Grim anthology

That’s because they had only one heavy-metal hit in the late eighties, off their self-titled album, Raise an Axe. Can you guess the song name?

“‘Raise an Axe’?”

Very good. That singer abandoned his band to embark on a solo career. He also abandoned me. When he realized his mistake, it was too late. I had no luck left for him.

Eli groans. “This is so bizarre.” He sweeps both palms over his wavy dark hair, holding it back against his scalp. Under all those tumbling locks, he has a pronounced widow’s peak, just like his father. “So who are you?”

A figment.

“That’s your name?”

It’s what I am.

“Like a figment of my imagination?”

I give the vocal equivalent of a shrug. A bit redundant, since by definition a figment is something that exists only in the imagination.

Heels together, Eli taps his bare feet against each other. “Like an imaginary friend.”

Precisely.

“I thought only little kids had imaginary friends.”

They’re not the only ones who need them.

“I’ve got plenty of friends.”

Friends or fleas? His father’s penthouse had been overrun with bloodsucking sycophants, people who only loved him for his money and fame.

Eli pulls his knees to his chest and rests his chin on them. “What I mean is, I’m not lonely or anything.”

I decide not to challenge this assertion. May I ask, what became of your father’s career once he left Boyz on the Korner?

Eli scoffs. “Nothing. He never had another hit like BotK had with ‘Ready, Set, Dance.’ Because he basically sucked. People realized that after he hit twenty-one and wasn’t adorable anymore.” He looks at me quickly. “Wait. Was that when he put you away?”

That’s when I entered the envelope, yes.

“Wow.” He shakes his head hard. “This can’t be real.”

You need to redefine “real.”

“Obviously. So why are you here?”

To help you succeed in life by bringing you good luck. You need the right people in the right place in the right mood. I can make that happen. Your talent will do the rest.

Eli gives me a sideways, suspicious look. “What’s in it for you?”

If I help you, you’ll believe in me, and I get to keep existing. I remember my image in the mirror. Also, I’d very much like some clothes.

* * *

Eli, it turns out, used to play with dolls when he was a boy. I don’t judge.

“If anyone sees me doing this, I’ll have my man card permanently revoked,” he says as he buttons my sparkly blue shirt.

So I won’t be meeting your friends?

“No, you’re staying here.”

But unless I’m in your presence, I can’t influence the thoughts of others around you in your favor.

He looks up from the box of doll clothes, horrified. “Other people can hear you?”

Not in words, the way you can. They can sense my desires and be swayed by them, but only if they’ve seen me and acknowledged my existence.

I catch sight of the doll sneakers he’s picked out of the box.

Please, no pink.

“So you are a boy. I wondered, since you don’t have any—you know.” He flips up my shirttail. “Anything to cover.”

Technically, I’m neither a boy nor a girl. I can be whichever you prefer.

He narrows his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘prefer’?”

In a friend.

“Oh. Well, a human for starters.”

You have no pets?

“Just fish. I’m allergic.”

And I’m relieved. Some dogs chew stuffed animals, and some cats hump them. Humiliating in either case.

Eli rummages through the box, which appears to have all sorts of doll clothes jumbled together in one mass. “If you’re an imaginary friend, why don’t you look human? Why are you trapped in this stuffed cat?”

Figments need a physical vessel so their friends can take them places. Or leave us behind, if you like.

“Us?” He casts a wary gaze around his room. “There’s more than one of you here?”

No, you only get one. But there are others of my kind in the world. There always have been.

“Huh. Hey, here’s a cool hat.” Eli holds it up with a flourish. It has three points and a giant purple feather, like one of the Three Musketeers.

Yes! Put that on my head. Now.

He laughs. “You like the bling, huh?”