Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
“She’s a cold, callous bitch!” Aila announced as she slammed a paint can upon the metal counter of the phoenix complex. “I’d rather face the spiked tail of a manticore than that feral woman!”
A venomous tail, no less. As venomous as Luciana.
A gloomy Tanya leaned against the counter beside her. She handed over a jar of powdered diamondback dragon scales. Next, a packet of very expensive, captive-molted Silimalo phoenix feather pigment. That one took a month of IMWS paperwork before approval, delivered in a suitcase by an armed guard. Aila dumped both contents into the orange paint and stirred. The resulting concoction would be fireproof to several hundred degrees, enough to protect against errant phoenix tails.
“First, she goes lecturing me, all you have to do is suck up your pride and ask .” Aila waggled paint-speckled fingers in a pompous Luciana impression. “Then, when I do ask for help, she acts like she can’t be bothered.”
“Mm-hm,” Tanya mused.
“Probably never wanted to help from the start.”
“It does look that way.”
“Putting on that stupid do-gooder act. How does everyone fall for it?”
“Careful with that paint, Ailes. It costs more than both our paychecks.”
Aila paused, chest heaving, paint spatula brandished like a sword. Before she could waste any precious drops, she sighed and plunked it into the can.
“The paint should be mixed enough,” she grumbled. “Let’s give it a test.”
Aila grabbed a square plank of wood from her desk and laid it on the counter atop some packing paper. Brush in hand, she dipped gingerly into the very expensive paint bucket. She’d only survived her elective art class in high school thanks to a very liberal interpretation of “abstract” design. That, and her instructor took pity when Aila broke down over her mixing colors turning brown for the twentieth time. She’d been trying to make green.
Fortunately, this was within her skill level. She painted the top side of the wood orange, dripping only a couple of spatters onto the surrounding paper.
Tanya drummed the counter with turquoise nails. “This just doesn’t seem like Luc.”
“What doesn’t seem like her?” Aila said, dryly. “The part where she’s a stuck-up witch? Or where she loves being the center of attention? Or where she gets off on making me grovel?”
Aila yanked on a pair of fireproof gloves, pulling them all the way up to each shoulder. Tanya grabbed the hand-held blowtorch from the counter and passed it over.
“The part where she refused to help,” Tanya said. “Griffin show’s our sister department. Luciana’s never turned me down when I needed something. Not even that time you were out sick, and I needed extra hands to ground the Ozokian kingfisher while I treated him for electric mites. Luc was down here as soon as I called.”
Aila scoffed and clicked the gas canister into the blowtorch.
“She’s never turned you down, either,” Tanya continued. “Rare as you ask for help.”
Aila scoffed harder. “Unless you count her trying to drag Rubra into the griffin show for three straight years. Which I do, by the way.”
She clicked off the blowtorch safety valve. Squared her feet. There was something therapeutic in pulling the trigger and letting a jet of fire loose, feeling the flare of heat upon her cheeks. Sure, mindfulness and breathing exercises were more “approved” methods of treating anxiety, but burning shit made for a strong runner-up.
Upon the metal counter, the packing paper combusted, shriveling into black cinders. The plank of wood charred on every edge. But the painted portion? Untouched. The top of the wood stayed pristine. Once all the inner walls got painted with this stuff, the phoenix complex would be fully up to date with IMWS code 40.04.b: Flame-Resistant Facility Requirements.
And the fresh orange would look pretty.
“When you talked to Luciana,” Tanya said, “did you ask nicely ?”
Aila’s grip flinched on the blowtorch, nearly dropping it to the floor.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
Tanya shrugged. “You’ve got a tendency to be… prickly around her.”
“Because she’s prickly to me!”
“That’s what we call a vicious cycle, Aila.”
Another scoff. Aila was on track to use up her quota today. “She started it.”
“Ailes…”
“Well, she did!” Aila floundered a hand for emphasis. “She’s the one who wouldn’t give me the time of day in college. She’s the one who laughed during my outreach presentation. She’s the one who keeps asking Director Hawthorn to move Rubra to—”
“ Aila, you’re on fire .”
Aila paused. Blinked. She looked down and… sure enough, one of her gloves was on fire. She heaved the world’s largest groan.
“Well. That’s great. Now I need to order new fire-resistant gloves? On top of everything else?” Granted, each pair had a limited warranty, given the expected lifespan of the fireproof coating, but Aila could have sworn they were still within their operational period. She’d have to check her paperwork for—
“Aila,” Tanya said, firm. “Inventories later.”
“Right, right…”
It wasn’t the first time one of them had caught on fire. Skies and seas knew it wouldn’t be the last. That was what protocol was for.
Aila turned down the flame on the blowtorch and set it on the counter. The fingers of her burning glove started feeling toasty by the time she made it to the metal disposal canister in the corner. She peeled them off and dropped them into the empty bin. Tanya was ready with the fire extinguisher. One long spray of foam—infused with liquefying starfish gel, for extra density—and the flames went out with a hiss.
Aila scowled at the remains. “Damn gloves are always in low stock. I’ll need to get that order in by the end of today to have any chance of shipping in time for—What’s that sound?”
A crinkle. A pop. Aila turned.
Half her desk was on fire.
Now that was something new.
“ Fuck! ” she and Tanya said in unison.
They lurched into motion. On the counter, the blowtorch lay on its side. Aila must not have set it down properly. She hadn’t turned the fire off all the way. She thought she had. She could have sworn she had, but all of it melded into a fog of fatigue and panic. The fallen torch had caught a binder on the edge of her desk. Fire crackled through paper and vinyl, spreading fast.
Tanya raised the fire extinguisher.
“Wait!” Aila pleaded.
Not just any papers. All the phoenix protocols. The work inventories. The logs of their building updates. Piles and piles on her desk, waiting to be sorted before the inspection. Now going up in flame. The fire extinguisher would soak the rest.
“We need to save it!” Aila shouted.
“We’ll lose it anyway if we don’t put this fire out!” Tanya clipped back.
Aila grabbed for whatever papers she could, anything the fire hadn’t touched. Tanya worked at her side, snatching binders and pages out of the path of the flames. They salvaged as much as possible. Then Tanya hooked an arm around Aila’s waist, dragging her away from the carnage as she swiped and pleaded. One more. Just one more page.
Tanya unleashed the fire extinguisher. Flames sputtered out beneath the foam. The remnants of Aila’s paperwork turned to soggy ash.
In the aftermath, the room smelled of smoke, burnt paper, and the salt of liquefying starfish gel. Aila and Tanya sank to the floor, backs resting against the cabinets.
“All my paperwork…” Aila’s hands shook. Maybe this was all a nightmare. Maybe she’d wake up any moment now, slouched over her desk at home, alarm blaring in her ear.
Upsettingly, she didn’t.
“It’s just paperwork,” Tanya reassured her. “We can reprint the invoices, the protocols. Rewrite the building renovation logs.”
“It took me over a week to get all that together.”
“I know, Ailes.”
“We don’t have time.” Aila’s voice rose to a panicked squeak. “Tanya. What am I going to do? I don’t have enough time .”
Reprinting and filing the paperwork. Painting the walls. Putting the flooring in. Moving that behemoth new refrigerator inside. Updating the software on their security cameras. Aila didn’t have enough time.
She’d never had enough time.
“Maybe this was a stupid idea from the start,” Aila said.
Her shoulders caved. She pulled her knees to her chest and shriveled into a ball, tiny and useless. She wasn’t supposed to shrivel. Aila was supposed to sit up straight, take a deep breath, not let the anxiety win. That was what everyone always told her.
How could she breathe, when nothing she did was ever good enough?
She’d been a fool, thinking she could pull off a stunt like this. A feat of desperation, mostly. Unable to bear the thought of Rubra being whisked away, it was enough to attempt something impossible. It didn’t even matter that Luciana had turned her down. At this rate, Aila would need a small army of help to stand any chance of having this place presentable by the time the inspector arrived.
“We can still do it,” Tanya said. “As best we can.”
Tanya. That generous lunar moth. Aila groaned and clutched her knees tighter, fighting the itch of smoke in her nose and the sting of tears in her eyes.
“Hey,” Tanya said, firmer. “Enough of that, Aila. Sit up.”
Aila—against her will, spurred by Tanya forcibly unclenching her arms—sat up. She looked at her charred desk again. Groaned again.
Tanya wrapped an arm around her shoulder, strong and grounding. Aila didn’t understand how she kept her voice calm. She didn’t understand how Tanya could look her in the eye without laughing, without pointing her finger and telling Aila her dream had always been impossible.
But Tanya had a way of making the impossible seem manageable. Whether it was salvaging Aila after her first energetic genetics exam in college, piling their dorm room with chocolate bonbons and potato chips until her anxiety boiled off. Or whisking Aila away after the cute boy from the library stood her up on a date, a cozy evening crashing on the couch with Tanya and Teddy to watch highlights of their cheesy movie collection. Or just a long talk into the night, Aila confessing how people terrified her, Tanya sharing the uncertainty of her transition, both seeking themselves and their place in the world.
“You can’t quit now,” Tanya said. “After torturing me for two months with your colored flashcards, ripping every wall and floor to pieces? We have to see it through.”
Aila sniffed, fighting a wobble in her voice. “You still think we can do it?”
“Things may not come out perfect. But we’ll give it our best try. You’re used to tackling everything on your own, but you’ve got me to help at least. Hopefully, that’s enough.”
Despite the weight of existential agony crushing Aila like a toothpick, she nearly laughed at that. Enough? Tanya hoped she was enough ?
Aila dove into a bear hug, sniveling like an idiot. Tanya’s arms closed around her, cracking her ribs a little too tight.
“What kind of stupid question is that?” Aila wheezed into her shoulder. “Of course you’re enough. You’re always enough, Tanya. You majestic tropical orchid.”
Tanya chuckled. Patted her back. “I don’t think tropical orchids will be much help in moving that fridge inside. Might look nice on our desks, though. We should talk to utilities about getting you a new one, don’t want any charred edges showing during the inspection. Now, are you done getting snot all over my polo? Are we getting back to work?”
One week. They still had one week.
Aila sat back. Forced a deep breath.
“Thanks, Tanya. I couldn’t do this without you.”
“Nah. You couldn’t.” Tanya patted her head like a small, anxious poodle. “We’ll get it done.”
“Even without that witch?”
“You’ve got to stop calling her that during work hours.”
Then, from across the room, “Do you… uh… need some help?”
Aila jerked straight. Connor stood in the doorway, dark hair curled against his temple, sunlight pooling behind him like a gift from the sky. She wiped a hasty hand over her cheeks, under her nose, coming away with too much snot.
“Connor! Hello! What brings you here?”
His attention lingered not on Aila, the wreck of a person, but instead on the wreck of a room surrounding them—the counters in disarray, a fire extinguisher in the middle of the floor, charred paperwork covering her desk. “Haven’t heard any updates for a couple of weeks. I’ll be honest, I was expecting a little more progress. Is that…? Was something on fire in here?”
“Just a little bit,” Aila said, meek. Tanya jabbed an elbow into her ribs. “ Ow! But yes, now that you mention it, we are indeed accepting offers of help. If you would be so inclined.”
Connor surveyed the damage, settling on the roll of linoleum flooring. He nudged a boot against the plastic wrapping. “I’ve helped my dad lay some of this before. Could give it a try?”
Aila could have flown. Could have burst into flames. Could have pranced across the kelpie pond like a wisp of fog.
“Maybe he isn’t so bad after all,” Tanya muttered.
Of course he wasn’t. He was wonderful. Gorgeous. Kind.
“You’re a lifesaver!” Aila said. “I mean it. We’ll pay you back in whatever food you want. Even a couple of extra hands, and we might be able to finish—”
Aila froze as the door creaked open one more time.
Yes, stand perfectly still. That’s what panicked animals did when they spotted a predator, wasn’t it?
Luciana entered with slow strides, hands folded behind her back, eyebrows threatening to leap off her face as she inspected the battleground. Aila blinked, yet the apparition remained. A knot tightened in her chest. Luciana was cold, but would she come here just to gloat?
Another griffin show keeper stepped through the door. Then another. And another. By the time a small army of five had amassed behind Luciana, Aila convinced herself she must have tripped and hit her head. A hallucination. Any moment now, she’d wake up, Tanya leant over her with that I told you so expression.
“Oh, hey, Luc,” Connor greeted. “What brings you all the way up—”
“ Don’t call me that .” Luciana’s words sliced like talons. Not a hallucination, then. She sniffed the air like a hunting basilisk. “Was something on fire in here?”
“Just a little bit.” Tanya hooked the fire extinguisher with her foot, nudging it underneath the counter.
Luciana’s brow quirked. She faced Aila. “Well?”
“What are you doing here?” Aila blurted.
“You asked for help. Here we are. What do you need?”
Aila scrunched her nose. This could be a trick. A cruel game. “We’ve got new security software for the cameras. Needs to be installed.”
Luciana pointed to two keepers: a brown-skinned Renkailan woman with a slim build and a pale young man with slumped shoulders. “Nadia. Jericho. On it.”
Aila recognized them from the griffin show’s technical booth. They moved to the computer monitors at Tanya’s desk and set to work without a word, barely glancing at the charred carnage of the desk beside them. It was a phoenix complex, after all.
“What else?” Luciana demanded.
“Well, uh…” Aila flinched as Tanya poked her with a paintbrush handle. “New coat of flame-resistant paint?”
Luciana snapped, and two more volunteers came forward, one snagging the paintbrush, another inspecting the can on the counter.
The last bent over the mess of binders and paperwork they’d salvaged, stacked haphazardly on the counter. “Standard IMWS organization?”
Tanya hurried over. “Yeah. We had a little setback, need to reprint some records, let me just…”
The room buzzed with voices. With work. Aila watched with wide eyes, processing the change—the flicker of hope in her chest. Five minutes ago, this had all seemed impossible. Suddenly, they might stand a chance, all thanks to…
Luciana’s ice queen glare provided a reality check.
“Why are you doing this?” Aila hissed, low enough for only her to hear.
“Regardless of what you think of me, I keep my word.”
Aila fought an eye roll. Of course, Luciana was always so generous .
“And besides…” Luciana flicked dark eyes to the observation window. Beyond the glass, Rubra swung from an olive branch, snapping at leaves. “Would be nice to see that bird put to good use for once. We’ll get this place in shape. For the phoenixes.”
The final words came out hard as concrete. Pointed like fangs.
A truce, then. A phantom laugh echoed behind Luciana’s offer, a reminder not to trust too easily. Aila only had to bear it for a week.
“For the phoenixes,” she agreed, eyes locked with Luciana’s, refusing to flinch.