The phoenix keeper, p.16
The Phoenix Keeper, page 16
As they ate, the clock kept ticking.
Then it was time.
“Get these wrappers out of sight,” Aila said. “Everything has to be perfect.”
“Aye aye, ma’am,” Tanya replied.
Connor saw her off with a grin. Remember how to breathe, Aila. And for the love of the endless skies and seas, stop shaking. She stepped out into fog.
The paths were empty. Quiet. Normally, her favorite time at the zoo, that blissful calm before the gates opened. Aila wound through mock jungles and replica lagoons, off to face her own beast.
Ahead of her, a figure emerged from the gloom.
A drift of mango teased Aila’s nose.
Luciana halted in the path, condensation kissing her hair like strings of diamonds, dark lashes drawn into a squint. Aila stared her down, the world silent around them.
“Now or never,” Luciana said, then kept walking.
“Now or never,” Aila whispered once she’d gone. She headed for the zoo gates.
“I always love this time of year,” Director Hawthorn said, and for the life of her, Aila couldn’t fathom how he sounded so calm. Maybe it was an old person thing.
They stood in the fog-soaked entry plaza, drum music playing from speakers above the turnstiles. The first patrons trickled in, noses buried in crinkled maps or phone apps, parents shouting at children not to run for the peacock griffin statue, a din of haggling over stroller rentals and memberships at the guest relations counter. The director split his time between greeting guests and attempting small talk with Aila as she stared at the bricks beneath her boots, trying not to hurl her breakfast burrito.
“The change of the seasons,” he said. “Invigorating.”
“Sure is.”
“Not as stark here in Movas as some other parts of the world, such mild winters, but you come to appreciate the subtlety.”
“Right. Subtlety.”
“Crocus crocodiles love the fog. Floating in their ponds without a care in the world.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Maybe Aila would make a better crocodile than a human. Of course they could keep calm, no inspectors to impress.
“Ah! Here’s Director Garumano now!”
Aila’s head snapped up so fast, she felt a couple of vertebrae crack.
For two months, she’d snooped and begged, trying to discover who the inspector would be so she could add their information to her flash cards. Upon being told for the dozenth time that such information was “a surprise” or something equally atrocious, Aila gave up and researched all of them, every inspector and coordinator in the IMWS phoenix program. But Garumano? The Giuseppe Garumano, director of the core breeding program in Silimalo? Co-author on every significant study of phoenix habitat in the past decade?
A distressed squeak escaped Aila’s throat.
The stocky man maneuvering himself through the entry gate wore a snug navy suit, a clipboard clutched to his chest to protect it from the mist. He was around the director’s age, wrinkles creasing bronzed skin, bald, with a bushy gray mustache curled on the sides. On his lapel, a phoenix pin glinted in red and gold.
“Welcome back to the San Tamculo Zoo, Director Garumano.” Hawthorn met him with a firm handshake, the kind Aila’s dad was always harping on her to practice. “We’re delighted to have you. I hope your flight went smoothly?”
“My pleasure as always, Clement.” Garumano’s mustache wriggled like a furry animal as he spoke. Aila couldn’t look away. “Always a long flight to your side of the world.” He chuckled. “I am eager to stretch my legs.”
Hawthorn chuckled back. “I’m sure we can help with that. This is our head phoenix keeper, Aila Macbhairan.”
Garumano extended his hand. Aila snapped her eyes off the whiskery beast on his face long enough to return the gesture. Her shake felt like a clammy fish.
“Good to meet you, Aila,” he said in a thick Silimalo accent. “Whenever you are ready, we may begin.”
Aila shot a panicked look to Director Hawthorn. So soon? Surely, they could waste more time with pleasantries? Breakfast? A comprehensive zoo tour?
“I’m sure Aila is eager to show you the results of her hard work,” Hawthorn said with a magnanimous smile. “Once your inspection is complete, please find me in my office. I have lunch blocked off before our meeting with Director Rivera.”
He headed for the administration building, leaving Aila and Garumano alone. Another distressed sound fluttered in her throat, higher pitched than before.
Beside her, the inspector clicked his pen and scribbled a note.
When they reached the phoenix complex, Tanya and Connor had made themselves scarce. Any evidence of their morning stress meal had vanished. Tanya even stowed Aila’s patch-plastered backpack out of sight. Bless her.
Aila stood near her desk, trying to remember how to hold her arms at her sides, silent to the point of physical pain. Director Garumano stood in the center of the room. Not a word. Not a sound except the scratch scratch scratch click of his pen scribbling notes on his clipboard. He flipped to the next page. Continued scribbling.
The fuck was he writing? He’d hardly looked up from his notes since arriving.
Aila scanned the room, searching for what could have inspired the essay. A rogue woodroach beneath the cabinets? Impossible. They’d sprayed a dozen times. Incorrect ratio of flame retardant in the paint? How would he even notice such a thing? She eyed the clock, watching the seconds tick by.
“These incubators. Model 5s?”
Aila jumped at the break in the silence. The inspector didn’t appear to notice, too busy studying the incubators.
“Um… Yes. Model 5s… er… Inspector… Sir.”
He scribbled approximately fifty new words on his clipboard. Aila craned her neck to see, but his handwriting was dragon scratch.
“Very well, then.” Garumano flipped to a new sheet of paper. “Let’s have a look at your bird.”
Aila had kept Rubra off exhibit that morning. She slipped shaking fingers into her flame-resistant glove (rush ordered to arrive just in time). With every move, the pen continued to scribble. Garumano trailed her to the aviary, where Rubra eyed him with cocked head and flattened feathers. Aila typed a code into the lock to open the gate. More scribbling.
“Morning, Rubra.” Aila whistled. Rubra hopped onto her glove. What a good bird. A beautiful, sweet bird.
That scribbling pen was going to be in Aila’s nightmares.
She held Rubra on her fist as Garumano eyed the bird from every angle, compared a color scale against her neck feathers, pulled a tape measure from his pocket to hold against her flaming tail. Aila was back in presentation class all over again. Her legs wobbled.
“What is her typical diet?” Garumano asked.
“Um…” Aila cleared her throat. The inspector lifted a wispy eyebrow. Rubra cocked her head. Not her, too. “One cup of phoenix nutritional pellets per day. Supplemented with fresh vegetables and fruits.”
“Such as?”
“Kale. Seasonal squash. Grapes. Mango.”
“Mango?”
“I… Yes?”
“Not native to the Silimalo region.”
“Well, no.” Mangos came from… Renkaila? Aila wasn’t an expert on produce origins. “But she likes the taste. And they’re high in carotenoids, which is good for feather health, so…”
More scribbling. Aila could have screamed, if her legs didn’t give out first. What was she doing? Two months preparing, and she hadn’t envisioned anything like this. On her glove, Rubra trilled in concern.
Aila took a deep breath. She focused on the scratch of the glove fabric against her arm, the warmth off Rubra’s tail. Do it for her. Do it for her. Do it for—
“Standard daily schedule?” Garumano asked.
“Minimum eight hours outdoor aviary time.”
“Natural climate, or artificial?”
“Both.”
He paused, waiting.
“Natural climate summer through fall. Supplemental heaters in winter and spring to account for slightly cooler coastal temperatures than Silimalo, with regular venting of the aviary panels through the mechanical system.”
He nodded. Scribbled. A good thing, or bad? The man’s face was granite.
“You may return the bird.”
Thank the endless skies and seas. Rubra weighed under five pounds, yet Aila’s arm felt ready to collapse beneath the strain. She returned Rubra to the aviary. Slipped off the glove. Underneath, her palm was slick with sweat.
Garumano flipped to a new page. “Assuming you were approved for transfer of the male phoenix, please walk me through your introduction protocol.”
Aila closed her eyes. Visualized her flashcards.
“Miss Macbhairan?” he pressed.
“We’d begin with scent introduction, the protocol developed by the Silimalo National Zoo. We’ve outfitted the back aviaries to allow vision exclusion. The birds can be placed side by side to get used to one another’s presence without physical contact, in case of territoriality.”
Garumano scribbled as fast as she spoke. Aila hoped she got the details right. He’d written the research paper, after all.
“From there,” she continued, fighting the tightness in her throat, “we introduce the male in a carrier within the exhibit. Once the female appears receptive, we can allow short periods of monitored interaction.”
“And how will you address any territoriality by the female?”
“Rubra has an excellent temperament. I’m sure we won’t—”
“Female phoenixes are far more territorial than males,” Garumano chided. “And yours has had a territory to herself all her life. How will you intervene if she fails to accept introduction of the male?”
Aila’s tongue froze. She hadn’t thought of that. How had she not thought of that?
“W-well,” she stuttered. “In that case. I suppose we’d have to—”
The radio at her belt crackled. From the speaker, a honeyed voice struck her heart like an arrow.
“Griffin show, calling aviaries.”
Aila stared at the radio in disbelief. In horror. That heartless, undermining witch.
“As I was saying,” Aila pressed on, “we’d have to separate the male and female and start the reintroduction process over again—”
“Aila,” Luciana called over the radio. “Pick up.”
She and Garumano stared at the radio, his look confused, hers akin to a plucked phoenix being throttled by a narcissistic woman who didn’t understand the importance of personal boundaries.
“If you’ll excuse me for just a moment,” Aila said in her sweetest, quivering voice. She unclipped her radio and replied in terse words. “Luciana. I’m a little busy right now.”
“I’m aware,” Luciana returned. “You need to come to the World of Birds aviary. Now.”
“She most certainly does not!” Connor clicked in from his radio.
Aila’s mouth opened. Closed. At the sight of Garumano’s twitchy mustache, she gave a nervous chuckle and held up a finger.
“Connor,” she said into the radio. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Focus on your inspection. Tanya has things under control.”
“I most certainly do not!” came Tanya’s muffled reply. In the background, other voices were shouting, followed by a whooping bird call.
Aila’s heart fell clear out of her chest. Archie.
It took her all of three seconds to weigh the inspector’s annoyed expression against the panic in Tanya’s voice, the agitated note in Archie’s call. Before her eyes, she watched two months of work crumbling to pieces. Rubra being whisked away.
But something was wrong with one of her birds.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I am so sorry. I’ll be right back.”
Aila was out the door before he could argue.
Chapter Fourteen
Aila wished she could claim a coherent strategy for her retreat, rather than the mental scream drowning every thought as she sprinted away from the phoenix complex, leaving Director Garumano behind, with brow furrowed and mustache twitching.
A quick absence. Make sure Archie was fine. Then she’d be back.
No harm done.
Please, let there be no harm done.
Patrons shot startled looks as Aila wove between them, dodging strollers and wobbly toddlers like road mines, trying not to add child assault to her list of indiscretions for the day. Though the sun had risen, the fog remained thick, a gray cast upon aviaries speckled in condensation, cold morning air prickling Aila’s bare arms.
When she burst into the World of Birds aviary, the humidity of a tropical forest bowled her over, air thick in her lungs, the smell of pungent soil clogging her nose. As she huffed up the path, the periwinkle prairie geese honked in alarm, wafting lavender in their wake as they retreated for the safety of their pool. The screaming mynas shrieked murder in the canopy.
The shouting patrons weren’t any better.
Aila found a group clogging the path. Connor hung to one side, frowning as Luciana addressed the rioters, her honeyed voice paired with calming hand gestures.
“Now, now,” she cooed, as if to a raging griffin. “We appreciate your patience. Please, wait here while we take care of—”
“What’s wrong?” Aila elbowed her way through the onlookers.
The people, she couldn’t care less for. Her scrunched nose and glare were for Luciana. That woman knew how important today was, knew the consequences of calling Aila away from the inspector. Yet Aila saw no animal in peril. No dismembered patron crying in a pool of their own blood (though that would be a paramedic issue, not an Aila issue). What kind of emergency could have summoned her?
“Your bird stole my engagement ring!” a beleaguered patron shouted, tears smudging her mascara, pointing to the canopy where…
Archie hopped from branch to branch, a low hoot in his throat, a diamond ring clutched in his bill.
That conniving little thief. Aila’s shoulders slumped, her sigh the long and pained sound of a disappointed mother whose child was caught gluing candy to a classmate’s hair. Horns and fangs, Archie, they’d talked about this earlier that morning.
Luciana folded her hands together, using her metered public voice that masked all but the most subtle edge of annoyance. “It would seem one of our valued zoo guests decided to propose. Your archibird stole their ring.”
Aila gawked first at the tear-strewn woman, then at a scowling young man beside her, then at the gray-socked aviary that smelled of bird droppings.
“You proposed here, of all places?”
Something Aila would do, but a normal person?
“Aila,” Luciana said, a click on her tongue like she was training an animal. “Perhaps we ought to focus on alleviating the situation.” Her word hardened, a chunk of crystalized sugar to crack the teeth. “And get this lovely couple’s ring back.”
Fat chance of that. They were lucky Archie hadn’t already glued the metal to his tower. In fact, that was downright miraculous. Aila pushed her way to the railing, leaning over for a view of the clearing below.
Tanya stood in front of Archie’s trinket tower, using her body to shield the bird from his goal. He hopped through the canopy in annoyance, honking at her every few steps.
“Aila!” Tanya shouted. “Do something about your bird!”
Do something? Now? On today of all days? Aila’s grip tightened on the railing, damp wood beneath trembling fingers. She hadn’t stopped shaking all morning. The inspector’s scratching pen, the crackle of the radio, had all carved shivers beneath her skin.
But now, the arguing patrons dimmed to a murmur. Luciana’s fake smile fell out of sight. Even the screaming mynas in the canopy receded to background noise as Aila forced herself to pause and breathe. She drew strength from the loamy smell of her aviary, dug her fingers into the railing until cool moss covered every nail.
Birds, Aila could deal with.
And this one wasn’t getting any treats for a week after pulling this stunt.
Aila stepped away from the railing. “Archie!” she called up in her sweetest voice, followed by a whistle and a hand to perch on. “Archie, come down here and let me see what you’ve found. It looks delightful.”
Archie considered her for a moment before resuming his hopping with a grunt, the archibird equivalent of a middle finger. Right. Aila hadn’t expected it would be that easy. She leaned back over the rail.
“Have you tried trading something with him?” she called down to Tanya.
“What do you think I’ve got that’s shinier than a diamond?” Tanya snapped.
Not a small diamond, either. Aila could make out the hunk of a rock from down here, facets glittering in the diffused light, clasped in a ring of gold. Archie wasn’t giving up a treasure like that without excellent incentive.
“Do you have anything else shiny you could give him?” Aila asked the woman with ruined mascara. “Something less important?”
The woman buried her face in her hands and resumed crying, prompting her fiancé to scowl at Aila. Hey, at least she was trying.
Connor slipped out of the crowd. “Aila. What about the inspection?”
“I’ll get back to it as soon as this is settled,” she hissed back.
“Let Tanya handle things here.”
“But Archie is my bird.”
“So what? The inspection is more important!”
Luciana stormed between them. “For the love of endless skies and seas, enough of this.” She unclipped a pair of silver loops from her ears and shoved them into Aila’s hand.
Aila stared at the offering. “What’s this?”
“Give it to your bird.”
“But why would you—?”
“Do it!”
Luciana wanted this annoyance over with. That was the only sensible explanation. Never mind the question of what she was doing in the aviary to begin with. Or how she’d noticed Archie’s preference for silver in his tower of trinkets. Aila had no time to dissect such things, nor to dwell on the warmth of the earrings in her palm. The hint of fruity perfume.
