Page 3 of Animal Tamer
“Tell that to a six-month-old lab.”
“I'd have better luck explaining quantum physics to my ex.”
The puppy—Banjo, according to the chart—lets out a sigh that puffs his cheeks out, and I smile despite the tedium of the work. Quill by quill. The barbs catch when you pull, so you have to angle each one just right or you tear the tissue.
“Hold still, buddy. Almost there.”
Paige hums, then reaches over and grabs thechart, flipping a page she's already read twice. I can tell by the way her foot taps against the cabinet that she's working up to something.
“So.”
“So?”
“The Seven Sins Carnival is in town.”
I keep my eyes on the quill in my tweezers. “Mm.”
“My cousin saw them setting up out by the old fairgrounds this morning. Apparently, the Big Top is, like,huge. And there are seven guys doing the main act, and they're supposedly—” she pauses for effect, “—criminally hot.”
“Criminally hot is just code for ‘I'll regret it in the morning.'“
“Wren, live a little.” She bumps my hip with hers, and I shift my weight to brace against the table so my hand stays steady. “Come with me Saturday. I'll buy you cotton candy. I'll buy you a corn dog. I'll buy you the cheap stuffed prize from the ring toss.”
“Paige.”
“What?”
I set the tweezers down and look at her. “You know how I feel about that stuff.”
She rolls her eyes, but it's affectionate. “Here we go.”
“Carnivals. Circuses. Roadside zoos. They're moving every two weeks, the animals live in trailers, the handler is usually some guy who learned his trade by watching YouTube?—”
Paige groans. “You don't know that.”
“I know enough. The USDA inspection rate on traveling shows is a joke. Half of them aren't licensed at all, and the ones who are get inspected once a year if they're lucky.” I peel another quill free and drop it into the metal tray with a softtink. “The lions are declawed, the elephants have footrot from standing in concrete trailers, and the trainers use bullhooks and call it ‘guidance.' No. I'm not giving them my twenty bucks at the gate.”
Paige sighs. “You're a buzzkill, you know that?”
“I'm aninformedbuzzkill.”
Banjo licks the back of my hand, and his tongue is warm and a little sticky. I scratch behind his ear with my pinky so I don't break sterile field with the tweezers.
“Fine,” Paige says with exaggerated disappointment. “I'll go with Megan. You can stay home and watch—what was it last week? The documentary about the eels?”
“It was about octopuses, and it was incredible?—”
The door to the exam room swings open, and Dr. Vance fills the frame.
My stomach drops to my socks.
He's got that look. The one where his mouth is a flat line and his eyes scan the room like he's tallying every infraction. Paige straightens off the counter so fast I hear her back crack.
“Is this a salon now?” he asks. “Are we braiding each other's hair?”
“Sorry, sir, we were just—” Paige starts.
“I don't recall asking.” His gaze swings to me. “Wren. Paige can finish with the dog.”
