Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Sleep, Aila decided, was overrated.
Tanya kept saying she needed sleep. But who could waste time on such frivolity when a deadline loomed? Aila organized every minute of her workday on her whiteboard in the phoenix complex, breaking out a new sixteen-pack of colored dry erase markers for the task. When she got back to her apartment each night, she used every waking hour to read.
First up was that instruction manual for the egg incubators. Aila read it front to back twice and skimmed it three more times for good measure, filling the pages with so many colored sticky notes the book no longer closed correctly.
Next, she reread every book she owned about Silimalo phoenix courtship, breeding, and chick rearing.
Next, a guide to Silimalo gardening, specifically the section on olive trees.
All it took was a little focus, a few extra cups of coffee. She could do this.
She’d prove to Tanya—to Luciana —that she could do this.
Normally, Aila loved working late. Tourmaline curled into a silver poof in her lap, her desk lamp the lone light in her apartment after all her animals went to sleep. There was a quiet serenity that only came at midnight and early morning, the whole world still and silent outside her window. No parents asking how school went. Not teachers telling her to put her book down and pay attention. No colleagues scheduling meetings or impromptu equipment drop-offs. A rare window of no expectations, where Aila could just… be.
Granted, her late-night sessions were made less serene by the never-ending stack of papers on her desk. Every manuscript on phoenixes published in the last ten years. IMWS reports. Care protocols by Giuseppe Garumano, director of the breeding program in Silimalo. A bevy of IMWS-approved studies on behavior, natural habitat, nest site selection.
Aila only had four weeks until the inspection. Then three. Then one.
The digital clock on her bookshelf read just past two when she laid her head down on the desk. Just for a moment. Just one more paper before bed.
Groggy, her eyes flicked over the mess of manuscripts. She’d emptied her coffee mug hours ago, a gift from Tanya bearing a cartoon phoenix and a “Fire me up!” speech bubble. Beside that was a blue-gray thunderhawk feather as long as her arm, molted by the first bird she’d worked with in college. Above, potted plants lined a shelf, perched alongside the framed photo of Aila and her parents on vacation in Silimalo—
Shit .
Aila dug beneath several papers until she unearthed her phone. A new message icon glowed on the screen. A text from her mom, unopened.
Hi honey, haven’t heard from you in a while, hope everything is OK!
Aila had meant to reply earlier.
She’d just gotten a little… carried away with reading. Bleary-eyed, she stumbled her fingers across the keypad.
Sorry. Been super busy. Will call when I can.
She hit send just before her eyes drooped. Just before…
Aila jerked awake to a blaring sound.
What in all the skies and seas was that?
She floundered into a sitting position at… her desk? Hadn’t even made it to bed. That would be murder on her back later, but first, she was more concerned with the loud beeping…
Alarm.
Aila’s wake-up alarm was going off on her phone. She never slept late enough to need an alarm, her brain usually alert with a to-do list long before she had to rise.
It was dark outside her window as she scrambled to get dressed, scarfed a granola bar for breakfast, scratched Tourmaline behind the ears on her way out the door. She hit a cafe on her way to the train station, in and out the door just long enough to snag a coffee.
One more week until the inspection. She could do this.
She had to do this.
Aila readied a knife over the cutting board, a mango poised to meet its doom.
“Another one!” With that battle cry, she commenced chopping.
Tanya sat on the kitchen counter, shuffling through a stack of flashcards Aila had shoved into her hands that morning. “OK, let’s see. Umm… incubation period of a Silimalo phoenix?”
“Twenty-eight days,” Aila replied. “With a standard deviation of two days in the Silimalo population, three days in Movas.”
Tanya flipped to the next card. “Key signs of imminent female immolation?”
“Increased shifting on nest.” Aila slid her diced mango into a bowl, then started hacking a clump of kale. “Pecking at breast feathers. Begging for food from the male.”
“Common ailments of phoenix hatchlings?”
“Flame foot. Ingrown feathers. Ash lung. Dammit!” Aila jerked to catch a bottle of bird antibiotics she’d nearly swatted off the counter in her haste. Archie always got a sinus infection when the weather turned cold. She measured a spoonful of medicine and mixed it with his favorite fruit and bird-pellet smoothie.
Tanya pulled the next card. “Diet of chicks?” She dropped the stack to her lap. “Ailes, we can print that out and put it on the fridge. You don’t have to memorize—”
“One part cricket meal. Three parts softened phoenix pellets. One scoop Fiery Fantastic brand nutritional supplement.”
“You should take a break, Aila.”
“No. Another one.”
“You need rest. Take a nap. I can finish the food prep.”
“I need to be ready to impress the inspector.”
“You can’t impress anyone if you pass out!”
Aila slumped against the counter, fingers stained with fruit juice and nutritional slurry. One week until the inspector arrived, and she still had to paint the interior rooms with fire-resistant pigment. Organize a couple dozen protocol binders. Update the new software on the security cameras.
One week wasn’t enough time.
“We’ve come so far.” Aila straightened, a burst of adren-aline fighting fatigue. “Just one more week. We can do this. We can…”
She reached for the refrigerator handle but swiped air. Oh. Right . An empty space remained where the appliance had been hauled out the day before, purserat remains and all, several stains left behind on the floor.
Tanya handed Aila a bowl of vegetables they’d hauled up from the lower aviary fridges, nails clacking against metal in what had to be the sassiest transference of cookware Aila had ever received outside of awkward family reunions.
“You know,” Tanya said. “I hate to say it, Ailes. But if we need some extra hands…”
“No,” Aila shot back. “I have standards, Tanya. I will not sully my honor by getting on my knees in front of that witch!”
Tanya bobbed her head at the choice of words.
Someone in the doorway cleared his throat.
Dragon spit.
Aila spun around to see a man in a delivery uniform, clipboard in hand, glancing between her and the upraised knife in her hand.
“Did you…? Uh… You the one who ordered the new industrial fridge?”
Aila set the knife down, giddy. Here was something going right, at least. She’d been on the phone for hours last week coordinating the delivery, but once the refrigerator came in, the kitchen renovations would be finished. All that left was… everything else.
The man led Aila and Tanya outside. At the junction of the public path and the keeper offshoot, a new refrigerator sat on the concrete: stainless steel wrapped in layers of protective plastic and Styrofoam. Aila’s mouth fell open. She’d run all the measurements a dozen times, but the behemoth still impressed her. They could fit enough mangos for all of winter in this thing. And, best of all, no musty purserat smell.
“Your signature here.” The man held his clipboard out as Aila scribbled her name. “Thank you, ma’am. Enjoy.”
“Wait. Are you not…? How do we get it inside ?”
“Paid for delivery, not installation. Have a nice day.”
He lumbered off, leaving Aila’s jaw hanging. Beside her, Tanya tapped the metal monstrosity with a frown.
“It’s fine.” Aila stepped a wide circle around the appliance, sizing it up. Several passing patrons paused to do the same. “There’s two of us. We can totally move this inside.”
“Aila.”
“I know, I know, it will mostly be you. I can focus on logistics.”
“ Aila .”
“It’s not my fault you have strong, gorgeous arms!”
Tanya grabbed Aila with one of those strong, gorgeous arms and yanked her into the keeper building.
“It isn’t just a refrigerator, Aila.”
Tanya pointed to the unpainted walls. The torn-up floors with rolls of new linoleum still in plastic. A desk full of empty binders and paperwork in various stages of sorting. New cork boards to be mounted. Boxes of donated towels and blankets to comb through.
“You can’t do this in a week,” Tanya said.
“But—”
“ We can’t do this in a week! Especially not while taking care of our animals.”
Aila grasped for an argument. If she just finished her rounds a little faster today… or if she stayed an extra hour past closing… or cut another hour of sleep…
She groaned and sank to her knees, the floor crackling against her work pants.
“ Fuuuuuuuuck .”
Tanya crouched beside her. “Ask Luciana for help. What’s so bad about that?”
Aila glared.
“Remember in college,” Tanya said, “when Luc and I got partnered for barn clean-up? She’s not all bad, Ailes. Was always on time. Pulled her weight. Knew the animals as well as anyone there—dare I say it, as well as someone else I know. Yet somehow, the two of you got all tangled up in each other.”
“Oh, yeah. Somehow , she acts like an entitled princess whenever she’s not faking it for the public. Somehow, she has to be perfect at everything. Somehow, she tries to steal Rubra for the griffin show every single year.”
Tanya gave a long-suffering sigh. “Sure. But she offered to help. And we need help. Get this over with, and we’ll never speak of it again.”
Aila’s pride lumped in her throat. Tanya was right.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Tanya asked.
“No. No one needs to see this.”
But of course, everyone in the zoo would hear about it.
Mid-morning sun trickled through the banyan trees of the Renkailan section. With the passing seasons, the light turned slanted, cool. Not unlike Aila’s heart.
Do it for Rubra. She’s all that matters.
When Aila arrived at the amphitheater, several hours remained until the next show. Two keepers stood on the lawn between the stage and the empty audience seating, leather gloves on their arms, training a cavern eagle to fly between them. One keeper snapped her fingers. The blind bird perked feathered ear tufts, swiveling to pinpoint the sound. With a beat of black and ruby wings, he leapt off his perch, flying straight to the keeper’s glove and landing with a weight that made her sag. She dug a mouse from the satchel at her waist. The eagle snapped up his reward, followed by a happy chortle as the keeper scratched his neck feathers.
On the sidelines stood Luciana, hands folded, hair starched and woven into twin braids down her back. She nodded at the bird’s progress.
Aila mustered her protest with scraping steps against the concrete, plodding over the damp lawn. Luciana never turned to face her, attention glued to her work. They stood side by side for what could have been the most uncomfortable minute of Aila’s life, her boot tapping the grass, cavern eagle wings beating in time with her heart.
In the silence, Aila heard Luciana laughing at her in their college classroom, that honeyed sound like a knife through her heart.
“Good morning, Aila,” Luciana said, brittle as ever.
“Luciana.”
“Is the talon-mite sprayer working well for you?”
“As well as it always does.”
“Glad to hear it. Something else I can help you with?”
Aila puffed a strand of auburn hair out of her face. “I think you know what you can help me with.”
“Still, I’d prefer to hear you say it.”
Wouldn’t she, though. Wouldn’t she love to lock that in her memory box along with every other time she’d humiliated Aila, a treasure to gloat over whenever she wished.
Do it for the phoenixes.
“I could use your help,” Aila said. “Finishing the renovations. The inspector comes in a week. We’re nearly there, but Tanya and I…” She took a steadying breath. “We can’t pull it off on our own. An extra pair of hands would make a huge difference.”
Luciana didn’t look at her. Dark eyes slid across the lawn as the cavern eagle glided from keeper to keeper, a perfect performer thanks to those tidbits of meat dangled in front of him.
The longer Luciana remained silent, the more Aila’s stomach twisted.
What if this had been a game all along?
What if Luciana wouldn’t help? Too busy training for the show. Why didn’t you ask sooner? She had every excuse, and even if she didn’t lift a finger, she’d get to enjoy Aila’s groveling as the cherry on top.
“Thank you for letting me know,” Luciana said at last. “I’ll see what we can work into our schedule.”
Aila stormed off, unable to bear the smug twitch to Luciana’s painted lips.