Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
It was a productive summer, if nothing else—though Aila was pretty damn focused on the nothing else that continued to haunt her inbox.
The cinnamon birds in the aviary had their yearly chicks, little puffs of brown feathers now fledged and fluttering around the forest vines. In fall, they were set to transfer to a zoo in Pennja with a new aviary exhibit (and sure, IMWS processed that paperwork just fine).
Aila and Tanya rated all the zoo’s seasonal novelty ice cream pops. The strawberry-mango Silimalo phoenix pops were, obviously, the best. Blackberry diamondback dragon pops were tarter than Aila expected. The blueberry limeade peacock griffin pops were, to her annoyance, the perfect blend of sweet and sour. She ranked them lowest, out of principle.
Tanya won second prize at the staff salsa contest and only stewed about it for a week. The first-place winner—Ricardo from the primate department—was declared a nemesis.
Now, late summer scorched through Movas, turning the hills beyond the city from green to scrubby brown. On its heels came fire season. Vjar and Niplik had winter blizzards. Eastern Renkaila had monsoons. Tornadoes swept the Ozokian plains. Movas spent two months a year burning.
The familiar smell of woodsmoke puckered Aila’s nose. The San Tamculo Fire Department started a small blaze in the south hills overnight. The controlled burn would sizzle through the shrublands and clear the heat-desiccated brush, seeding the soil for healthy regrowth. Unlikely that the fire would threaten the city proper, but the bulletin board in the staff office posted a note reminding keepers to review their evacuation protocols.
Aila and Tanya sprawled their binders over a metal lunch table. The zoo’s main food court was modeled after a Movasi villa, paved in cream tile, colorful flags strung overhead and planters brimming with red carnations. The buildings were white stucco and clay shingles, light colors to diffuse the heat, accented in bright yellow doorways and a larger-than-life thunderhawk mural by a local painter. A pack of children climbed a three-tiered fountain, ignoring the shouts of parents sprawled in the shade beneath electric fans.
A louder din came from the petting zoo across the plaza, foolish families letting their children play with jewel-headed carbuncles, a trilling moss marten, a calm old domestic griffin who loved belly scratches, dooming themselves to endless pet requests on the drive home (Aila’s parents had to endure the onslaught for years).
An even louder din came from the conservation carousel, melding laughter and upbeat carnival music as passengers twirled on resin replicas of a serpentine maned dragon, a prancing plains pegasus, even a manticore with snarling lion head and barbed tail.
Aila tuned out the ruckus, focused on one of the greatest culinary creations of mankind: fries piled high with grilled meat, melted cheese, and the mildest red sauce she could get her hands on. She dug a fork into the mound of food while flipping through her binder.
“OK,” Aila said around a mouthful. “Order of priority for evacuation, page three.”
“Mm-hm.” Tanya munched a fish taco piled with cream sauce and cabbage. She opened the same page in her binder.
“Silimalo phoenix and Bix phoenix are highest conservation priority, first in the carriers.”
“We’ve only got five carriers in the back room, since griffin show borrowed a few.”
Aila rolled her eyes. Not freeloaders, her ass. “Thunderhawk has to go on the zoo truck. Archibird next on carrier priority. Then periwinkle prairie geese. Could jam the mynas and a pixie wren in one carrier.”
Tanya arched a brow. “And the rest? We leaving those behind?”
“Tanya, how dare you say such a thing? You know full well if we ever have to evacuate, I’m cramming every animal possible into my backpack.”
She chuckled. “I don’t think that’s acceptable zoo policy, Ailes.”
“Try to stop me.” She skewered a fry in a meager attempt at intimidation, polo muddied from the aviary pond she’d cleaned that morning, pale arms spotted with sunscreen to avoid frying like a lobster. Some sight.
“I tell you what.” Tanya flipped her binder closed. “We better not ever have to evacuate. I’m not looking forward to helping you dredge that kelpie into a trailer.”
Tanya brandished a pair of churros to finish their meal, cinnamon-sugar sifting off the paper wrappers. Another of Aila’s favorites—the perfect crunch on the outside, soft on the inside. She eyed the pastry with a frown.
“It does seem ridiculous, all this planning for fire safety. This close to the coast, fire would have to tear through most of the city to get to us.”
“Mm-hm,” Tanya agreed. “Gotta be prepared for anything, though.”
“What we should be doing is evaluating our security.”
Tanya paused, churro halfway into her mouth. “Ailes…”
“I finished updating all the CCTV monitors. Most are working fine, but a couple still get blips in the feed. Then there’s the issue of night security. Can you believe, still one guard for the whole zoo? How’s he supposed to cover everything? And don’t get me started on those old bolts on the aviary.”
Tanya listened in silence, humoring the rant. For two months since the break-in at Jewelport, Aila had been more jitters than person, burning her anxiety by deep-cleaning exhibits and combing through their security systems. What if someone tried to break into San Tamculo?
Since the catastrophe, two IMWS Phoenix Program newsletters had rolled through Aila’s email. Still no formal announcement on the future of the Jewelport Zoo breeding program. No email replies. Aila could have kicked herself, thinking that pipe dream could amount to anything.
With lunch devoured, she and Tanya returned to their aviaries. Patrons packed the paths with sunhats and soda bottles, scents of sunscreen and sweat swimming on the fire-laced air. This time of year, the kelpie’s foggy exhibit skyrocketed in popularity. Visitors flocked to the maned dragon aviary to delight in localized drizzles, or crowded around the marine touch pools to poke at liquefying starfish and ruby axolotls (gentle zookeepers harvested any precious gems that grew on their gill frills before putting them on exhibit). Other patrons piled beneath misters at the Silimalo phoenix exhibit, children miming themselves bursting into flames in the heat. Rubra’s popularity had grown tenfold since the tragedy at Jewelport.
Tanya had war to wage with her Bix phoenix, her latest attempt of blocking his hole with chicken wire collapsed beneath a flood. Aila planned a challenging afternoon as well: snagging the vanishing ducks for their yearly checkup. The pair were hide-and-seek champions, but she had some enticing fish-and-berry treat balls to tip the scales in her favor.
“Sure you don’t want to join me this weekend?” Tanya asked. “Air-conditioned mall. Get smoothies, browse that retro DVD store.” Her words quickened in excitement. “Word on the forums is, they got a new shipment from the old rental place that closed downtown.”
“Sorry, Tanya, I…” Aila grasped for a socially acceptable excuse, only to remember this was Tanya. She didn’t have to fake. “I’m sticking to the sofa this weekend. Could use some recharge time.”
Tanya gave a knowing smirk. “New textbook?”
“On phoenix habitat studies, yeah. Looks really interesting.” Aila hadn’t been able to resist a peek or two, but she looked forward to reading in earnest.
“Next time, then.” Tanya bumped her shoulder.
When they rounded the path to the phoenix complex, Aila and Tanya slowed in unison, surprised by a visitor waiting at their door. The staff coordinator, Tom, greeted them with his usual grunt, jaw grizzled and polo immaculate. Spotting him outside his office was like a rare animal sighting, even odder without a cup of coffee in hand.
“Hey, Tom,” Tanya returned. “Something we can help you with?”
“Director wants to see you.”
Aila puzzled at that. Tanya must have another meeting for her volunteer keeper program, but why hadn’t she mentioned any updates? She must have things under control. Of course. She was Tanya, the unflusterable sea eel. Aila flopped like a fish out of water.
“Go ahead,” Aila said. “I’ll start on the protocol updates.”
“No, Director wants to see you .” Tom nodded to Aila.
She puzzled harder at that. A slow blink of shock followed. Aila had been called to the administration building any number of times over HR complaints or mandatory training, but lofty meetings with the zoo director meant…
Her phoenix .
Aila gulped a surge of panic. “Sure? When?”
“Now, I suppose.” Tom grunted and set off down the path.
“ Now? What for? Hold on, give me a second to…” Aila flashed wide eyes at Tanya, who returned a shrug. With Tom disappearing around the corner, Aila hurried after him.
She assumed something horrible awaited her. That was how these things went.
Her thoughts scrambled as they walked, Tom weaving through patrons with the ease of an merlion in a current, Aila crashing into elbows like a manticore in a porcelain shop. What had she done recently? Nothing too disruptive. There was that pair of douchebag college boys a couple of months ago who’d promised to report her over Archie breaking their phone. A mother she’d gotten snippy with at a keeper talk last week, wrung out at having to explain why the kelpie would not, in fact, be healthier on a vegan diet.
Dread coiled in her stomach as they entered the sliding glass doors of the administration building. Crisp linoleum squeaked beneath her boots, one wall decorated in a panel of mounted succulents spelling out San Tamculo Zoo . The other wall displayed framed photos of the zoo’s charitable conservation work throughout the world. An image from a Renkailan tea farm showed workers building peacock griffin nesting platforms for pest control. Another photo showed a patch of replanted Ziclexian rainforest, a team of researchers working with the local community to learn sustainable methods of harvesting orchid viper venom to amplify plant fertilizer. An older, more faded portrait captured a pair of biologists on a scrubby Silimalo cliffside, affixing a wing ID tag to a phoenix, one of the last in the wild.
A receptionist in a frizzy updo and peacock-feather blouse sat behind a desk, all smiles for Tom. All glares for Aila. Last time Aila got called here for a patron complaint, she may have had… well… some might call it a “spirited argument” with said patron in the middle of the lobby.
“Welcome back, Tom.” The receptionist greeted him like sugar. “And Miss Macbhairan,” she added like a cracked jawbreaker. “Director Hawthorn is waiting for you.”
Tom grunted. Aila scuttled after him like a cockroach fleeing a boot.
The director’s office sat at the back of the building, a corner of windows overlooking the yellow-finned caiman lagoon. Fitting—haggling with one’s boss while toothed reptiles swam outside. The room smelled of wood polish and office carpet. A stone carving of a peacock griffin perched on the desk. A wall of bookshelves housed more curios: a framed diploma from Sagecrest College, photos of keepers and their animals, a merlion sculpted of driftwood, a phoenix feather in a glass case. Spider plants dangled tendrils down the wall, a familiar sight.
OK. OK. Not bad so far.
“Miss Macbhairan? Good to see you.”
The zoo director, Clement Hawthorn, greeted her from behind his desk. He was a stout man in a button-down shirt and jeans, cool black skin wrinkled from years of sun. During his time as a keeper, he’d run San Tamculo’s aquatic section. Though his pioneering of the world’s first red-ringed kraken exhibit had been his claim to fame, everyone at the zoo knew the crocus crocodiles were his personal favorites. The giant lilac lizards grew flowers along their scaled backs, capable of photosynthesis to supplement their fish diets. A replica crocus flower carved of purple stone sat on his desk, some kind of paperweight.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he said. “Please take a seat.”
He gestured to a pair of armchairs across his desk, upholstered in shiny green leather. One of them was empty. In the other sat—
Aila’s heart shriveled.
Looking up at her was Maria Rivera, director of the IMWS Movas Division, head keeper of the San Tamculo Zoo phoenix program during its peak over a decade ago. She perched hawklike on the edge of her chair, her black business jacket paired with a skirt that fell in fiery waves to her calves, warm tones against brown skin. Even more intimidating in person than in photos. She sat tall, hands folded in her lap, black hair gelled into a bun.
Aila turned to Tom for support, but got only a nod as he shut the door. She squeaked like a trapped purserat.
Director Hawthorn drew a pointed look between her and the empty chair. With nowhere to flee, Aila sat. The deep cushions tried to swallow her. A preferable demise. She hazarded a nervous smile toward Rivera, met with piercing eyes behind lilac spectacles, appraising Aila like an animal in a behavioral study.
Director Hawthorn’s tight grin was little better. Aila was not the best employee. A hard worker, but more of a wave churner than HR would like. She bounced in her seat, heart fluttering like pixie wren wings.
Rivera leaned toward her with a smile. “Good to see you again, Miss Macbhairan. I believe the last time was the Plumed Gala last year?”
Aila blinked, part of her surprised the IMWS Director would remember their brief conversation, the other part panicking as a grand total of zero words offered themselves in reply. She nodded, a toy unhinged at the neck.
“I was surprised to receive your email,” Rivera said. “Apologies for the delay. I contacted Director Hawthorn as soon as we were ready to discuss next steps.”
Next steps?
Horns and fangs, this really was about Aila’s phoenix.
“And I was equally surprised to hear about this request,” the director added.
Aila cleared her throat. “Um… surprised, Director?”
“A petition to IMWS for a phoenix transfer should have gone through official channels.”
Oh boy. Aila hadn’t thought about that.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t mean …” She clasped her trembling hands. Not like this . She couldn’t lose Rubra without trying to fight it. “I think our breeding program should be given a chance. We’ve been on the transfer list for years. And Rubra is happy here! Healthy appetite. Feathers always in the upper range of the iridescence scale.”
Oh, stop it, you idiot! How is random trivia going to help?
Aila had to stop anyway, a prick of tears threatening her eyes. Crying in front of her boss, not high on the to-do list. She shifted a pleading look to Rivera.
The woman listened with a polite smile. Once Aila fell silent, the IMWS director reached into her briefcase and pulled out a tablet and pen.
“I’m sure you understand,” Rivera said. “IMWS has been working hard to decide how to move forward with the Movasi breeding program. In light of the security breach at the Jewelport Zoo, we’re evaluating alternative facilities, at least until we can pinpoint what went wrong.” She tapped her tablet screen, a flash of white light as a notepad popped up. “Remind me, please. When was the last successful phoenix breeding year here at San Tamculo?”
Aila’s brain stalled so hard, she thought she smelled smoke drifting out her ears.
“Um… It was… ten years ago. Almost eleven.” Rivera, of all people, would know that. “Four clutches after the last nest you oversaw, Ms. Rivera.”
Rivera’s brow lifted. “You know your zoo history. And the breeding facility is still functioning?”
“Sure? It’s a little dusty, but…”
Great sales pitch, Aila. Wouldn’t qualify for advertisement accolades anytime soon.
“Director Hawthorn and I have been discussing the zoo’s security measures.” Rivera looked up, snaring Aila in oil-slick eyes. “Those were updated recently. Five years ago, yes?”
“Yeah.” The fuck was happening? Aila didn’t dare believe it.
“How do you feel about the current security measures?” Rivera asked.
Skies and seas, at least Aila had rehearsed that one with Tanya about twenty times. “Our CCTV monitors are all functioning, but I’d like to see them updated with a remote access system, preferably incorporating motion detection in key areas of the aviary. You know, like those cameras people use to watch their pets at home.”
Could have left out that last part. Somehow, Rivera still smiled. She scribbled on her tablet, screen angled so Aila couldn’t snoop.
“How long have you worked at San Tamculo, Aila?”
“Three years.”
“Your education?”
“Sagecrest.”
“Good school. How about your familiarity with the current breeding practices?”
“Our building is compliant with the replicate climate model, within one degree of temperature variance per year, which is well within the Silimalo phoenix breeding tolerance based on the latest research from Garumano and Kuprik. We import our olive trees from the Crescent Bay Nursery, just like Jewelport. And we have automated double glass in the viewing exhibit to offer privacy from patrons.”
The words gushed out like the aviary waterfall, leaving Aila scant space to breathe. This couldn’t be happening. It was all a cruel trick, a distraction to take her phoenix away.
Rivera’s brows lifted at the details. “It sounds like you’ve done quite a bit of reading, Miss Macbhairan. Always good to see that in a young keeper. I’ll need to schedule an inspector to tour the facility. Can we decide on a date about two months from now?”
“ Excuse me? ”
Aila’s outburst earned her a chiding look from Director Hawthorn.
“An inspector,” Rivera said. “To evaluate whether this facility would be a suitable transfer candidate for the male phoenix. Given the territoriality of female phoenixes, we typically prioritize male transfers, and your proximity to the Jewelport Zoo makes you an attractive contender. Less disruptive for the bird. But we need to ensure you’re up to the task.”
Aila opened her mouth, dismayed when only a squeak came out.
“We’re humbled by the opportunity,” the director replied for her, mustering the warm tone he put on for galas and well-dressed donors. “The San Tamculo Zoo is proud of our successful partnerships with IMWS breeding programs for several threatened and endangered species. We’ll be excited to demonstrate that our Silimalo phoenix facilities are suitable as a transfer candidate.”
“I look forward to it.” Rivera turned to Aila. “Thank you for your help, Aila, and for your time today. Director Hawthorn and I can iron out the details. I look forward to reviewing the inspector’s report.”
Aila nodded. She rose from her chair. Walked out of the office with some passing semblance of knowing how human legs were supposed to work. When the door closed behind her, she stood in the hallway. Linoleum squeaked under her boots. An unobtrusive jingle drifted from a speaker in the ceiling, static thoughts buzzing in her head.
Holy. Shit.
Aila left the lobby in a power walk. She shifted into a jog past the gilded swan lagoon. She came into the aviary hub at full sprint, exploding through the door of the phoenix complex.
“Tanya! Tanya! Tanya! ”
Tanya stumbled out of the kitchen. “Aila? What’s wrong? Don’t tell me someone got bit again?”
Aila slammed into her at full force, throwing them both off balance. Tanya’s superior poise kept them standing. She gawked as Aila dissolved into tears in her arms, some heinous sound between laughing and sobbing.
“Tanya! They’re considering a phoenix transfer.”
“OK. Right. We knew that, though?”
“They’re considering transferring a bird here !”
“Oh, Ailes, that’s great news! I’m gonna need you to breathe, though. There we go.”
Tanya backed her toward a chair. Aila plopped onto the cushion, too bouncy to sit still.
“Maria Rivera came herself! She read my email, Tanya. Said San Tamculo is an attractive contender . They’re sending an inspector to look at our facility in two months!”
Tanya blanched. “They’re sending an inspector in how long ?”
“She said in…”
Aila’s thoughts caught up to her in a landslide.
She followed Tanya’s horrified gaze over the derelict breeding facility. Beneath their boots, the linoleum cracked and faded. On the walls, the flame-retardant paint was expired by at least a year. Dust blanketed shelves and counters, clumping atop cracked protocol binders, storage boxes, rags.
Not just cosmetic fixes, either. Crates of bird food pellets sat atop the counter where the egg incubators should have been. The refrigerator rattled in the kitchen. A questionable smell drifted from behind the cupboards when the weather turned damp.
At its construction, the breeding center had been state of the art. Though Rubra’s public exhibit remained pristine, the remaining facilities hadn’t bred a phoenix in over a decade. Now, Aila had to whip the place back into shape…
“In two months,” she said, sobering.
Oh no.