One
Muzo
The last thingyou want to see when you get home from vacation is an eviction notice.
The second season of the Dragonfate Games was over. My blood still buzzed with excitement. I had a blast as usual, but it was nice to be home.
Or so I thought.
After hauling my luggage all the way up the stairs—the apartment elevator was broken again—I paused at the door to my unit. I blinked, clutching my key in hand as I stared at the paper taped up in front of me.
“To Muzo Zavala,” I read out loud. “We are terminating your tenancy from Unit 409. Our reason for evicting you is...” I squinted at the next words. “Unlawful dog ownership? Huh?”
What the hell did that mean? I didn’t even own a dog.
Frowning in confusion, I looked around the hallway. I wondered if management meant to put the notice on somebody else’s door, but the paper had my unit number printed on it, and it was addressed to me. What was going on?
I was exhausted from the flight home, so I figured I’d deal with it the next day. I plugged the key into the hole... and found that it no longer fit.
“What the heck?” I mumbled.
I twisted and wriggled the key, turning it like I’d done a thousand times, but my attempts were only met with unyielding friction. A sinking feeling washed over me. Management must’ve changed the lock before I arrived.
“Oh,” I said.
I stood there with my now-useless key in one hand and my luggage in the other, not knowing what to do. I expected to come home from the airport and go straight to bed, but now I couldn’t do that.
I checked the time on my phone. The management office was still open. Speaking to them was my best option, since there was obviously some kind of mistake. Taking the notice with me, I descended the stairs to the main floor and poked my head into the office’s frosted glass door.
“Hello?” I called.
The superintendent, George, glowered at me from behind the counter. He was a middle-aged man with a scary expression. I recognized him since I came here every month to pay rent, but he didn’t seem to know me. He had so many tenants that it was probably hard to remember them all. I didn’t hold it against him.
I smiled and waved. George’s brow furrowed deeper.
“What?” he barked.
I took that as an invitation to enter the room. “Um, hi! I just got home from vacation and I found this notice on my door,” I said, pulling out the paper. “I was wondering if it was, er, misplaced?”
George’s scowl was a permanent fixture on his face. “Why would it be?”
“Oh, because I don’t have a dog,” I said cheerfully. That should’ve cleared up the confusion.
But George’s expression didn’t budge. “It states very clearly in the contract that pets are not allowed in the building,” he ground out. “That includes dogs.”
Maybe he didn’t hear me properly. He was older, so he could have an auditory processing issue.
“Um, actually, I don’t have one. A dog, I mean. Or any pets. I don’t even have a house plant,” I added with a chuckle.
George exhaled a long, disapproving breath through his nostrils. He broke away from my gaze and shuffled through papers. “That’s not what I’ve been told.”
“What?”
“I’ve had several complaints about a dog in your unit,” George grumbled. “Don’t bother denying it. A lot ofpeoplecame forward about it.”
There was something odd about the way he said ‘people.’
“People? Who?” I asked, wondering if it was one of my neighbors.
