The morning air was still. At least it looked still out of my window. It was a stark contrast to the procedural storm I had created with Immortality-Corp’s contract.

  Case File 001 lay open. I’d spent more than a few hours cross-referencing Immortality-Corp's public filings with the troubling language in their employee agreement. The discrepancies were... distasteful.

  “Cherub-Driven Productivity,” I murmured to myself, sipping my coffee.

  My work was just beginning; I needed to map their corporate structure, find leverage points, and perhaps make a few quiet inquiries.

  I was shocked out of my daydream when the phone rang. “Keith Flannery,” I answered, gathering the few wits I had left.

  “Keith,” a familiar tentacle-clad voice chimed. “Meet me at Liam’s in an hour, and bring dog treats.” A sharp yap followed the request.

  I was too spent to do anything but what I was told, especially by her.

  I stopped at Dog-Gone, the local spectral pet store, and bought some ecto-chow.

  Liam’s was quiet; the air was still, and the weeping willows appeared extra-forlorn. I looked around, heading up the familiar path toward Martha’s grave.

  “Psssst...” A tentacle flipped me off from behind a gravestone.

  “Florence!”

  I had never been so happy to see twelve obscene gestures pointed toward me. She was as dexterous as ever.

  “Florence, it’s so good to—”

  A large tentacle enveloped my head, sealing my mouth and face.

  I had never been physically exposed to Florence. She was scary strong. I attempted to pull her tentacles down, but they remained unmoved. I expected them to have the essence of Seymour, but no; they just smelled like lavender.

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  “Keep quiet,” Florence hissed, her tentacle shifting down slightly so I could catch my breath. "Have you never heard of discretion? Just listen. Marketh picked a fight. He marched into a Directors’ meeting and tried to kill the takeover deal. They buried him, Keith. Buried him in their own paperwork.”

  My eyes widened. Marketh was a formidable Director and a strong leader; he had warred his way up the chain with a combination of brute force and a surprising ability to lead, but he was no negotiator.

  Her tentacle dangled further. “And not just that. He has been brought in front of the Dread Tribunal to answer for his interference in corporate affairs. You need to help him, Keith.”

  Florence’s eyes kindled dangerously. Her fire matched that which I often saw covering Marketh.

  “We may not always see eye-to-octopus, but there is no one better equipped than you to dig him out... please.”

  I met her gaze with what I hoped was cold certainty.

  “We have a deal. But I have a condition—if I get him out, you are having a professional lunch with me. With biscuits.”

  Her tentacle released. “Deal,” she said, and flipped me off, but it had none of its usual malice.

  Could one flip off gently?

  “And feed this dog,” she sighed, moving a few more tentacles aside, revealing an ecstatic Anthony.

  I forwent the A4 sheets this time and knelt down to Anthony.

  “Hey, boy. I see Martha is still buried.” I glanced at Martha's grave, just to make sure. “Well done.”

  His tail shook violently against Florence's leg. She was looking at me with a confused expression.

  “Listen, I spoke to the owners of Settlers Rest, an elderly community for the uneasy, and they agreed to take you on in an official capacity.”

  I brought out three forms and a large ink pad.

  “Now, Anthony, I need you to—”

  Without warning, Anthony took all three forms in his mouth and placed them on a clean patch of grass. He collected the ink pad and began to sign.

  Once done, he brought them all back. Anthony and I may be more compatible than I had thought.

  Without another word, he jumped into my old Ford Escort and waited for me.

  Florence continued to just observe me. If I didn’t know any better, I would say she was in a state of shock.

  “Well, Florence, thank you for telling me about Marketh. Don’t worry, I will dig him out—it’ll make a fun change to re-burying.”

  Then her tentacles enveloped me in an unsolicited embrace. I didn’t mind, and I hugged her back.

  I climbed into my car, kicking Anthony out of the driver’s seat. I would accept that he could sign forms, but he was not driving my car.

  I glanced back at Florence and waved, and there it was—a glorious ode to our friendship: all twelve tentacles, flipping in unison.

  Well, Marketh had started the fight, and I was the cavalry.