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 retriever. 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 held him over the exam table. “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 quickly dumped Dammit into my waiting hands. She shifted away, mumbling something as she tugged at the fingers of her gloves, deftly removing them.

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

Ms. Davis tucked her gloves into her bag, fussing with it for several seconds before resettling into her chair, her chin held 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.”