well. Hence her thick leather gloves and my squirt bottle. If she’d had an adult phoenix, neither would be necessary.

Or if they were bonded, which was where I came in. Or at least, where I wanted to come in, once I was able to finally remove the apprentice badge from my scrubs.

I closed my eyes for a second so I could concentrate on my magic. There was no familiar bond between the client and the fledgling. Maybe something had happened to the parent? It was possible she found the baby and brought it in, hoping we could bond them quickly. That would be safer for everyone involved.

“I admit he’s a little more…” I struggled for a polite euphemism, because I’ve never really gotten the hang of that sort of thing. But I was trying. “Your prospective familiar is a little more temperamental than most, but the trade offs—”

“I don’t want a familiar.” She scrunched her nose at the baby phoenix. “I came by him on accident and now I don’t know what to do. He almost burnt down my breakfast nook. He eats salamanders—the real ones, the tiny flame lizards? Do you have any idea how hard it is to store food that burns?”

Since it was part of my job, of course I did, but I knew from experience that stressed out clients don’t want to hear “I know.” They want to feel heard.

So I made my sympathetic noises. I’m good at sympathetic noises.

It was much easier to make those than lie politely. Animals don’t lie. Except for cats. Cats do what they want. But my mentor, Dr. Larsen, was very clear on the topic of cats—respect them for who they are, but don’t be one.

I needed to think like a golden lab. Sweet, affectionate, and helpful. The client had an animal she wasn’t prepared to care for. It happened, and it was a situation I knew how to solve. Besides, it wouldn’t be difficult to rehome the bird, they were highly sought after. The fledgling chirped and if it was at all possible, I melted again. Rehoming would need to be done carefully because it would be hard on the phoenix. Like a lot of avians, they imprinted, and as far as he was concerned, the woman holding him was mama.

I reached out with my magic, making sure to inject soothing warmth into my mental voice. Hello, little one. What’s your name?

The phoenix perked up, proudly ruffling its baby feathers, making him look like a little fluff ball of fire. As he got older, he’d shift into a mix of blues and purples, only staying red on the edges. I am called Dammit.

I blinked, looking up at the woman, struggling for a second to remember her name. Davis. “Mrs. Davis, did you name the fledgling?”

“It’s Ms, and no.” She tugged at the fingers of her gloves, deftly removing them. “I didn’t want either of us to get attached.”

Which meant he’d probably picked up his name from her yelling things like, “Damn it, don’t roost on the sofa!” I couldn’t hold Ms. Davis too accountable for that. If you weren’t prepared for a baby phoenix, raising them was difficult. Naming him, though, caused some problems. He would be more attached. Maybe he didn’t need to be rehomed. I could feel out the situation, see if she just needed some support to help her keep him.

I dug through the drawer, pulling out a pair of my own heat-resistant gloves, cooing at Dammit. “How did you end up with him?”

Ms. Davis blushed, handing over the bird. She mumbled something as she tucked her gloves into her bag.

Cradling Dammit, I placed him on the metal scale. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Ms. Davis resettled in her chair, fussing with her bag for several seconds, before she straightened up, lifting her chin high. “I thought he was a yoni egg.”

I frowned, trying to jot down the bird’s weight while scooping him up off the scale. He was a little underweight, but nothing worrisome yet. I searched my memory but came up dry—I’d never heard of a yoni. Which wasn’t that strange. Lots of creatures out there, and I was still learning. “I’m afraid you lost me.”

“They’re eggs carved out of semi-precious stones, like jade. You stick them up your—” she dropped her voice, before looking down at her hands clasped in her lap—“you know.”

I did not know, and I’m sure my face conveyed that. I tried to think of all the places you could stick an egg. It was a short list, and I wasn’t sure it was a good one.