“Rude,” a male voice says—the same one I heard in the palace garden. “What did that poor plant ever do to you?”
“Okay, enough!” I yell, hands on hips. “I’m tired of hearing voices! Whoever you are, come out now or piss off!”
Movement makes the waxy leaves of a nearby rhododendron shiver, and a flash of orange appears throughthe gaps, in colorful contrast to the heavy white flowers.
“I saw that!”
“I meant for you to.” A red fox pads out from behind the bush and sits down, wrapping his floofy, white-tipped tail around his front feet like a cat. Most of his fur is a rich orange that makes me think of autumn leaves, pumpkin spice lattes, and snuggling into my favorite sweater. He’s also got dark brown legs and a white chest and throat that extend upward to the bottom of his face so that his dark whiskers clearly show. He’s smaller than I expected, less than two-feet tall, so only a little bigger than a house cat, and a third of him seems to be tail. “Trust me. You’re not going to see me unless I want you to.”
Shock zips through me. It’s really him speaking! “You… you… you’re a fox!”
“How astute,” he says dryly. “Are all humans this observant, or did I get lucky and get one of the smarter witches?”
“Are you fae werefox?” I’ve met several fae shifters: dragons, werewolves, and werepanthers. “Do you shift into a human form?”
“No!” He sounds horrified, his tail lashing. “Why would I ever want to do that? I’m amazing.”
“But you’re talking.” I spread my hands, palms up.
He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m your familiar. Or more accurately, you’re my witch.”
“My familiar! That’s amazing!” I’ve read a little about how familiars can aid their witches. “Did you show up now to help me win the bride trials?”
“I showed up now becauseIwas ready to do so.” He givesme a fox grin. “Although, of course, you’ll have a much better chance of winning with me around.”
“I’m sure I will.” I crouch down and extend a hand. “Do you like ear scratchies?”
“Let’s find out.” He saunters forward, his amber eyes watching me carefully.
I keep my touch light at first, skimming my fingertips over the silky fur of his forehead, then curve around the back of one of his ears, letting my nails dig into the crease. The fox doesn’t smell exactly like a dog—his scent’s musky with a floral note that I like.
His eyes slowly close to halfway, and he starts to purr! It’s a rumbling growl on each exhale instead of a continuous sound like a cat, but it’s a purr, and it’s too freaking cute!
I switch to the other ear and repeat my attentions, marveling at how soft his fur is.
When I finally pull my hand away, his eyes open and he snaps at me, his mouth closing around the meat of my hand with only the lightest brush of fangs.
“Dwhph shwphe,” he says.
“I can’t understand you.”
The fox drops his grip on my hand. “I didn’t say you could stop.”
“Like it, do you?” I chuckle and give him more scratchies. “I’m Hannah. What’s your name?”
“Hmmm,” he hums, leaning against my knee. “I doubt you can say it.” He gives a deep chuff of a bark followed by a few yips.
I repeat it as best I can.
He laughs, the high ha-ha-has sounding almost human. “Your accent is atrocious. We’ll stick to your language. Foxish isclearlytoo complicated for you.”
I grin, amused by how sassy he is. “Clearly.”
Magic tingles around us for several seconds. Then he says, “I have picked a human name. You may call me Finn.”
“Finn the fox.”
He snorts. “I rather think the fox part is apparent, so just Finn.”
